Divine and Dateless (15 page)

A wave of shame washed over me. I could hear the disappointment in his tone. I knew what they were thinking. After the history of charity work in our family, how had Ashley ended up so self-absorbed? Even though I wanted to have an excuse, I didn’t. My mom had given me ample opportunity to be altruistic, but I was more interested in my latest blind date or a shoe sale at Macy’s than a few sick, senile people who didn’t seem to care one way or another if I helped them.

“Was it that bad?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Of course it was bad. If God was as thorough and all-knowing as the Bible said he was, I was so totally screwed.

Grandma patted me on the shoulder as if she was trying to burp a baby. She flashed a hesitant smile. “Let’s just say you’re very lucky to be on level thirteen.”

I hung my head. “You must be so ashamed of me.”

My uncle clasped my fingers and held my gaze. I could almost feel the outpouring of love from his fingertips. “No, no, pumpkin. When your father, the worthless dog that he is, walked out on your mom, I made a vow to her I’d look after you girls as if you were my own children.” He shook his head as his eyes glossed over. “I’m so sorry I broke that promise.”

“Uncle, don’t apologize. You can’t help it that you died. I have to admit I don’t remember much from my childhood, but I do remember you loved me.”

He wiped a stray tear off my cheek. “I did, and I still do.”

I forced a smile, even though what I really wanted to do was throw myself on my bed and cry my heart out.

This was gluten’s fault. Eating it always made me cranky. It was in no way because I finally realized I’d wasted my entire life chasing losers and partying instead of doing something kind for someone else. I had been a selfish, spoiled bitch. I so didn’t deserve to be on level thirteen, much less at the Penthouse.

“You didn’t fail her, Michael,” Grandma said. “You sent her Jack.”

I spun on my heel. Jaw dropping, I turned to my uncle. “Jack?” My hand flew to my heart, which began thumping out a slow, heavy rhythm as if it was preparing to stop. “My dog? You sent him to me?”

My uncle nodded solemnly. “I did.”

This time there was no holding back the waterworks. “I loved that dog,” I choked out, overwhelmed by tears.

“I know you did, and I’m sorry he was killed.” Uncle fished a tissue out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I tried to send you another, but you refused him.”

“Oh, I could never replace Jack.” As I vehemently shook my head, an idea struck me. “Uncle,” I asked as hope surged in my chest, “what happens to dogs when they die? Is there a way I could find him?”

He frowned. “Dogs rarely go to Purgatory, Ash, and they don’t go to Heaven. Not that they don’t deserve it.”

“But why?” I cried, hating that I sounded far too much like a petulant child who was trying to get her way.

“Dogs are just one step away from people on the reincarnation wheel,” he said with a smile. “After they die, they’re born again as people.”

Reincarnation wheel?
One more afterlife mystery I was sure had a long and crazy explanation.

I assumed the wheel was some sort of a do over. A new life as someone else. A sob claimed my voice, and I tried to hold back a fresh wave of tears. “So I’ll never see Jack again?”

He fished another tissue out of his pocket and handed it to me. “I’m sorry, pumpkin. He’s probably a teenage kid by now.”

“He was my best friend,” I cried.

“Hey, I know what will cheer you up,” Grandma interjected with a much too perky voice. “How about we all go visit Grandpa Frank?”

“Grandpa?” I gasped as I wiped my wet eyes. “We’re going to see Grandpa?”

“Yeah, and we better get a move on.” Grandma made a big show of checking her diamond watch. “We didn’t get our conjugal visit yesterday, and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Conjugal visit? Uhhh, did I really want to go with her to see Grandpa? Although I knew I should go, not just because I missed my grandpa, but because I needed a distraction to keep my mind of those big brown puppy eyes. “Okay, let me get dressed.”

I stopped in my tracks when I thought about what I had in my closet, a skimpy black dress with a rip in the side and the shitty (literally) poofy thrift store monstrosity Inés had lent me.

“Here.” Grandma handed me the bags she’d carried into the apartment. “I brought you some of my old dresses. I knew you wouldn’t have any decent clothes down here,” she said with a haughty air.

