The Color of Heaven (21 page)

“Am I dead?” I asked.

“No. You’re in the hospital right now. That’s why your chest hurts. They’re defibril ating you.”

I massaged my heart again with the heel of my hand and glanced al around. “So I’m not real y
here
.”

“Yes, you are.”

More than a little confused, I squinted at him. “Where is
here
exactly? Am I in heaven?”

He shook his head. “No. Heaven’s that way.” He pointed toward the sky. “Closer to the blue.”

I looked up. “I see.”

And I did see. It was al so exquisite and breathtaking, the way the clouds rol ed majestical y before my eyes.

As a soft wave of understanding slowly rose within me, washing away al the panic and despair, I regarded my father affectionately in the bright

sunshine.

“Walk with me,” he said, and I fol owed.

Suddenly, we were strol ing on a sandy beach, marveling at the thunder of the surf and the cries of the seabirds overhead. A strong, salty breeze

cooled my cheeks.

“Megan told me to go back,” I said, pushing a windblown lock of hair behind my ear. “But I’m not sure I want to. Being with her is al that matters to me. I think I’d rather stay here with her, and get to know
you
.”

“Trust me,” he said with a charismatic smile, “there wil be plenty of time for that. It’s my duty as your father to tel you that you stil have work to do.

You’re not done yet.”

“No?” I looked out at the water, then hopped over a foamy wave that slid up the beach and nearly soaked my feet.

My father stopped walking and met my gaze. “There are stil some things you need to work out, Sophie. There are people you need to love for a

little while longer.”

“My dad,” I said, feeling a rush of emotion in my heart. “
Peter
.”

He nodded, and we started walking again.

“There are others, too,” he told me. “Don’t give up hope. You never know what bril iant accomplishments might be in your future.”

I nudged him with my elbow. “Do
you
know what those accomplishments are?”

He chuckled. “I know certain possibilities, because I’ve been watching your life, but only you can make them happen. You just need to recognize

inspiration when it strikes. And be brave. Don’t lose faith in the good things, even when life is tough. The good things come in waves, along with the bad.”

I looked out at the water again as I considered his advice. “Wel , after al of this – losing my daughter, my husband, crashing my car and dying – I

can’t imagine what else could be worse. Surely things can only get better from here.”

“There, you see?” he said with a smile. “If you got through al this, you can get through anything. You’re stronger than you think.”

I linked my arm through his. “I’m starting to believe you. The story Mom told me, about you and her… It was beautiful. It made me remember what it

feels like to be in love, and to feel inspired.”

In a quiet flash, we were standing outside the hospital doors.

“Why didn’t I know what was happening to me?” I asked. “Why didn’t I know that Mom was dead, and that this wasn’t real?”

“What do
you
think?”

I pondered it. “I was so angry with her for al those years. I needed to blame her for leaving us, because it was easier to be angry with her than it was to miss her. But al I ever wanted was to see her again and ask the questions she left unanswered – questions that were burning inside me. And I

wanted to be with Megan.”

“So you came here,” he said, “but you didn’t know where here was. It was too much for you to ful y comprehend, that’s al . It’s not your fault. Death is…
strange
.”

I took a deep breath. “I didn’t want to go back to my body, I know that much. Not after seeing Megan in the lake, which proved to me that there was

something more beyond what we know. And I wanted so badly to see my mom again.”

“Grief is difficult. You were only fourteen when she died, and your father took it hard. He packed al of you up and moved you to Augusta.

Remember?”

I nodded.

“That’s because your dad loved your mom very much, and it was hard for him. You should to talk to him about it.” Matt looked through the reflections

in the glass doors. “Be good to him, okay? He’s had it rough, too. You know how it feels to lose someone you love.”

I fought back tears and nodded. “Thank you.”

Rising up on my toes, I kissed him on the cheek. The sliding glass doors opened, and I stepped inside.

I turned back to look at him one last time, and he waved at me. His eyes were exactly the way Mom described them – as blue as the sea.

