Hereafter

“I’m not so sure about that one,” I answered cautiously. “I haven’t had a lot of experience with that.”

“Hmm.” Joshua pondered my response briefly. I expected some kind of follow-up question, one that would certainly be harder to answer; but he asked me something entirely different.

“Just out of curiosity—why did you ask me what you look like? When we were on the bridge yesterday.”

I wasn’t prepared for that question, either. I covered my mouth with one hand. “God, Joshua, do I really have to answer this one?” My words came out muffled, and dripping with embarrassment. But he just stared at me expectantly, so I sighed and dropped my hand. “I guess it’s because I have no idea what I look like.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“Um, yeah.”

“No reflection?”

“No, not that I’ve ever seen. I mean, I can see some of myself without a mirror.” I gestured down at my clothes and then up at my hair. “I just can’t remember what my face looks like. I think I sort of … forgot.”

“Wow,” he breathed.

“I know.” I sighed again. “Incredibly embarrassing, right?”

Joshua didn’t answer me. Instead, he sat in complete, motionless silence, thinking who knows what. I was too mortified to speak, and he was staring at me in an intent way that, of course, unnerved me further.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I wasn’t lying yesterday when I said you’re beautiful.”

Wow.

“Oh,” I said aloud, and suddenly found something very interesting to study on the filmy, tulle overlay of my skirt. I spared a quick glance up at him and found him grinning at me.

“Should I go on?” he asked.

I could swear I heard an almost playful tone in his question. I shrugged as casually as possible, considering I simultaneously wanted to jump up and down while giggling and disappear into a hole in the earth.

“Your hair, it’s dark brown and wavy,” he said nonchalantly, as if he were cataloging the inventory of a store. “You’re pale, but you’ve got some freckles on your nose. Your eyes are really green, like the color of the leaves. And your mouth … well, your mouth is … pretty.”

If I could have blushed, I would have.

“Oh,” I repeated. One syllable seemed to be all I could muster right now. Joshua studied my face and, possibly seeing my discomfort, grinned.

“Now, your dress makes an interesting statement,” he teased.

I sniffed, trying not to feel wounded. “So, let me get this straight: I have a pretty mouth and an ugly dress? I’ll tell you what—if you can find me the ghosts of someone’s tank top and cutoffs, I’ll get right into them, I swear.”

Joshua grinned wider and shook his head. “No, the dress isn’t ugly.” He gave my figure a quick scan of appraisal and then added, “Far from it, actually.”

“Oh,” I said again. My eyes dropped right back down to my dress. Once more I wished it covered a bit more of my skin. I wondered what kind of girl I’d been to pick out a showy outfit like this: someone bold and confident; someone flashy and mean?

Joshua, however, obviously wasn’t as bothered by my clothing as I was. He chuckled quietly and leaned back against the table with his arms folded across his chest. We sat that way for a while, him in a casually amused pose and me with my eyes glued once more to my skirt. The issue of whether or not I wore a sexy dress was the least of our worries, and I knew it.

Eventually, Joshua leaned forward again.

“So what else should I know about you?”

I couldn’t seem to pull my eyes away from my skirt. “Well, how about this: I can’t feel anything I touch. Except you, apparently.”

“What? You can’t feel anything?”

“Nope. Not this bench, those trees—nothing. I can’t even open doors.”

“But what about people? I mean, you and I obviously—”

“I know,” I interrupted. “I have no idea how to explain what just happened between us. You’re the first person I’ve ever tried to touch, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to feel anyone else. Not like … well, you and me, anyway.”

“Any guesses as to why that is?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s like what I said earlier, about you being able to see me. Since you were dead for a little while, maybe you can see ghosts and you can sort of touch them. And maybe a connection like that can wake up a ghost’s senses, too. At least a little.”

“Maybe,” he mused. After a few seconds he added, “That’s kind of a sad statement on the afterlife, though, isn’t it? That you can’t feel anything unless someone else dies, too?”

I nodded vigorously, still staring at my dress. Once again Joshua didn’t respond but instead fell into a thoughtful silence. Eventually, I peeked up at him, just in time to see what I thought might be a rare dark look pass over his face. It stung me, that look—as if Joshua might have finally reached the crucial moment when he realized how crazy all of this really was. But instead, he just shook his head and gave me a sympathetic smile.

“You know, Amelia, being dead must really … suck.”

I barked out a surprised laugh. “Yes, Joshua. It does, in fact, suck.”

We chuckled together. In our laughs, I could hear the strange mix of relief and tension. Then Joshua furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed his hands together.

“So ….”

He dragged the word out awkwardly. He sounded cautious now, maybe even afraid to continue. From the tone of his voice, it seemed as though he wanted to ask me something but wasn’t sure how to go about it. I met his eyes and nodded in encouragement.

“Whatever you want to say, Joshua, just say it.”

He cleared his throat and then blurted out the question. “How long have you been dead?”

I frowned, trying to form an explanation that wasn’t scary. “I’m not sure about that one, either. A while, I think. There was a lot of aimless wandering for an awfully long time. I’ve found it pretty hard to keep track. I’d have to guess it’s been … years? At the very least.”

Letting out a low whistle, Joshua muttered the word “years” under his breath.

“At the very least,” I repeated.

“And you really can’t remember anything?” He sounded skeptical again.

“Nope. Well, nothing but my name.”

“Not where you grew up? Not who you parents were?”

“No.”

My voice cracked a little with that answer. I hadn’t thought about that until now—the fact that I’d probably had a family, once. A family I’d loved, or one I didn’t even want to remember? Maybe, like the information on my tombstone, the details of my former home life were better left a mystery?