“Thanks.” I took the bag from her as relief swept over me. The bags were heavy. Hopefully, they’d last me until I earned enough credits to get my own wardrobe.

“They’re from my movie star bombshell collection,” she added with a wink. “I had the waists let out a bit.”

“Oh, good idea.” I looked down at my tummy, which had expanded by a few inches over the past five years, but thanks to slenderizing jeans, I was still able to keep my muffin top under control. Hopefully, Grandma had included a girdle, but either way, I was happy to have new clothes. “I should get changed.”

“Yes.” She wrinkled her nose and smiled. “And maybe take a shower.”

Whoever thought up the name Shady Tree Mobile Home Park? Rusty Sardine Can Mobile Home Park was more like it. Level ten was about fifty years past an upgrade, and I’d thought my apartment was bad. I couldn’t believe Grandma left the Penthouse every weekend for this. Now that’s what I called true love.

One thing was certain, Grandpa’s home did have a lot of shade. Nestled beneath several tall pine trees on what appeared to be the Washington coast, I could definitely see my grandpa living in a place like this. He’d always liked to take us camping, and he loved fishing, too. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with crisp ocean air. Maybe the fishy smell was a little bit stronger here than I remembered on Earth, but level ten outdoor life seemed okay otherwise. The sun wasn’t too bright. Then again, it wasn’t too dull, either. Even the dilapidated trailer homes were paradise compared to the sewage on level two. Yeah, the more I thought about it, the more I realized Grandpa was perfectly situated.

I smoothed the pleats of my dress before following Grandma. Even though my borrowed clothes were definitely retro, they were a far cry better than that churchy thing Inés had lent me. This number was lime green with little white polka dots, a belt that cinched at the waist, and pleats that flared at the hips, making my curves look curvier and my legs look longer. Too bad the bra she’d lent me made my boobs look like torpedoes, but I guessed missile tits were part of the fashion back then.

Yeah, my body was definitely made for the pinup model era. Maybe I’d get lucky and find a guy in Purgatory who’d died back then. I bet he’d appreciate the flare of my hips or my womanly thighs. But the thought of dating a man old enough to be my grandpa made my skin crawl, and not in a good way.

We walked up the wobbly steps to the concave front porch that looked like it would buckle with a strong enough wind. The front door made a loud protest, scraping the linoleum floor as Grandma pushed it open.

“Frank?” she called into the darkness. “Are you dressed?”

We were answered by silence, but I thought I could hear the sound of running water and my grandpa humming one of his old polka tunes coming from the other end of the room.

I threw a glance over my shoulder as I hesitantly followed Grandma inside. I could barely make out Uncle Mikey’s shadow behind the taxi’s grimy window. He’d refused to get out of the car. Something about not wanting to interrupt. Grandma had insisted I visit Grandpa, so I’d followed her like a blind puppy.

Grandma had to use her shoulder to shut the door behind us, and when she did, I instantly missed the fresh air.

I made a face and fanned my nose. “It smells in here.”

I spun around, looking for the origin of the stench. The cramped trailer’s windows were covered in peeling sheets of tinfoil, blotting out most of the sun.

Grandma shrugged an apology. “Level ten gets a bit moldy, dear.” She rolled her eyes as she turned on a lamp. “You’d think Grandpa would tire of the smell and at least try to move up a level.”

I almost wanted to tell my grandma to turn the light back off when I saw the condition of what could only be described as a single-wide cave. My eyeballs just about threw up at the floor to ceiling wood paneling covering each wall. And Grandpa’s furniture made my place look like a model home. Stuffing was coming out of the threadbare pillows on his double-sized sofa. The ancient, small television was held together by duct tape, and so was the weathered table it was sitting on. In fact, as my gaze swept the living room and then the adjoining kitchen, I realized this whole place was probably held together by duct tape. From the handle on the puke-green refrigerator to the mismatched legs on the kitchen table, this place was like a shrine to the adhesive. I only hoped the rest of the structure wasn’t being held together by it, but as I listened to the floor creak beneath me, I wasn’t so sure.

