Greetings from the Flipside (16 page)

I nod, but I really have no idea what's going on.

“You?” Pearl asks. “Out?”

“As in out-out?” Ruby asks.

He holds the door open as it starts to shut. “While we're gone, draw whatever you can think of that ties to love. Hearts. Flowers. Sunsets.”

“Regrettable tattoos,” I add, accidentally out loud.

Suddenly Candy steps right in front of Pearl and Ruby. Pink again. I'm guessing it's a thing with her.

“You're still dead, girl.”

“I'm working on it.”

“No paycheck until then.”

“What does a dead person need money for?” I try a laugh but it comes out sounding like a small critter dying.

Jake looks at me as we ride down. “Dead?”

“Small mix-up at the Social Security office.”

“Ah. I had my identity stolen once.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. By a florist.”

We step into the lobby and outdoors. The autumn sun feels good, just warm enough to be comfortable. And then I hear it. It feels like claws against a chalkboard.

Meow.

Below me, the same four cats I couldn't shake a few days ago are back, moving in and out of my stride as I try to walk. Jake notices and smiles. “I love cats.”

“Must be a family thing,” I say.

“You don't?”

“Oh . . . they're so . . . loyal.” I trip over one of them and Jake catches me.

“They seem to like you.” He watches over his shoulder as they continue to trail us.

I change the subject. “So. You've never been out of the office?”

“They exaggerate. Of course I go out.”

We walk by a homeless man I hardly notice. But Jake stops. I watch him pull out a card and hand it to the man. As the cats circle me (and not the homeless dude? seriously?), I vow to hold my tongue, but this is my point. A card? To a homeless man? I mean, what good is that going to do him? I mean,
The Lord will keep you and make His face shine upon you?

The dude needs a place to eat and sleep and an acknowledgment that—

The man opens the card and a ten-dollar bill falls out. Jake smiles warmly at him and continues walking. I do, too, but I can't help but glance over my shoulder. The man has the money in one hand and is reading the card in the other. He smiles at something. I think there is a rainbow on the outside of the card, as best as I can tell. He closes it and stares at it.

“We are going to come up with something fresh for Valentine's Day.”

“To go with hearts, flowers, sunsets . . .”

“I don't know what I've been doing wrong.” He walks fast when he talks. I try to keep up. The cats even look drained. “Maybe I've been forgetting to connect with people.”

Ah hah! “I think you're on to something, Jake.”

He stops, turns to me. The cats come to a screeching halt, watching us. “We'll hit every romantic hot spot in the city.”

“Oh, uh . . .” It all comes back to me at once, every romantic place Sam and I ever went. I blink, trying to shake all the images. Restaurants. The river. The barbecue pit (a risky one but it was so fun). Jazz concerts. A balloon ride.

“And we're starting with the Empire State Building!”

He hands me a note pad and pen.

If we weren't outside, I'd rush to the bathroom.

* * * *

I realize I have no scientific evidence for this, but I think mothers have a special power over daughters. It comes in a lot of different forms, but perhaps the root of it stems from the same place—regret from their own lives.

It's like they can will things on their daughters that they wished for themselves. My mother—as strange as she is—is no exception. She and my father met on a farm, but I always suspected she wished she had a better story to tell.

Jake is asking me if I'm afraid of heights. Apparently I'm turning white and making tiny gasping noises that sound as if air is leaking from my belly button. No, it's not the height I'm afraid of.

It's the irony.

Listen, I'm a fan of irony. And it comes in many forms. Verbal irony is sarcasm. I've got hundreds of cards based solely on verbal irony. It's probably way overused in my life.

There's dramatic irony, when a reader understands more about the events of a story than a character. Obviously that has nothing to do with me, but thought I'd throw it in there.

Then there is situational irony. That's what I'm knee-deep in right now. Situational irony is when what actually happens is the opposite of what is expected. To be blunt, I was not expecting to be at the Empire State Building writing love cards.

