Free The Death and Life of Charlie St. Cloud by Ben Sherwood Page A

knows what I’ll do without them.”
    “It’s too soon to think about that,” Charlie said. “Give it some time.”
    They watched as his wife and baby left the grave, passed the other mourners, and got into a limousine. Then Charlie began filling the hole, and Florio watched. Shovel after shovel. Dust to dust.
    “You know,” Florio said after a while, “I’ve thought about you a lot over the years. I felt so bad I couldn’t save your brother. Beat myself up pretty good about that one. I always wondered what happened to you. You married? Any kids? What have you done with your precious life?”
    Charlie kept his eyes to the ground. “No wife, no family. I work here and volunteer at the fire station.”
    “Oh yeah? You a fireman?”
    “I got certified as a paramedic. I put in a few nights a month. I’d do more, but I can’t go too far from here.”
    “You know, I was a medic for more than twenty-five years. Seen a lot, but only two or three people ever came back from the dead like you did.” He paused. “That was a gift from God, son. God had a reason for saving you. He had a purpose. You ever think about that?”
    A long minute passed as Charlie shoved more dirt into the hole. Of course he had thought about that. Every single day of his life, he wondered why he hadn’t been taken instead of Sam. What on earth was God’s reason? What purpose did He have in mind? Then Florio broke the silence again.
    “Don’t worry, son,” he said. “Sometimes it takes a while to figure things out. But you’ll hear the call. You’ll know when it’s time. And then, you’ll be set free.”

TEN

    T HE CORNERS OF HER EYES AND MOUTH WERE FLAKY WITH dried-up salt from the ocean. Tess brushed away the deposits and remembered the last time she had looked like this. No storm had made such markings. Instead, the white residue had been left by the flood of tears after her father’s funeral. Back then, her mother had wiped the grains from her face, saying they were a reminder that tears and seawater had mixed together for thousands of years.
    Tess also had a whopper of a headache, and her body was black and blue from the battering she had taken. Actually, black and orange would be more accurate, with great blotches of Halloween color everywhere on her arms, hips, and thighs. But the welts and bruises didn’t seem to matter just now. What was foremost in her throbbing brain was that she was back on solid ground exactly where she wanted to be: Waterside Cemetery near her father.
    She sat in the mottled shade under the maple next to his grave. The lawn was damp, but she didn’t mind getting a little wet. She had thrown off her sneakers, rolled up her pants, and was relishing the sensation of just being there in one piece. Her toes wiggled in the grass, and she stretched her legs. She looked down at the granite marker that bore her father’s name. She knew she owed her life to him. After that miserable storm, he had guided her home to safe harbor. “You know, I never stopped talking to you out there all night,” she said. “You must’ve heard me.”
    Of course, she didn’t actually believe
he
was right there with her under the tree. That was plain silly, just like the witches in Salem. Dad wasn’t lolling around the cemetery, waiting for her to show up. No, he was out there somewhere, a force of energy, or something like that. And if there was a heaven, he was surely sipping beer on some celestial tuna boat, waiting for a strike.
    Tess lazed on the lawn, put her hands behind her head, and stared up at the rust-colored leaves. This was the one safe place in the world. The wind was gusting from the north now, and big cauliflower clouds filled the sky, making it one of those rare afternoons in New England, impossibly crisp and fresh, like a Rome apple from Brooksby Farm.
    Then an image from last night grabbed hold of her mind:
Querencia
flipping over, the world inverting. “Jesus!” she said out loud, sitting up. She rubbed a