“See you around,” I said, lifting a hand to wave good-bye.

His baby blues glimmered. “Definitely.”

A light appeared behind him – a bril iant, dazzling light, more calming and loving than any words can possibly describe – and everything made

sense to me as I watched him back into it.

I was no longer afraid, and I knew that everything would work out.

A heavy mist poured in through the open doors and the next thing I knew, I was lying flat on my back, listening to the steady beep of a heart monitor, while I blinked up at a clean white ceiling.

My lips cracked with dryness as I opened my mouth to speak. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck, and couldn’t form words.

Turning my head slightly on the pil ow, I glanced up at two IV bags – one was clear and one was yel ow – each dripping fluid into a tube that fed into my arm.

Suddenly, Dad’s face appeared in front of me. Not the ghost of my biological father. This was Peter, the man who had raised me and loved me as

his own.

Though I could not yet move, I felt a tremendous surge of joy skitter through my veins. I was alive, and my father was here, sitting at my bedside.

He touched his forehead to my shoulder and broke down in a fit of weeping.

I realized I had never seen him cry before, not even when Mom died. He had always worked so hard to be strong for us.

Patiently, I waited for him to compose himself. He lifted his head, wiped a sleeve across his whole face, then bolted for the door. “Nurse! Someone!

My daughter’s awake!”

Two nurses came running into the room. One of them checked the heart and oxygen monitors, while the other leaned over me. “Hel o Sophie,” she

said. “Welcome back. Can you hear me?”

I managed to nod my head.

“That’s good. Can you blink your eyes for me?”

I did that, too.

“Excel ent,” she said. “Now squeeze my hand. Very good. What about your toes? Can you wiggle them for me?”

I was able to do al the things she asked.

But she had one more question. “Do you know who I am?”

I shook my head.
No
. I’d never seen her before in my life.

“I’m your nurse, Alice. Do you know who this man is?” She pointed at Dad, who was standing at the foot of the bed.

I worked very hard to move my lips and tongue, to take in enough air in order to push the words out – words I wanted very much to say out loud.

When I final y spoke, I regarded him steadily. “
He’s my father
.”

There was a col ective sigh of relief from everyone in the room. “She seems good,” Alice said cheerful y, patting Dad on the shoulder. “This is

wonderful.”

He let out a tiny sob, mixed with laughter. “Yes.”

“She’l be groggy for a little while, but that’s normal. I’l send for the doctor and be back in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.”

He sat down next to me and took hold of my hand.

“How did you get here so fast?” My voice was weak. “Did you drive al the way from Augusta?”

“Yes, I came right away, as soon as Jen cal ed and told me what happened. But you’ve been in a coma for a week, Sophie.”

I blinked in surprise. “A week?”

“Yes. Do you remember anything? Do you know what happened to you?”

I stared uncertainly into his worried eyes. “I had a car accident.”

But there was so much more…

“The driver behind you said you swerved to avoid hitting a deer. Do you remember that?”

I nodded. “My car rol ed down a steep bank and landed on a frozen lake.”

“That’s right. The driver behind you cal ed for help.”

I began to wonder if it was al a dream. A week-long coma would have provided more than enough time for the heavenly invention of elaborate

scenarios about my dead mother and her tragic love life before I was born.

“Did I die?” I bluntly asked.

Dad hesitated, then answered my question. “Yes, Sophie, and it’s a miracle that they were able to bring you back. A
miracle
.”

My heart began to race. I thought back to the accident and everything I had witnessed from a place outside my body, and needed to know what

real y happened.

“I drowned, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but you were hypothermic, thank God. That’s the only reason they were able to save you. They brought you here in an ambulance and were

able to resuscitate you after about forty minutes. Can you believe that, Sophie? Forty minutes. And here you are.”

I struggled to get my bearings, for this was al so strange and inconceivable. “I guess a lot can happen in forty minutes.” I wasn’t sure if I should tel him what I’d experienced during that time – or what I
think
I experienced. I stil wasn’t completely certain.