There's also a lesser-known irony—let's call it the crazy-cousin-nobody-invites-to-the-dinner-parties: cosmic irony. For me, that's the line between human desires and the harsh realities of real life. It's when you feel like you have control over your life when in fact you really don't. Call it God or Fate or whatever you will, but the fact of the matter is, there's an influence far beyond what you can perceive.

That's the kind of irony to avoid. When it comes knocking, lock the doors and windows and hide.

It's also generally helpful to avoid expectations at all costs.

I have learned this the hard way.

We board the elevator and zoom to the top of the Empire State Building. The elevator doors open. Everyone exits but me. I peek out. I'm not sure what I'm looking for or hoping not to see. Well, I guess I'm partly hoping against a cute guy looking for a girl to ask out. But I notice nothing but couples. Lots of them. I quickly follow Jake.

“Let's watch these people, imagine what they'd like to hear through a card.”

We both spot a couple nearby holding hands and gazing out at New York City.

“What do they need to hear?” I ask him.

“Write this down,” he says. And then he kind of slips into a weird trance. He stares forward, his eyes a little more open than normal, and he goes monotone on me. “‘Your hand is mine to hold for years. I'll never leave, through smiles or tears. And when mountains move our way—together we'll climb each step, each day.'” He turns to me, wistfully. His expression drops. “You're not writing.”

“You're not serious,” I say, but instantly I know otherwise. “You're serious? You want me to use precious and limited company ink in the midst of unpredictable finances to write that down?”

I bite down on the pen because instantly I know I have hurt him. Ugh. Why do I have to open my mouth so much, say exactly what's on my mind?

“You really don't like it, do you?” He gazes at me with eyes so vulnerable I'm afraid that they might fall right out of their sockets. I've already got a bloody emotional mess on my hands. I don't need this.

“Jake, no . . . seriously, I do . . . I love mountains . . . it's just—”

“You don't have to feign.”

But I can't help it, I continue to gush out a heck of a backpedal. “Not many people can rhyme on cue. And you . . . you have the biggest heart. It's the clue department that needs a defibrillator.” Wow. That didn't come out right. “Look, not every guy is ready to climb that mountain with a girl. Even if he buys her the card that says he will.”

I've said too much. I know he can see it in my eyes. There is a place deep in my heart where that is true and it's just come right out in my words. I'm forced to divert. “Ah . . . yeah, see that couple over there?”

Jake looks.

A girl and a guy, in their twenties, stand nearby. They appear to be feuding. I try a playful approach. “Go recite what you think they need to hear in a card. See how they respond. If it works, I'll give you a dollar.”

He smiled a little. “A whole dollar?” He pretends to think. “Hmm. You're on.”

Wow. Didn't see that coming. I was just trying to avoid a conversation about who didn't climb what mountain in my life. But I like the bet. Jake needs to see in real time what happens when he spouts off one of his poems, one of his grand proclamations of love.

He strolls over. I can hear the guy's voice rising as the couple argues. “I'm not trying to be insensitive. I just can't win with you!”

Jake approaches. I want to duck and hide behind something, but the only thing available is an elderly couple I'm bound to spook if I huddle at their legs.

“Excuse me,” Jake says.

The couple stops arguing, looks at him, both with sour and pinched expressions.

Jake is very casual, not the least bit nervous. “If there were a card shop up here, he'd buy one for you that expresses his love.”

They glance at each other. I know they're probably expecting him to pull out flowers to sell.

“This place symbolizes your love,” Jake continues.

“Oh brother . . .” I grumble. This is going to be disastrous.

“Its height. Its strength.” Jake is gesturing like this is Shakespeare. “Its firm structure to draw on in times of trouble.” He looks at them both. “Because the value of your love is worth the pain of challenging times.”

I hang my head. Half of that didn't even make sense. Besides, where was the rhyme? I glance up, just in time to see the guy say, “Yeah. What he said.”

