Greetings From The Flipside Part 11

Suddenly they round the corner. I can't even begin to pretend I wasn't eavesdropping. And I immediately recognize the other voice as the guy I ran into in the men's bathroom. Everett. His frustrated expression brightens as he sees me.

"Well, well, well. Who do have we here?"

"This is Landon. My new temporary a.s.sistant," Jake says, introducing me as enthusiastically as one might mention an upcoming colon screening.

Everett grins at me. "L-l-l-andon."

Eck. Not liking what he's doing with the Ls there.

Jake continues. "This is my brother, Everett, C.E.O. of Heaven Sent."

"C.E. . . . oh . . ." I probably would've gulped except I'm frozen with embarra.s.sment. "Good to meet you, Everett." It's really more of a squeak.

"Some people call me Sam."

I glance at Jake and he is glancing at Everett like, No they don't . . .

I clear my throat, stand at my desk, press my palms against it. "Boys, what's it going to take for you guys not to sell?"

"Simple. How about cards people want to buy?" Everett says.

"People are buying our cards," Jake says.

"Not like they used to. What do you think of our cards, Landon?"

Sometimes sudden bursts of sweat also come with painful p.r.i.c.kles. I feel like I'm being stabbed by my own sweat beads. "Ah, um . . . I . . ." I glance at Jake. He looks like one of those puppy dogs on the cover of their cards.

"Honestly. Gut reaction," Everett says.

Gut. Okay. I measure each word that comes out. "One thing I noticed . . . they're great, you know. Kittens. So cute. Rock on, kittens. But what if we looked at adding a little . . . humor?"

Like "Pop Goes the Weasel," Ruby's head shoots up over her cubicle at the word kitten. Pearl's follows. They're the sisters. They have plaques of themselves on four different walls.

I glance at Jake. He looks wounded. Uncomfortable. He's staring at the ground. But I recognize my moment-I mean, it's practically begging me to pitch. I turn to Everett. "A lot of these cards talk about the future, but it's a place people haven't made it to yet. What if we write a card line that addresses the now? Where someone is at this moment? But use humor to help them through it?"

Everett has dropped the "I'm cool" shtick and looks genuinely interested. "Not the worst idea I've heard . . ."

Jake's voice has an edge to it. "I know you want to help, Landon. But we're okay here."

"It's your coffin, Jake," Everett says. "But this next round of cards, make them count. Or they could be your last." He winks at me and clicks his tongue-I'm baffled at the motivation behind the clicking noise-and walks off.

Jake stares at me as I return my attention to him. "Here's what you can help me with. I need love quotes."

For a second I think he's issuing a pickup line. Then I realize he's giving me a job. "You want me to write love poems?"

"No. I want you to compile verses from the Bible about love." He points to the Bible sitting on my desk. "You do know how to reference topics in a Bible, don't you?"

"Of course. I'm well-versed in the acc.u.mulation of, um, love verses."

"Now that our Christmas line is out, our next campaign needs to include Valentines."

"Ohhh, that kind of love. I thought you meant like *Love thy neighbor.'" I glance at the Bible. "There's lovey-dovey kind of stuff in there? Maybe I'm reading the wrong parts. The last time I read the Bible the earth was destroyed by a flood. I don't remember anything in there that would go good with chocolate and flowers."

Jake smirks. "Look hard. I bet you can find something." And he leaves it at that.

I stare at the Bible. It must be three inches thick. I'm baffled as to how I'm going to extract meaningful love verses out of a book that I'm sure was very opposed to s.e.x.

I'm pondering this when Candy arrives at my desk. She is still wearing pink, but a different shade. "Ms. Landon, we have a problem. Your background check revealed some . . . how shall I say this . . . irregular test results."

"Is it cancer?"

She doesn't smile.

"What do you mean?"

"When we ran your social, you appear to be dead."

"Not again."

Candy's eyebrows rise. "This is a reoccurring problem for you?" Oddly, she looks hopeful. "I'm a huge fan of Twilight. You're not a . . ."

"Vampire? No." I sigh, gesturing to myself. "Do I look dead to you?"

"According to the U.S. government, you're dead. You are claiming to be Hope Landon, are you not?"

"Not claiming. I am."

"Well, honey, we need to clear this up for me to sign you up for health and life insurance. They don't pay for people who are code blue to noxious stimuli."

Candy has the weirdest way of saying things. Oh, wait! Noxious stimuli-does she mean the tuna fish? "I am not dead, Candy."

"I don't know if I can even cut a paycheck for a dead person. We have a strict policy that our employees must have a pulse. Don't we, Jakester?"

I quickly turn. Jake is standing there, listening. "So, Hope Landon. I like that name. Any reason you go by Landon?"

"Sometimes my first name gives people a false sense of who I am." I'm only half kidding and I think he gets that. He looks a little sad for me.

"Anyway, can you get this cleared up?" Candy asks me.