“Could I have a drink of water?” I asked. My mouth was stil dry, and my head was throbbing.

He went to the bathroom and ran the tap, then returned with a paper cup and a straw which he held to my lips. I lifted my head to take a smal drink, and relaxed back down on the pil ow.

“Thank you.” Feeling tired al of a sudden, I closed my eyes.

Megan’s image – standing in the doorway of my mother’s house –appeared in my mind.
I’m okay here
, she had said to me.
Nanny’s taking good
care of me
.

An unexpected sense of calm moved over me, and I began to believe that I real y had traveled to heaven – or someplace between here and there.

Opening my eyes, I glanced up at my father. “I’m glad you’re here. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course I’m here,” he replied, almost laughing as he sat back down. “I know I haven’t been the best father to you, Sophie, but I couldn’t bear it if I lost you. You and Jen… You’re al I have.

I squeezed his hand. “But you
were
the best father,” I told him. “And it was my fault, too, because I wasn’t the best daughter. I was rebel ious and headstrong and I just think… after Mom died… you and I became disconnected.”

He bowed his head and nodded.

“Why didn’t we ever talk about her?” I asked.

He looked away and mul ed over the question for a moment. “It hurt too much, I guess, so I thought it would be better not to.” He met my gaze. “And I blamed myself for what happened to her. I thought everything was my fault, and I didn’t want to admit that to you and Jen. I was afraid you’d hate

me.”

“How could it have been your fault? It was a plane crash.”

He sighed heavily. “We argued about her leaving. She wanted to drive to Chicago, but that meant she’d be gone for a week. I didn’t want her to go

– I never did – so she compromised that time by saying she’d fly and be back in twenty-four hours.”

I swal owed uneasily. No wonder he had withdrawn from us after the accident. He had been harboring this guilt for a very long time.

“Tel me more about that,” I said, encouraging him to continue. “I never understood why she wanted to go to Chicago by herself al those times. For

years afterward, I thought she must have been having an affair. I heard you arguing about it. I knew those trips of hers pul ed you apart.” I paused.

“But she wasn’t having an affair, was she?”

“No.”

He wouldn’t look at me, so I laid my hand on his cheek and spoke softly. “It’s okay, Dad. You can tel me the truth now. I’m a grown-up. I can take it.”

Stil , he wouldn’t answer me. He kept his eyes lowered, so I revealed the truth for him.

“I’m not your real daughter, am I?”

He swal owed hard and shook his head.

I felt a tremendous sense of relief.

“I always knew Mom was pregnant when you married her,” I said, “but she was pregnant by someone
else
, wasn’t she?”

At last, his watery eyes lifted, and he gazed at me with apology and remorse. “I know how it must seem to you, Sophie, but it wasn’t like that. Your

mother loved that man very much and she would have married him, but he died, sweetheart. That’s why she went to Chicago every year in

November. To visit his grave. I’m sorry. I should have told you a long time ago.”

“It’s okay, Dad.” I squeezed his hand. “I’m just glad to know it now. And what you did for Mom – the way you loved her al those years, and took care of us… You were her hero, and you’re mine, too. You’l always be my hero.”

He stood to gather me into his arms, and told me that he loved me.

Whatever disconnection existed between us in the past began to fal away. I felt, deep in my heart, that I understood him now. I felt very close to him.

“Does Jen know that we’re half-sisters?” I careful y asked, as Dad sat down again.

“No. I never told anyone.”

“Wel , I think we should tel her. I know she’l understand when she hears the whole story.”

He continued to hold my hand, then suddenly he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You don’t want me to tel her?”

“It’s not that. I’m just confused. I don’t understand something.” He scrutinized my face.

“What?”

“How did you know you died? Because you never regained consciousness. Or did you?

I wet my lips and contemplated how best to answer the question.

“I’m not real y sure you’d believe it if I told you. I stil don’t quite believe it myself.”

“Try me.”

For a few seconds, I stared at him and considered peddling backwards over my words. I could tel him that I did wake briefly, and one of the nurses