Grandma banged on a warped wooden door so hard, I feared she’d cause the place to crumble. “Frank!” she yelled. “Come out. We’ve got a visitor.”

The water shut off and the singing stopped. In the next moment, the door was thrown open, revealing a nearly naked and very bald old guy with a bloated stomach. But wait. Let’s get back to the nearly naked part, because my vomiting eyeballs just about shriveled up as I got a good look at Grandpa’s attire: leather suspenders that crisscrossed his shaved nipples, holding up what was either a saggy dress sock full of rocks or a black leather thong.

Ewww!

“There’s my young slice of sugar pie,” he said on a growl as he cupped his groin and charged my grandma. “Come on. Daddy’s got a new swing and can’t wait to try it out.”

Grandma swatted him away as she ducked beneath his grasp.

He held out his arms like a zombie in a trance as he chased her around the sofa, his saggy ass flaps jiggling with each step.

Every muscle in my body tensed, and I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing as I gaped at my grandparents. This was more terrifying than watching the scariest horror movie ever. Why? Because I was in it, and even though I wanted nothing more than to run from this place screaming bloody murder, I was too petrified to move a step.

“If you keep wasting your credits on sex toys and Viagra,” she called over her shoulder as she dodged him again, “you’ll never get to the top.”

“No,” he laughed as he quickened his step, “but I’ll be on top of you every weekend for our conjugal visits.”

Oh, God, I wanted to hurl. And then a bit of bile actually did project into my throat as I coughed into my palm.

Grandpa stopped and spun around, his assessing gaze roaming over me. “Who’s this lovely angel?” He waggled his brows and licked his lips before nodding toward my grandma. “You finally going to let me have that threesome? She’s got some nice jugs on her.” He walked toward me with those zombie hands clenching and unclenching as if he was squeezing invisible melons. “Come on, honey. I’ve got plenty of Viagra to go around.”

Ewww times infinity!

“Frank!” Grandma screamed and stomped a foot. “This is your granddaughter, Ashley Joy.”

In an instant, Grandpa transformed from sex-crazed pervert to a startled ghost. He paled, and then colored a flaming red. “Ash?” He gasped as he looked from me to Grandma. “Baby AJ?”

She shot my grandpa a dirty look. “She’s not a baby anymore.” She glared at my chest. If her eyes were needles, they would have popped my torpedo balloons.

I crossed my arms over my bosom as heat flamed my face. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to disappear beneath the ratty carpet and hide among the mold spores.

Grandpa took a shaky step forward, then another. “AJ? Is that you all grown up?”

“Yeah, Grandpa,” I said on a nervous exhale. I really wished he'd go back into the bathroom and put some clothes on.

He took another step forward, his balls slapping his thighs with the movement. “You can’t be here yet. How old are you?”

“Uh, twenty-nine.” I averted my gaze, choosing to focus on the duct tape running across a crack in the wood paneling. Why hadn’t I stayed in the taxi with Uncle Mikey?

“Twenty-nine? My baby AJ died at twenty-nine? How did this happen?” Before I could stop him, my grandpa charged me, pulling me against his chest as he sobbed into my hair.

Awkward, meet your new level of low.

I hung like a ragdoll in his embrace, afraid if I hugged him back, the feel of his exposed jiggly flesh would leave me emotionally and mentally scarred for the rest of my afterlife. He hugged me tighter, and I prayed that thing scraping my chin wasn’t a shoulder wart.

“It’s okay, Grandpa,” I said on a wheeze, trying hard not to inhale the strong fumes from his cheap cologne.

“My baby girl is dead!” he kept crying.

I tried to shift out of his embrace, but then I about died twice when I felt his balls slap my leg.

“Frank!” Grandma yelled behind us.

“Whaaat?” He nearly blew out my eardrums with his booming voice.

“Go put on some clothes!” she screeched.

Grandpa pulled back, his eyes widening to saucers. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey.”