The Next Person You Meet in Heaven(18)

Cleo tilted her head. “Don’t divine things happen every day?”

Annie watched the happy greetings with a twinge of regret. The afterlife, clearly, was to be filled with others; she could see that now. But her afterlife meant being without Paulo, the person she loved most. How could she ever be content?

“What is it, Annie?”

“My husband. I was trying to keep him alive. I don’t know if I did. All I remember is the operating room, a doctor’s hands on my shoulders, him saying, ‘See you in a little bit.’ But then, nothing.” Annie struggled with the words. “I’m all right with dying as long as Paulo lived. Just tell me my death wasn’t wasted.”

The old woman smiled.

“No act done for someone else is ever wasted.”



With that, Cleo nodded to a final door, and as it swung open, Annie saw her nine-year-old self jump off her bicycle and run to hug Cleo the day she thought she lost her.

At the same time, the old woman leaned in to Annie, and a sudden warmth oozed through Annie’s fingers and palms. Her wrists reappeared, then her elbows, biceps, and shoulders.

“My arms,” Annie marveled. “They’re back.”

“To hold what you love,” Cleo whispered.

Then, in Annie’s new grasp, Cleo’s womanly frame shrank down. Her coat tightened and became her fur. Her legs pulled in. Her ears and snout elongated. She was revealed as the puppy she used to be on earth, and she panted as Annie held her up and said, “There you are. Cleo. Cleee-o!”

Annie’s mind was flooded with memories: Cleo running alongside Annie’s bicycle, Cleo snapping pizza from Annie’s plate, Cleo rolling over as Annie tickled her belly. She felt a joy she had not known in years. After all this time, after all the disappointments and letdowns, Annie was holding her old dog again. Maybe Cleo was right; maybe reunion was heaven-sent.

“Good girl,” Annie whispered, feeling a grateful tongue lap against her cheeks. “Good girl.” She closed her eyes to revel in the old sensation.

When she opened them, her hands were empty, and she was alone in the desert once more.





SUNDAY, 11:14 A.M.

Tolbert was furious. He’d been calling Teddy, his assistant, for nearly an hour. No response.

How do you not answer the phone? What if I was a customer? Tolbert swore he would fire Teddy when he saw him, even though it wasn’t easy to find balloon pilots these days.

Tolbert himself had come to ballooning late, when he was fifty-two, after retiring from a naval career. He’d been a pilot early on, and even when they said he was too old to fly, he maintained his interest in aviation. A balloon wasn’t exactly a fighter jet, but it got him in the skies and employed familiar areas of expertise: wind and weather analysis, equipment inspection. And Tolbert liked that you could work by yourself.

Well, almost, he thought now as he stewed over Teddy’s irresponsibility, almost by yourself.

He turned his wife’s car down a dirt road, a few miles from the barn that stored the balloon equipment. He squinted. Then he slammed on the brakes.

Up ahead were four police cars blocking the road, their lights flashing.

An officer was waving Tolbert in.





The Next Eternity




Heavy winds blew the desert sands away and Annie felt herself rising into swirling shades of scarlet and rose. She spun like a pocketwatch on a chain. Then, for the first time in heaven, Annie fought back. She flailed as if trying to detach from a hook. Her legs had returned, and she used them to kick, until a final surge broke her loose and she fell.

She fell through open air and through coral-colored clouds, until she saw below her a large pink island, with five peninsulas jutting out like spokes. She braced for a hard impact, but at the last instant, she flipped over and landed softly on her back.

She was lying in pink snow.

“Hello?” Annie yelled, her voice echoing in a teenaged timbre. “Is anyone here?”

She flapped her arms and legs to ensure everything was functioning. She rose to her feet. Annie felt older now, stronger; it seemed she was reconstructing her earthly body as she advanced through heaven. Her thoughts were maturing as well. An edginess had come over her, a young adult’s impatience. She wanted answers.

She looked down at the frozen pink surface.

Her imprint had created a snow angel.



Annie glanced around. Was anyone coming to greet her? She began to walk, then she jogged, then she ran, lifting her knees to shake the snow loose. She flashed on her childhood winters, and suddenly she was wearing her old fuchsia jacket, fur boots, and black ski pants, as if the memory had dressed her.

The snow went on as far as she could see. The sky was streaks of cinnamon light. Annie ran towards the peninsulas until she felt exhausted. She shut her eyes to gather her thoughts.

When she opened them, she saw the snow angel back in front of her. Only this time, where the head was indented, there were two eyes looking out.

Annie moved slightly. The eyes followed.

“Are you here for me?” Annie asked, tentatively.

“Are you here for me?” a voice echoed.

Annie looked around.

“Do I know you?” Annie said.

“Do I know you?” it echoed again.

Annie leaned in and squinted. The eyes squinted back. Annie recoiled. She saw these eyes every day in the mirror.