Little Do We Know(47)

“You heard me?”

He nodded.

“You were there twice. The first time, you were muffled, like your dad. But the second time, your voice was crystal clear.” He paused and locked his eyes on mine. “Do you remember what you said?”

I pictured that night. I’d sprinted to Emory’s house and back again. When I saw the EMTs loading him into the ambulance, I ran straight through the crowd and into the street. And then I stopped next to the gurney and put my mouth to his ear.

“I said, ‘You’re not finished here.’” My voice was shaking. “I told you that you couldn’t go yet, because you weren’t finished here.”

He nodded. “Why did you say that?”

I hadn’t even thought about what I was going to say before I said it. I thought Luke was dead. I figured Dad had spent all that time trying to get his soul into heaven; the least I could do was tell him not to die in the first place.

“I had meningitis when I was ten,” I said. “I had this insanely high fever, and I could barely turn my neck. It was horrible. The pastor at our old church came to see me. I was contagious, so he had to wear a mask over his nose and mouth, but he sat next to me and talked to me for the longest time. I asked him if I was going to die, and you know what he did?”

Luke shook his head.

“He laughed. Right in my face.”

“You thought you were dying and he laughed at you? Harsh.”

“Right? Anyway, he told me there was a spot in heaven for me, but that I wasn’t going to be occupying it for a long time. He told me God had plans for me here, and they were far too big, far too important for me to leave so early.”

I pictured our old pastor, perched on the side of my bed, eyes full of conviction. “And then he pulled the mask off his face, smiled down at me, and said, ‘Hannah Jacquard, you’re not finished here.’”

“And you got better,” Luke guessed.

“Actually, no. I got worse. After that, I ended up in the hospital, and then I really thought I was about to die. But I kept telling myself those words: I’m not finished here. I’m not finished here. The fever finally broke. Dad said that between my faith and all those prayers from all those people, God had no choice but to listen.”

Luke smiled.

“Something must have clicked in me when I saw you on the stretcher that night. I didn’t think you could hear me. I just said the first thing that popped into my head.”

He nodded, like he was taking the whole thing in.

“When the paramedics arrived, they never found my pulse. Then one of them heard me moan, and she started resuscitation efforts. And here I am. But I also wouldn’t be if it weren’t for you.”

My fingers were tingling. My chest felt light.

I saved his life.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” I said.

“But…now I have a problem. I don’t know what to do with all this. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. Emory wants everything to go back to normal, but I don’t know how to do that when all I can think about are those three minutes. And when I try to talk about them, everyone tells me that what happened wasn’t real. But I know it was real. And I have to talk about it—I have to remember—otherwise, the feeling is going to fade away, and I can’t let that happen.”

I stood and moved over to the couch, right next to him. “I think it was real.”

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, like I’d said what he needed to hear.

I wanted to tell him about the research I’d been doing. How I’d learned that every religion had a slightly different view on death and the afterlife. I thought he might find it as fascinating as I had.

“Can I come to church with you?” he asked.

“What?” That was the last thing I’d expected him to say.

He seemed as surprised by my reaction as I was by his question.

“I thought you’d be excited. Emory told me you were always trying to get her to go with you.”

I wondered how Emory had said it. I had a feeling it wasn’t as part of a glowing endorsement of me or my family.

“Of course,” I said. “Any time.”

“Sunday?”

“This Sunday?”

He nodded.

He was serious. He’d clearly been thinking about this. “Sure. My a cappella group is performing. You can come watch us. It’ll be fun.” I pointed at the family picture he’d been eyeing earlier. “And my dad will be there. You can meet him. All my friends seem to think he’s a pretty easy person to talk to.”

Luke turned his head and looked out the living room window at Emory’s house. I could tell something was bothering him. “Are there a lot of Foothill kids there?”

“None. They all go to Lakeside. It’s closer.” I scooted over. “Covenant is two towns away. You won’t run into anyone you know. I promise.”

“And you won’t tell her?”

I almost laughed in his face. “Given that we haven’t said a word to each other in over three months, I think you can assume your secret’s safe with me.” I brought my finger and thumb to my lips and turned an imaginary key.

“Thanks,” he said. He tilted his head to one side, considering me. “What happened with you and Emory anyway?”