If I Die Before I Wake Read Online Free PDF Page A

loved me—I don't know how many times he bailed me out of trouble, even paid for my divorces, paid to have Jon's body flown home from Arizona. But—and there's always a but —I can't be with Tom. Our relationship was always a disaster, and there is no reason to believe it wouldn't be again. I will not let him hurt me. I can't deal with any more pain.
    Angel's on my lap, head hanging out the window, as I drive slowly back to town, to Mary Jo's house. There's an unfamiliar car in the driveway, so I park on the street. Inside, I notice her bedroom door is closed. It's confusing, but what she does, and with whom, is not my business. I start down the hallway towardmy bedroom. Mary Jo calls my name. Outside her door, I acknowledge her. She tells me to come in. It must not be what I imagined it to be, I think. I open the door. There they are, Mary Jo and my lawyer, who's a married man, propped up on the bed, stark naked. They do nothing to hide their nudity.
    I'm no prude, especially when I've had a few drinks, but it's like a train wreck—I don't want to look, but can't stop myself. Mary Jo pats the bed and invites me to join them. Stunned, I mumble a few words and back out the door, closing it behind me. I hear them laugh. In my bedroom, I lock the door, and with shaking hands, begin to stuff my belongings into the two bags I brought with me. It's time to go home.

6
Starting Over

    IT ' S A HOT S UNDAY IN J ULY , nearly a year since life as I knew it changed. The house is closing in on me. I consider going up to the town square, to the air-conditioned shops, but I don't have money to spend and I can't stand being around other people. Another visit to the cemetery? No, I've got to stop going there. I don't want to stop remembering Jon, but knowing where he is, and the truth of what put him there, is too much. I might as well take a stick with me and beat myself up every time I stand over his grave.
    I slip into a skimpy silver bikini I've had since we lived in Florida during one of my more disastrous escapades a few years earlier. Grabbing a towel, I pick up the folded lounge chair that hangs on a nail on the screened porch, set it up in the yard, spread the towel over it, and return to the house for supplies. I shuffle through the books on life after death stacked next to the couch, pick one, grab a pack of cigarettes and a spray bottle filled with water, and fix myself a Long Island iced tea over ice in a tall, frosted glass.
    Stretched out beneath the large oak in my side yard, I pick up Here and Hereafter by Ruth Montgomery, but I can't focus on the words. I've read everything I can get my hands on about the spirit world, but I'm still not convinced that it exists. If I ever get any spare money, I'll invest in a television. I had a small, 19-inch one that I bought at a yard sale, but it broke. I miss the distraction. After lighting a Salem, drawing the hot smoke deep into my lungs, and finishing off half my drink, I begin to feel a bit better.
    Eyes closed, a warm breeze blowing gently across my nearly naked body, my thoughts wander to what month it is. I can barely remember the past year. I know I went to work, cleaned the house, walked the dog, ate food, slept, but none of it seems real. Is this what my life will be like? The rest of my drink slides down smoothly. I gave up worrying about my drinking months ago. It's the only thing that gets me through the day, allows me to sleep through the night and face each new morning. And what does it matter now? A cold beer would taste good.
    A long white tee shirt with Mickey Mouse dancing across the front of it covering my swimsuit, I jump in the car and headfor the liquor store. At the drive-up window, I order a six-pack of Coors, my favorite beer, pay the man, and pull out. Is that black car following me? Who is it? The car doesn't look familiar. I'm being paranoid. I keep watching it in my rearview mirror. It's pulling into my driveway after me. I can't see the driver through