The girl gazes at him. “Really?” She reaches out and embraces him. They hold each other—and right behind them is Jake, smiling at me.

I grab him while we have a chance and whisk him to the other side of the deck. Jake is still smiling. He sticks out his hand.

“Fine,” I grumble. I dig in my pocket for a buck, probably close to my last, and slap it in his hand. “I think it was a lucky break. I mean, I can't believe they fell for that. Height? Structure? It sounded like an architectural tour.”

Jake continues walking. I catch up with him. We stroll along the side of the deck where we can see the view. “I'll admit . . . I can be resistant to change. But that back there, it's shown me something. It's shown me what we need for Valentine's Day.”

“Break-up cards,” I say.

“Exactly,” he says.

“Really?”

“Yes! Yes! Make-up cards!”

“I said
break-up
cards.”

“I thought you said make-up.”

I sigh. I thought for a moment we were on the same wavelength but we weren't even on the right frequency.

“Make-up cards . . . ?”

“Because people do fight. Case in point back there.”

“No kidding. But you're overlooking someone.”

“Who?”

“The one without a valentine. The one whose idiot boyfriend chose to end their relationship.”

“I can see this is personal,” he says, stopping to look at me.

“It's an example. I don't even have a boyfriend.” Ugh. I think I've just made his point.

“I like where you're going with this . . . we can write cards for them about how their true love is on the way!”

“That's exactly what I
wasn't
thinking.” Oh my goodness, this guy is totally not getting it.

Suddenly we hear a burst of emotion. We turn and there is a woman, maybe thirty, by herself. She is tearing a photograph. Ripping it to shreds. Letting the paper fly into the wind, tossing the rest off the edge. Tears are streaming down her face.

Jake glances at me and I shrug. “I dare you.”

He doesn't even hesitate. He walks next to her. This time I don't even try to hide. I want to see this whole thing play out. Jake gently pats her shoulder. She looks at him, embarrassed but seemingly comforted that someone sees her pain. She smiles a little, shakes her head, wipes away the tears.

“There's another out there for you. Do not lose hope, the future will bring a love that's real. Because God sets the lonely in families.”

“Huh?” she says.

Wait, that was me.

The woman's expression drops right there in front of him. It's so dramatic that Jake actually takes a step back. I think that's probably a good idea.

“The
last
thing I need is someone shoving me toward someone new! If I didn't think he was the best, I wouldn't have been with him in the first place! Jerk!”

It's unclear who the jerk is here . . . Jake or the boyfriend . . . but she's made her point and she stalks off.

Five seconds later Jake is slapping the dollar bill back into my hand.

“One to one.” I smile.

“This isn't over.”

We walk again. “Jake, do you seriously believe what you told her? That it's really as simple as someone better coming along?”

“The foundation of our company, when my father built it, was for the purpose of encouraging people . . . that in times of pain, something good will come of it.”

I glance at him. “Do your cards come with a money-back guarantee?”

“It's not like we came up with that message on our own. It's in the Bible.”

“And you believe the Bible?”

“I do. My dad, he never wavered, no matter what was going on in our lives or with the company. He always believed something good would come, even in the midst of some tough circumstances. It's been hard since he retired because my brother doesn't exactly . . . believe. But Dad put him at the helm. My dad sees the good in everything and everyone . . .”

I stop. Something gets me, kind of strikes right into my heart. I'm taken by surprise. I hadn't really felt my heart do much of anything lately.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it's just . . . I don't know. I wish I could be like you, trusting that everything will be okay.”

He touches my arm. “What's not okay for you right now, Hope?”

I look up at him. I know my eyes are shiny with emotion. But I'm tempted . . . so tempted to spill everything.

And then, suddenly, I can't.

I start walking again. “Well, for one thing, you heard Candy. I'm still dead according to the government. Until I'm alive, you can't pay me.” I glance at my watch. “I need to get to the Social Security office.”