Page 17 of The Next Person You Meet in Heaven

Wait. That’s you?

“Younger and dumber,” the boy said.

What are you doing?

“I thought I could fly. I thought, ‘I’ll grab this train and hang on like a kite.’” He shrugged. “I was only seven.”

The running boy made another failed lunge. The final car was about to pass. With a clenched jaw, he pumped his arms and gave a last leaping attempt. This time he hooked his fingers around a rail on the rear platform.

But only for an instant.

The speed of the train ripped his arm clean off his body, leaving the boy in the dirt, stunned and screaming, his shirtsleeve thickening with blood. The severed arm fell off the rail. It dropped to the gravel and reddened the stones.

The boy looked at Annie.

“Ouch,” he said.

SUNDAY,10:30A.M.

The man named Tolbert signed a receipt. The woman behind the counter slid a copy back his way.

“All set,” she said.

Tolbert waited for his wife’s car to be brought around. Earlier, at the house, he had nudged her awake.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he whispered.

“Hmm?—”

“Your tire was flat.”

“... it was?”

“I gotta buy a new one.”

“... OK...” She rolled over. “Be careful.”

Now, as he glanced at the walls of the auto shop, Tolbert thought about the newlyweds who had stopped to help him last night. The groom, who changed the tire in his tuxedo, said the whole thing was his wife’s idea. Nice guy. Funny guy. The incident had made Tolbert feel good about people. He didn’t always feel that way.

A mechanic pulled up in the car.

“Good as new. Spare’s in the trunk.”

“Thanks,” Tolbert said.

Once inside, Tolbert grabbed his cell phone and pressed the preset number for Teddy, his assistant.

It went to voice mail.

He dialed it again.

Same thing.

He dialed the office.

Voice mail again.

“Uch,” he mumbled. “That damn kid.”