"Yeah. No problem."

Jake returns to his office, not saying another word. I stare at the Bible and wonder which book of the Bible I should start with to try to find verses on love. I decide to just randomly pick. I land in Nehemiah.

I remind myself, this too shall pa.s.s.

7.

Visiting hours were almost over. He hated leaving Hope's side. He pictured her alone in the dark. What if she woke up? What if no one was here? The evening nurse that took over from Bette didn't seem as nice. But he knew he had to go, so he savored the last hour with her, even if she didn't know he was there.

Nurse Bette came in, looking tired from a long s.h.i.+ft, but as always, she wore a smile. "How's our girl doing?"

"About the same."

"Where's the mother?" She always whispered this like just the mention of the woman might cause her to appear.

Jake laughed. "She's not here. Her church was holding a prayer revival for Hope. I promised CiCi I would stay here with her until visiting hours were over."

Bette was holding something in the palm of her hand, but suddenly waved her hand in front of her nose. "Goodness! What is that smell?"

"Oh, sorry," Jake said sheepishly. "Just a can of tuna fish I brought for dinner."

"Goodness, gracious me. I brought in some smelling salts for some aromatherapy tonight. Thought I'd try it before I got off my s.h.i.+ft, but I mean to tell you, I think that tuna might do the job a little better!"

"Sorry . . . won't happen again."

"I say bring it on, Jake. Whatever we have to do to get this girl awake. I say bring tuna every single day until she wakes up!"

Jake laughed. "Maybe. I forget how bad it smells. I eat it every day so it doesn't bother me."

"What's that you got there in your lap?"

Jake looked down. It was a sketchpad he took with him any time he thought he might have some time to think . . . the park, a doctor's office. It had traveled the world with him.

"It's just kind of a hobby."

"You draw?"

"No . . . I write greeting cards."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. I try to find encouraging words and verses in the Bible. And then I also dabble in photography, so I like to match it with a picture I've taken. I turn it into a card and sell it at my floral shop."

"How lovely," Bette said, but seemed to mean it. Most people didn't care much about well-crafted, carefully thought-out cards these days.

"A couple of my cards are over there," Jake said, nodding toward the shelf where all the cards were sent.

"Which ones?"

"The one with the storm and the sun behind it. Took that picture on the plains of Kansas, and then I wrote a poem."

Bette set everything down and went right to the shelf. Jake turned, biting his lip. Bette opened it right up. "Behind every storm in life is a rainbow full of promise and hope. May G.o.d's comfort and love be with you."

Bette patted her chest. "Just beautiful, Jake. And so true."

"I'm not sure everyone really believes that. But I do."

Bette smiled at him. "I do too. And I believe this girl is going to wake up. There's a rainbow coming, Jake."

She walked to the door. "What about the smelling salts you were going to give her?"

"Honestly, I think the tuna is doing a fine job."

"Get some rest, Bette."

"See you tomorrow, Jake."

GREETINGS FROM MY LIFE.

When I am aggravated, I have an extremely hard time not showing it. I clench my teeth together and then move them back and forth slightly. That's very bad for the enamel. And for the person who has to hear them squeak. But it's the only way I can keep myself from exploding.

It's after work and I've been on hold with the Social Security office for forty minutes. I've been transferred twice by two different operators. Now I'm listening to music that was never good enough to hit a radio station. My head is throbbing. So I walk outside the YMCA and pace the sidewalk across the street. I am in desperate need of getting undead and receiving a paycheck.

I hear a little beep. I grow excited, imagining that someone is going to be on the line with me any second. But then I realize it's my phone, warning me of a low battery. Then, suddenly, a chipper voice greets me with, "You've reached the U.S. Government Vital Records office. How may I a.s.sist you?"

My body relaxes like a rag doll. Finally. "Hi! Yes. So glad to finally get someone."

"Glad to a.s.sist. What can I do for you?"

"You see, my mother applied for my death certificate, so my Social Security number keeps reporting my death. I need to get that fixed."

"Oooh. How unusual." I'm about to rattle off my SSN when she says, "But you've reached the wrong department."

Rag doll goes stiff. "What do you mean? I've been on hold for forty minutes!"

"You've been on hold for the wrong department."

That chipperness in her voice is really starting to tick me off. "Who do I have to talk to, then?"

"Not to worry, ma'am. I can transfer you directly to the correct department and I will see to it that you can talk to someone-"

Click.

"h.e.l.lo? h.e.l.lo???" I shake the phone like I can rattle it back to life. But my battery has gone dead.

First my life. Now my battery. There is death all around me. There's almost a third as I step into the street and nearly get run over by a taxi. He honks his aggravation.

"Yeah? Well honk you too, mister!"

I drag myself back across the street toward the YMCA, where I'm apparently going to be a permanent resident. As I start to walk in, I spot Mikaela. She is sitting against the brick wall, drawing something.