Life After Life by Jill McCorkle Page B

to imagine such a thing,” she said, and she hoped there was nothing there. If he ever did go up some stairs or into a room he shouldn’t, she would rather not know, especially now. She had wondered once, but then it seemed to pass and so she just let it go and held on to what was good.
    “I was the other woman once,” Rachel whispered, and there was a long pause of silence. She looked directly at Sadie and Sadie didn’t dare look away. It’s no different from the child who finally reaches out to hold your hand.
    “I would never cast stones,” Sadie said. “You are a fine person.”
    “Well, I cast stones,” Toby said, and there was heavy silence again. “But not at you. And not for that!” She nudged Rachel and laughed. “Marge might now.”
    “I hope I have to respond to a higher power,” Rachel said.
    “Higher IQ, anyway,” Toby laughed, and put something in her mouth up against her gum, snuff no doubt. “I say bless the stupid.”
    Sadie pulled Abby up close and hugged her. There was so much she would need to explain to her when all the others went home. Adults do things—even good adults who do not always show good judgment. Now she opens her eyes and Abby is standing there with a sprig of rosemary from Horace. He is so dear and likely will be calling soon.
    “It’s getting worse,” Abby tells her. “And Dollbaby still hasn’t come home.” The child leans into Sadie and then is sobbing, her shoulders jerking while Sadie pats her back and tries to get her to calm down. They sit side by side on the sofa and watch television, The Price Is Right, which has been on for centuries, it seems. Her eyes are heavy and now that Abby has calmed down she lets them close for just a minute and then when she wakes, one of those programs where everybody has to endure terrible things—lost babies and evil twins and tuberculosis and such—is on and Abby is gone. It is almost time to go to lunch. Sadie is tired, but she doesn’t have time to stop, not yet; the others need her. I do not have time to die, she once heard Lois Flowers say, not today, and they all laughed. Abby has left a crumpled piece of paper on the table along with a sprig of rosemary from Horace. It is a note written on the back of a Food Lion receipt. Somebody bought some Budweiser and some trash bags, some milk and some Clorox, paper towels. On the back there is a note: You better answer me soon! it says. Terrible penmanship. Cursive, yes, but not done well at all. Sadie never would have allowed such cursive without a slant and the esses so misshapen and there’s Harley, big sweet Harley slinking down the hall. She reaches her hand out and calls to him: Big sweet kitty, big sweet purr. Horace and the kids are going to love him. They will be so surprised. Her mother will love him, too.

Joanna
    D O YOU BELIEVE IN ghosts? Do you believe in the power of magic? Do you believe that a normal ordinary girl can disappear right before your eyes?
    Joanna had run the words through her mind many times over the years, picturing her childhood friend Ben waving his wand and directing her in and out of boxes first in his garage and then on the school auditorium stage, pulling from his sleeves coins and lengths of scarves and puny bouquets picked from neighborhood yards when the neighbors weren’t looking. He said they were partners for life, bound by their secrets and knowledge; it was a vow, a pact, a solemn oath of loyalty. Now that she’s back home, thirty years and a million miles and a lot of mistakes and lessons behind her, she’s aware of it all as never before: the ghosts, the magic, all the ways a person might disappear.
    The longest and most expensive journey you will ever make is the one to yourself. This is Joanna’s current mantra, in her head since a day four years ago when Luke stepped in and changed her life. He said it first. He said he would love nothing better than to purchase the ticket that would upgrade and jump-start her trip. He