Page 72 of Love Resurrected
“Would I know?”
I shrug. E and I have had plenty of existential conversations about death and the afterlife. Heaven and Hell. Consciousness after dying. Being first responders, we’ve had plenty of people we’ve revived, who claimed to see the bright white light and their entire lives flashing before them. Most often, we believe it to be bullshit. But with Kat, it hit closer to home. Plus, Ethan knows I talk to Kat and fully expect that she hears me.
“Well, I think she’s happy, man,” Ethan says. “I think she’s happy and at peace, and wants the same for you.”
“And I think she’s pissed off and jealous.”
“Really?” He looks at me. It’s that look that only someone who knows you almost better than you know yourself can give.
“No.” I hang my head.
“So, to recap,” Ethan starts. “Tenley’s bossy, but she makes you laugh and the sex was good.”
“At least if the sex sucked, I wouldn’t still be thinking about it this morning. And I could just move on and not worry about it.”
Ethan remains silent, watching the road and not looking at me.
“Did I mention that she’s a shitty dancer?”
He nods and exits the freeway toward my house. “I brought stuff to patch your wall, by the way.”
“Are we changing the subject, finally?” I ask.
“No, just wanted you to know I’ll be around for a while longer instead of just dropping you off.”
“Great.”
We pull into my drive. I struggle slightly with the seatbelt and getting the car door open, both with my left hand, but manage to get us into my house with only a few issues. Which Ethan takes full advantage of laughing at.
He unloads his supplies and begins to sand the area around the hole in the wall. I head into the kitchen to grab us some beers, and it only takes me two tries to get them open. I bring him one and lean against the back of my couch to watch him work.
He takes a long pull on his beer, then leans over to set it on the floor before turning toward me. “You know she’s dead, right?”
“Who? Kat?”
He looks at me.
“I fucking know she’s dead.”
He measures the hole, then cuts the wall patch to a size that is just larger, grabs his spackle, and applies it to the patch over the hole.
“She’s not coming back, brother.” His tone is soft. It still burns.
“I know.” My voice comes out as a croak. I clear my throat and try again. “I know.” I have to pinch the bridge of my nose to stop the tears from forming.
“You’re only forty-five. You’ve got at least ten more good sex years left in that old body of yours.”
I want to flip him off, but my only visible hand is holding my beer.
He finishes spackling over the patch, then sets the trowel down and grabs his beer, turning once again to face me. “What you did last night wasn’t cheating.”
“I—”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “Let me finish.”
I nod and take a long pull on my beer.
“You can’t cheat on a dead person.”
