Michael's index finger tapped its way along the bed sheet until it was within inches of the deceased woman's hair. He casually looked up at the daughter, who stood next to him as he wound his finger around a strand of white hair. Chin bobbing against his fist, he said, “Are you dead?"
The nurse asked the family if they had a funeral director they wanted her to contact. One of the woman's daughters pulled a cell phone from her purse. With fingers shaking, she dialed the first of many.
The deceased woman opened her eyes and smiled at Michael. He smiled back and nudged the toe of his tennis shoe against the tile floor. “Are you dead yet?"
The woman sat up effortlessly and moved to the edge of the bed. “You were waiting for me, weren't you? I saw you go by several times the past few days.” She placed her hand on Michael's head and ran her thumb through his bangs. “I'm glad you waited. Now I don't have to go alone."
She slid from the bed. When her feet touched the floor, she reached for Michael's hand. “Are you ready?” The light around the woman began to intensify as she effortlessly walked away from the bed.
Michael looked toward the door. “We need to get Mom."
Michael felt a cool breeze spread through the room and he noticed the woman's gown moving with the air currents. A thunder rumbled in the distance. Michael ran to the door. “Mom. It's time to go. There's a dead lady in here who wants us to go with her."
The woman's family gathered around her bed one more time, their tears flowing without reservation. A few family members milled outside the door to escape the sorrow. The finality was more than they could bear.
The nurse gently guided one of the woman's daughters to a chair. “You don't have to leave yet. Take all the time you want. The funeral director won't be here for another half hour.” She gave the daughter a brochure from the mortuary they had selected. She circled the phone number. “The funeral director will contact you to make arrangements if she doesn't hear from you by tomorrow morning."
The deceased woman's body wavered and rose off the floor, spears of light penetrating her translucent image. The intensity of the rumbling drew closer.
Michael looked back at the lady who held both arms out to him. She shouted, “Hurry, Michael. I can't wait much longer. We've got to go."
"Mom. Hurry,” Michael screamed, his gaze darting frantically down the corridor. Hearing his name called by the dead woman, he looked back toward the intensifying glow. “Wait. Wait for us. Mom's coming."
"Now, Michael. If you're coming, you've got to come now.” The strength of the breeze spiraling through the tunnel pulled her further into the light. “I can't wait any longer,” she shouted over the rumble filling the room.
Michael ran toward the light shielding his eyes.
"Wait. Wait for me.” He reached toward the woman.
"Step forward, Michael. Step into the light.” She continued to shout encouragement to the boy as she slipped further into the vortex. Her hair lashed like a pennant in the wind. She stretched to reach for Michael's hand.
As he grasped the woman's hand and was lifted upward by the current, Lora rounded the doorframe. She screamed in horror. “Noooo. Michael, noooo. Don't go."
Michael reached for his mom, fighting against the vortex pulling him backward toward the woman. “We have to go, Mom. Hurry and come with me."
Lora tried to grab her son, struggling against the wind that now drew her toward the light. Her clothes whipping in frenzy against her body, Lora shouted, “Don't go. We have to find your father."
Tears streamed down Michael's face as he fought the momentum. “No Mom. I don't want to. Please come with me to the other place."
Lora dropped to her knees and cried out against the roar. “I can't. I can't go against his wishes.” She reached toward Michael. “Grab my hand.” Seeing Michael fight to reach her, she said, “Come on, baby. Just a few more steps."
His fingertips brushed briefly against the back of his mother's outstretched hand, then Michael's arm dropped to his side. The momentum of the wind pulled him back toward the dead woman. His chest heaving with sobs, he turned away from his mother and reached for the woman's hand. “I'm ready."
Michael looked back toward his mother as they faded into the distance. “I love you, Mom,” he shouted. “Don't let Dad be mean anymore.” The pair faded into the tunnel, beginning their walk down the corridor of light.
19
Mr. Bakke and Jane swayed rhythmically on a suspended wooden swing, a rusted chain squeaking in protest with each forward movement. The unbearable humidity had even drained energy from the resort's guests. Vacationers had switched from high-speed to slow-motion to surrender. Jane fanned Mr. Bakke's newspaper back and forth attempting to stir the air. A group of guests meandered by the cabin and Jane waved the newspaper in greeting.
With one leg tucked under her and the other tapping against the wooden planking, Sadie sat next to them in an Adirondack chair. Billowing thunderheads clustered on the horizon.
"I sure hope that thunderstorm gets rid of the heat,” Jane said. “I've never sweat so much in my life."
"If you'd wear shorts, you'd feel better,” Sadie said without looking up from her magazine.
Belly waddled up to Sadie, licked her red toenails, and plopped down by her side. He looked from sister to sister, panting with discomfort.
Even though warm weather was good for business, the hot spell had been around too long. Sadie looked forward to a break. Earlier in the day she had assisted the resort manager with an unusually high volume of calls from city dwellers. Seeking relief from the heat seemed a priority. More than likely the weather was as hot at the resort as it was in the city, but the fact guests could spend time on the water made a trip up north worthwhile.
"You know I refuse to wear shorts. I don't want to become the brunt of jokes like you are."
"I beg your pardon.” Sadie closed her magazine and dropped it on the porch floor. “I'll have you know, this is a first class outfit. I paid good money for it."
"If that's what you think, then you need new eyes. You're wearing white pants.” Jane pointed as if that explained everything.
"I already know that,” Sadie said.
"Every time you walk in front of me, I can see your red thong through the fabric. You look ridiculous.” Jane nodded with conviction.
Sadie stood and walked over to Jane. “First of all these are Capri 's, not pants.” She turned around and bent over slightly. “Second of all, my red thong matches my red shirt and sandals. The waist part of the thong is supposed to show above my hip huggers. It's all the rage. If you'd read my fashion magazines once in a while, you'd know that."
Mr. Bakke rested his head against the back of the porch swing while his foot kept the swing in motion. As Sadie presented her fashion commentary, Mr. Bakke slid his glasses off the top of his head and positioned them over his eyes.
"Well don't go anywhere looking like that. And don't tell anyone you're related to me. I'd die of embarrassment if they found out,” Jane said.
"I think they already know that,” Mr. Bakke said.
Jane clucked her tongue in disgust. She glared at Mr. Bakke. “Put those glasses back on top your head and mind your own business."
Wrinkling her nose and fanning the air, Sadie said, “My goodness, Belly is rank tonight. Did you pawn your cooking off on him again?"
"A little bit,” Jane said. “I let him lick your plate since you didn't eat it. You shouldn't let good food go to waste."
Jane bent to pick the magazine off the porch floor and flicked at the dirt particles clinging to the cover. “Weren't you too hard on Aanders this afternoon? You had him in tears. I still think you should apologize."
"I'm not going to apologize.” Irritated Jane brought it up for the second time, Sadie said, “Tim's got Aanders believing his father was murdered. That's all he talked about on the way to the nursing home this morning. “