The Ten Best Days of My Life Read Online Free PDF Page B

of 1982. I believe the initials of the five high scorers were the same. Yep, AJD, that was me.”
    â€œOh, get ready for a challenge,” he dares me.
    â€œYou’re on,” I tell him as we jump up from the table at the same time and run out the door toward Adam’s home.
    After four games and three bonus rounds, it was a tie: 200,008 to 200,008.
    â€œMust have something to do with this place,” Adam says as we both agree, laughing.
    â€œYou know, I don’t know how this is going to sound, but I’m just going to say it,” he says, putting his arms around my waist. “I’m kind of glad you died when I did.”
    â€œAnd somehow, I take that as the supreme compliment,” I say, looking into his eyes.
    â€œSilver lining,” he whispers, leaning into me.
    I spent my first night in heaven at a hot investment banker’s Hamptons-style house.
    In the morning, as I started to try to sneak out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. No makeup smudges and my hair still looked perfect.
    I got back into bed.
    Adam turned over and put his arms around me. His breath was clean.

The Jig Is Up
    I knew it! I just knew it!
    This whole thing was too good to be true. I just knew it! Nothing comes for free in this world (or this world).
    So I come back to my Len Jacobs’s farmhouse after the best sex I’ve ever had in my entire life and death, and this frigging angel is sitting at my kitchen table.
    â€œOh, hi,” I said, real nonchalant. “Are you here to clean up? I didn’t sleep at home last night, but there are some dirty dishes on the dining room table and I believe I left a tub of ice cream upstairs in the main bedroom.” What did I know? Why would some angel be sitting in my home?
    â€œNo, Alex,” this angel, a woman, about sixty, with a bad dye job and feathered wings, said, smirking as she got up and put a coffee cup in my Len Jacobs’s sink. “I’m Deborah, your guardian angel. You might remember me. Do I look a little familiar to you?”
    I started to think. Now that she mentioned it, she was starting to look a little familiar.
    â€œWere you at the Radnor Rolls roller rink when I was in the sixth grade and fell and broke my wrist?”
    â€œYes!” she exclaimed. “I played the part of the director of the roller rink. You might have broken your arm altogether if I hadn’t caught you.”
    â€œWait, was that you the other night? The night I died, I got really wasted at Jones and a cab pulled up? Weren’t you the woman driving the cab?”
    â€œMe again.”
    â€œYou were a brunette.”
    â€œSometimes I’m a brunette, sometimes a redhead. I change it depending on how I feel that day.”
    â€œI know what you mean,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee. “Well, thanks for watching over me. You saved me from driving myself home from Jones the other night, but I guess you were a little slow a couple of hours later with that MINI Cooper, huh?” I laughed, but she didn’t. “I was actually just about to make some midmorning waffles. I’m loving this no-gaining-weight thing. You interested in joining me?”
    â€œUh, sure, I’m never one to turn down waffles,” she paused, “but to tell you the truth, I’m here to discuss some things with you.”
    I wasn’t really listening to her as I grabbed bacon out of the Sub-Z.
    â€œIt’s so nice of you to come and see me,” I said, pulling out the waffle maker, which, as it goes here, was already full of perfectly light and fluffy waffles cooked to golden brown perfection.
    I served two plates of waffles with blueberries and maple syrup on my MacKenzie-Childs blue-flowered, gold tipped Honeymoon plates.
    â€œOh, mimosas!” I suddenly remembered, jumping up.
    â€œAlex,” she said, “why don’t you take a seat for a second.”
    So I did. I honestly thought she was just