Meridian. Part 31

"No secrets. Together. You and me."

"Together," I repeated, finding his lips with my own. Soft and firm, the kiss pulled and tugged all over my body. We fit together like we'd done this a million times before. I tasted tomorrow on his lips.

We ended the kiss and held each other until we both said, "Let's get this show on the road."

Almost in unison.

Custos yipped at us as we packed up the gear, cleaned up our garbage, and put the mats and blankets away. I knew that if we were ever here again we would find house sitters, as nature moved back to fill in the s.p.a.ces. I hefted the journal and bank records, leaving most of my clothes and magazines behind for the squirrels and the spiders to enjoy.

"Got it all?" Tens left his wooden creatures, but tucked the brown sweater I'd worn the first night into his bag.

I contemplated the cave one last time. "I need to say goodbye to Auntie."

"I know. We'll be down there before sunset if we leave now." Tens gripped my hand and tugged me along.

The forest was full of animals enjoying the spring weather in winter. We saw deer and elk, lots of birds, and a few bunnies. Custos never went far from our sides, as if she knew' our time in these woods was nearing an end.

I smelled the house long before we broke through the trees and saw its burnt skeleton collapsed, as if it'd heaved one last sigh and given up the fight. We picked through the debris, searching for anything that might be salvaged. I collected a few pieces of china, a melted and misshapen silver fork. Charles's paintings were gone and so were the photographs. It occurred to me that I didn't have a photo of Auntie, and my heart broke a little.

The rumble of tires had us ducking for cover behind the melted hulk of what used to be the Land Rover.

"That's Jasper's truck," Tens whispered in my ear.

I recognized Sarah, his granddaughter, as she turned off the ignition and slid out of the driver's seat. I moved out to greet her. "Sarah."

178.

"Meridian, I'm so glad you're okay."

ani "How'd you know to find us?" Tens stepped out.

*"You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you." Sarah shrugged. "I thought you might have a use for this truck. My granddaddy came to me last night in my sleep. He was reading the newspaper with a cigar and a cup of mud he called coffee."

Her expression grew wistful with recollection. "That was his routine, every day of my life, and I suspect most of his. He'd grab the paper before the c.o.c.k crowed and see what he'd missed while he slept." She shook the memory from her eyes, "Anyway, he was reading today's New York Times, and he pointed at the date. He didn't speak, and for the longest time I just sat at the table with him while he read the paper and drank his coffee.

"Finally, he ended with the crossword. He was one of those rare people who did it in pen and always finished it. Only this time he just did one word, one line of it, and shoved it across the table at me. I read your name in the blocks. He nodded and then the dream evaporated. I figured you needed to see today's paper, that there's something in it for you."

She held out a neatly folded copy of the Times along with a Colorado keychain.

"Here are the keys to his pickup truck. It's not pretty but it's got a lot of life left in it, and after seeing the Rover, I figured maybe you could use the wheels. Lord knows, I don't need to haul hay in New York." Sarah laughed and we both smiled with her.

"You call me if you ever get up that way. You've got a place to stay and food to eat." She stuck out her hand to Tens, who shook it.

I hugged her. I knew in that moment there were more good people in the world than just the Portalsos. People who knew there was more to life than what they could easily explain and who were willing to trust their hearts and their instincts.

Without another word. Sarah started walking back down the road.

"Wait, don't you need a ride?" I called.

"Nah, the walking is good for me. It's only a couple of miles, give or take, if you know how the crows do it." She waved and went on her way.

Tens put his arms around me and I leaned back against him.

"What now?" I asked.

"I think you should read the paper. See what Jasper had in mind."

I spread out the pages, but it wasn't until the Across the Nation section that I saw it. "Look!"

I hauled Tens over. "Sheesh, that's a headline." He read it out loud. "Girl and cat -angels of death in nursing home."

"You think maybe?"

"I think it's the best place to start."

179.

I nodded. "What do we do with Custos? Wouldn't she want to go with us? She can't stay ani here alone." My heart broke at the thought of leaving her behind.

*"Turn around. Meridian. I don't think that's gonna be a problem."

Custos had already launched herself into the bed of the truck and settled down against the wheel well in the back.

"Road trip?"

"Where are we headed?"

"Says this nursing home is in Indianapolis."

"Then I guess that's where we're headed. How are you at reading a map?"

"Pa.s.sable." I giggled, but sobered as the smell of charcoal and burnt plastic met my nose. I surveyed the house's corpse one more time. "You think we'll be back?"

