The Next Person You Meet in Heaven(36)

After the loss of her mother and her child, Annie withdrew from almost everyone, burying herself in her nursing routine. She dressed the same each day: blue scrubs and gray running shoes. She drove the same roads through town. She purchased the same cup of tea at the same café.

And day after day, she tended to her patients.

She kept their charts. She knew their doctors. She avoided working in pediatrics, finding the memories too difficult. But she was quite good with the elderly; she encouraged their conversation, and they were happy to prattle on. Annie discovered listening to older patients was a form of medicine—for them and for her. It was just enough caring, but not enough to hurt her. And not being hurt was now the driving force in Annie’s life.

She took extra shifts. She let work fill her days and nights. She rarely socialized. She didn’t date. She pulled her butterscotch curls into a small black elastic and turned the light off in her heart.

Then came the morning when, walking to the hospital, her tea lukewarm and nearly finished, she glanced up and felt everything flip, because there, on a platform, was Paulo, grown-up Paulo, wearing faded blue jeans and hammering a board. A lever pulled in the basement of her soul, and Annie’s blood coursed and her nerve endings tingled.

Don’t look at me, she thought. I can still get away if you don’t—

“Hey, I know you,” he said, a grin rising. “You’re Annie!”

She slid her left hand behind her.

“That’s me, all right.”

“From school.”

“From school.”

“I’m Paulo.”

“I remember.”

“From school.”

“From school.”

“Wow. Annie.”

She felt her skin flush. She could not fathom why a boy from high school should have such an effect on her now. But when he said, “Wow. Annie,” she could not help but think the same thing: Wow. Annie. What is this?

And while she didn’t know it then, she was learning another truth about love: it comes when it comes.

Simple as that.



Their romance was less a courtship than a reunion. They had dinner that night and every night that week. They laughed and talked, late and long, avoiding early awkwardness thanks to their shared childhood.

Paulo told lots of stories, and when he finished one, Annie, chin in hand, would ask, “Then what?” He’d had many adventures once his family moved to Italy, with villagers, horsemen, a traveling soccer team, a year in the mountains that turned dangerous. Annie felt as if these tales had been saved up just for her.

“What about you?” Paulo asked. “How is your mom?”

“She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“I liked her, Annie.”

“But she chased you away.”

“She was fierce. She wanted to protect you.” Paulo shrugged. “That’s why I liked her.”

They hugged briefly that first night together, patting each other’s backs like old friends. But a few nights later, after a spaghetti dinner, they kissed gently in the front of Paulo’s car. Annie pulled back as if it were the only time she had ever kissed anyone. She told Paulo she’d been holding that kiss since the day he left high school—“I’m not counting that disaster at your locker”—and Paulo said he’d felt awful about that incident and the way those kids had acted, the way he had acted, too.

“That Megan was a witch,” Annie said.

“But your drawing was cool. Do you still have it?”

Annie burst out laughing. “Do I still have it?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I want it.”

“You want the drawing?”

“Of course. That drawing was how I knew you loved me.”

Annie looked down, rubbing her knee.

“You didn’t know that,” she said, softly.

“Sure, I did. I knew I loved you.”

She lifted her gaze. “Are you joking?”

“No way.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Annie,” Paulo said, that big grin widening, “I was fourteen!”



In time, as with the truest loves, their lives melded seamlessly, and they knew it would stay that way without ever saying a word.

One day, during a lunch break, Annie wheeled a patient named Mrs. Velichek into the new seniors wing. She was from New York and had just passed her ninetieth birthday, frail in body but brimming with spirit. Annie liked her.

“What do you think?” Annie asked. “It’s bigger than the old—”

She stopped. There, kneeling on the floor, was Paulo, finishing the molding. He looked up.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

“He’s not talking to me,” Mrs. Velichek said.

“How do you know?” Annie said.

“Yeah, how do you know?” Paulo added, rising to shake the woman’s hand.

“Mrs. Velichek, this is Paulo. We’re friends,” Annie said.

Paulo nodded towards the counter. “It looks like the food’s here.”

Annie saw loaves of bread and assorted cold cuts that someone had delivered.