Page 22 of Drop Dead Gorgeous

“When will that happen?”

“That depends on unknown variables. Because of the very rare circumstance, it could be next week, or next month, or next year.”

Some choices. “Can’t God just fix my body so I can live as me?”

“It’s too late,” Ingrid tells me. “The injuries from your accident were so severe, your body couldn’t sustain life.” Her smile gets all cheerful like she’s about to announce that I won the Texas Lotto. “It’s a testament to your strong will that you survived as long as you did.”

“Testament to stubbornness and bad temper, more like,” Raymundo scoffs.

“Will I have to put up with the pervy wing nut while I wait for a portal?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Are you sure God can’t just fix my body?”

She shakes her head. “Your next of kin have been notified.”

“That was fast. I just died a few minutes ago.”

She shakes her head again. “The spirit realm does not mark time the same as it is on earth. I’m afraid your body is in the morgue.”

“I’m in the morgue?” I point to my chest and whisper, “I’m in the morgue?”

“You’re bagged and tagged, Marfa,” the golfer thoughtfully provides. “Can’t come back once you’re bagged and tagged.”

“Shut up, Raymundo!” Ingrid’s eyes turn from calm turquoise to stormy blue, then back again. “Don’t listen to him.”

“And Momma and Daddy know I’m in the morgue?” I ask myself more than anyone else.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sounding like she means it. “Just think about this extremely rare opportunity for a second chance at life. You’re really quite lucky.”

I don’t feel lucky or wonderful or special. I feel my heart cry out for my momma and daddy. “She’s a stalker and a bully.” And I feel mad as all heck.

“I warned you about her, but you didn’t listen.”

“Shut up, Raymundo,” I say. “She didn’t care about the consequences of what she did. She thought I was stupid, called me a fat hillbilly, and took my place in heaven!”

“I wouldn’t count on a place in heaven if I was you,” the golfer scoffs.

I ignore him because I was saved when I was ten, and Ingrid said I’m not fallen.

Ingrid ignores him, too. “She took your portal. Not your place. She did make it past the turnstiles, but she’s not as clever as she thinks.”

“Heaven has turnstiles?” I never read that in the Bible.

“In order to avoid overcrowding at the gates, souls are directed to turnstiles and processing is slowed. She drew attention to herself when she stole a ticket.”

I never read about tickets either. “Where is she?”

“At the moment, she is cooling her heels and awaiting perfect judgment. She will be detained there until her fate is determined.”

“Jail?”

“More like the DMV.”

I shudder. While it’s good to know that she didn’t get away with kicking my face and sneaking into heaven, being stuck at the DMV sounds like cruel and unusual punishment. “I don’t know anythin’ about this Edith Randolph-whatever.”

“Chatsworth-Jones.”