"Maybe. Seems to me you have a house to rebuild someday."

"We. We have a house to rebuild." I linked my fingers with his.

"We."

The breeze blew through my hair as we headed down the highway. The sun warmed my bare toes on the dashboard and my heart finally felt like it was the right size for my chest.

Glenn Miller's "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" played on the radio and I could almost see Auntie sitting between Tens and me, smiling and tapping her toes. The world went on, but it was changed. The sunset in the distance made me tear up a bit. "It's rising on someone else right now."

"Maybe another Fenestra?" Tens asked.

"Maybe another Protector," I answered.

Maybe another sister. Knowing I wouldn't see my family soon, my heart sang a sad song.

Not while I knew the Nocti were capable of hunting them. I wouldn't put them in danger.

The most glorious colors unfolded in pinks and oranges across the sky as we drove east.

"What's the date?"

"Why?"' Tens signaled and we drove onto the interstate, no sign of the FBI or the sheriff ahead of or behind us. "The sixth. I guess."

"Epiphany?" Not the new beginning Perimo envisioned for me, but one I'd do a hundred times over.

I extracted a jar of teal nail polish from the backpack at my feet and eyed my bare toes. "I've been meaning to do this for weeks now."

180ani "Next you're going to dye your hair again."

*"Maybe." I was thinking blond. "Aren't you hungry?" I asked.

"Aren't you?" he answered, teasing me. I was gaining inches and pounds. Starting to look like a healthy, well-fed sixteen-year-old.

"As a matter of fact..." His chuckles joined mine and he turned the music up, tapping along with it on the steering wheel. In the back of the cab Custos let out a glorified howl. I'd swear Auntie's and Charles's laughter tickled along the breeze with just a hint of rose.

March 2009.

Each st.i.tch was a heartbeat, a breath, each seam an experience, a lesson learned. Each piece of fabric was a feeling, a like, a dislike, pain, happiness, Combined, they build a life, a picture of a life anyway, in bits and pieces. Like memories, they have no linear logic, but they resonate. You can tell a lot about a person by the quilt Auntie made for them after they died.

Some had big blocks of bright colors, as if they marked the big moments but forgot to pay attention to the clock ticks in between. Some were a kaleidoscope of sc.r.a.ps, a riot of shapes and textures, as if those who inspired the quilts packed more life into each breath than most people do in a year.

My Auntie was a quiltmaker. I don't know what I am yet, or whom I'll find on my journey.

I do know this: the Hollywood idea of death as painless and quick is a complete and utter lie. Those are the lucky ones, the souls. .h.i.t and transitioned before they are even aware of it.

But mostly, it's a process. Long and drawn-out and difficult. It can be years, months, weeks, but rarely is death a light switch. I stand at the end of that process. If death were easy, the balance in the universe would mean birth was just as simple, and any mother will tell you pregnancy and birth are complicated, painful processes. Except for the lucky ones, those few.

I don't bring death, just as obstetricians don't bring life. We simply are around it a lot.

Them life, me death.

You don't have any idea how scary it is to see that expression come over someone, to see their eyes widen fractionally, to see the echoes of lives on their faces. To know who their soul mate is, know their child's middle name. Each soul that pa.s.ses through leaves a part of itself behind. I feel the emotions and the memories of each life I escort. I recognize the calls of certain tree frogs as friends and family. I know the howl of a sibling coyote. I recognize addresses and phone numbers. They're just bits and pieces of emotion, but I carry them.

With each day and each soul, I carry more. Some day soon I'll have to find a way to let them go, but I am not a quilter.

No living creature sees us as pure light until they are ready to transition their energy. Light, heat, life, and movement are all energy. When the body dies, the energy lives on. That energy must go somewhere. It's a universal law. We are conduits. We move that energy by being alive, by being near transitional energy. By walking down the street or running a marathon, or going on a trip. We are living, breathing windows for heaven. To put it 181an plainly, we are born so they - so you- can die well and be at peace.

i.

Pag.

My name is Meridian Sozu. I am a Fenestra. I have always shared my world with the dead, and the soon-to-be dead. But I really didn't understand what that meant until the first day of my sixteenth year, my soph.o.m.ore year of high school. You see, while we may be born to human mothers, we are taught as well. To understand the gravity and the glory of our existence. I am still learning and still looking.

I wish you luck with your death, but just in case, I , or one of my sisters, will be on the lookout for you. I'll be your window. And you'll rise.

Meridian Sozu, b. 1992.

end.