Wings to the Kingdom (Eden Moore 2)

“Well, under different circumstances it might not have been so dumb. Say, maybe her cousin mentioned someone with the same name as the new guy. It would be a coincidence if it turned out they knew each other, but it wouldn’t be a miracle or anything. Right?”

“Right,” he said, but his heart wasn’t in the agreement. I think he knew where I was headed.

“Or maybe if she was from another country, and she didn’t understand that Texas is a huge place with millions of people in it—then it wouldn’t be such a crazy question for her to ask either. Maybe, for all she knew, Texas was no bigger than a city block. ”

“But it is. Much bigger. ”

“Yes, it is. ” I put the little tooth back into its case and pushed the case back to Gary’s side of the table. “Do you get what I mean?”

He tapped a fingernail at the tooth case for a few seconds, trying to decide how best to argue. “But being dead isn’t like being in Texas,” he finally said, and I could hear stubbornness working its way into his voice.

“You’re right, it’s not. ”

“Then why won’t you try to talk to Casey for me?” He said the words slowly; he needed time to fortify each consonant against whatever I might say next.

“Gary, if Casey were in Texas, I would know where to begin looking for her. I could drive out there—I could look her up in the phone book. But imagine, for a second, that she could be anywhere at all in the entire world. But wherever she is, there aren’t any phones, and no matter how loud I shout, she won’t hear me. ”

“Eden—”

“And for that matter, there’s a better-than-average chance that she’s not even here anymore. Listen—when most people die, they don’t hang around. I don’t know where they go, and I don’t know how far away it is, but it’s someplace that’s…well, it’s not here. ”

“But some of them stay. You know they do. You’ve seen them. ”

“Yes, some of them do. And the ones who do are free to make contact with me if they like, but I don’t have the foggiest idea how to bring them around. Do you understand?”

Clearly, he did not. “But you could try. You could ask around, or something. If you really wanted to. ”

“Ask around? Gary, now we’re right back to the Texas analogy. Let me ask you something, and I am asking in all seriousness—without any intention of making fun of you. ”

“Go ahead. ”

“Have you prayed to Casey at all? And I’m using the word ‘pray’ in the very broadest sense—I mean, have you tried to talk to her yourself?” I already knew he had. Of course he had. They always do. I think it’s part of the “bargaining” stage of grief.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve been praying to her, but I’ve asked…if she might come have a word with me. ”

“And you’ve never heard, or felt, or seen anything to indicate she heard you?”

“No. But that’s why I came to you. ”

I took another deep breath, and then a third. I was getting frustrated with this poor man, and I knew that we were coming to a point in our conversation where he was only going to try my patience more. “Why would it be different if I tried to call her? You’re her father, and I’m a total stranger. I don’t believe that she could hear me any better than she can hear you. ”

“But you could see her if she did come. Couldn’t you? And I can’t. ”

“I think that probably, yes, I could see her if she answered you. But I also think that you’d get some sense of her presence too. Or maybe not, I don’t know. What I’m trying to tell you is this, Gary: Unless she’s standing beside you right this second, there’s no way at all for me to communicate with her. ”

He dropped the tooth container into his satchel and clutched the picture with both hands. “She isn’t, then? She’s not here with me?”

I could have fed him a line about how she was always with hi

m in his heart, but such a trite sentiment would have only made us both angry. He wanted to know if his daughter was with him still—in a literal, if intangible, sense. We both knew the answer already, but someone had to say it out loud. That was the real reason he’d tracked me down.

I tried to say it gently. “If Casey were still here and she knew you were trying to reach her, she’d stay close to you. She was a daddy’s girl, right?” It was an easy guess.

“Oh yes. ” He was crying now, fat and quiet tears.

I pushed my napkin against his knuckles, and he took it. “And if she needed something, or if she was in some kind of trouble, you’d be the go-to guy, wouldn’t you?”

He pressed the napkin to his face and bobbed his head.