“You know what it’s like to clear a room when you say what you do for a living?”
“No. To have people decide everything about you before they know you. But in your case, it’s the idea of death that makes people prejudge you.”
“Yeah. It does,” she said quietly. “But just because death makes people uncomfortable doesn’t mean that it should be uncomfortable.”
“It’s not uncomfortable for you?” he asked.
She sighed and looked out at the black water. “No. Not anymore. It can be sad at times. Poignant. Full of meaning. But no, not uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t agree with you. Death is random and cruel.”
She blinked at the harsh finality of his tone.
“You’ve known a lot of it?” she asked softly.
“So much so that I wonder at times if life isn’t playing some kind of sick joke on me,” he said, his lip curling. He was trying to be funny, and failing.
“Death is a natural part of life.” He gave her a burning, sardonic glance. “Sounds like an empty platitude to you, does it? It does for lots of people,” she mused thoughtfully, looking at the lake, not at all put off because they didn’t agree.
She looked around when he gave a dry laugh. “What?” she asked, her gaze caught by the flash of white teeth against tanned skin.
He shook his head while a breeze ruffled his hair. He peered at her as if he wanted to bring her into better focus.
“Why are you so confident talking about death?” he demanded.
She hesitated, but then shrugged. “I died before,” she said simply.
She gave a small smile when she saw his blank expression segue into one of incredulity.
“What?”
She didn’t know why she’d told him. Given people’s reactions to such a declaration, she’d learned early on to avoid the topic at all costs. She sighed.
“I was born with a condition called alpha thalassemia. My body had a hard time making hemoglobin, so I was always mildly anemic as a kid. It wasn’t bad enough to cause any severe symptoms except occasional fatigue, but when I was nine, something happened. My iron count plunged and my organs weren’t getting enough oxygen. I had a heart attack.” She noticed his stiff expression. “Don’t look so worried. I hardly remember any of it. Long story short, when I recovered, I had a profound certainty that death was nothing to fear. Also . . .” She repressed a smile because she was sure he wouldn’t believe her. “I was cured.”
“You were cured,” he repeated in flat disbelief, stepping closer.
She laughed, even though she was set off balance by his nearness. The streetlamps in the parking lot reflected in his eyes, making them gleam in his shadowed face as he studied her intently. She just nodded. “I’m very healthy. My cells now synthesize perfectly normal hemoglobin. The doctors ramble on about how maybe the crisis I went through somehow reset my cells, but technically speaking—”
“You’re a medical miracle.”
She shrugged, hearing the thread of disbelief and amusement in his tone. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Very few people do, except for the staff at the hospital, my mother, my sister, and the physician who researched the case.”
“And you.”
“No. I don’t believe. I know.”
He shook his head slightly, looking puzzled and a little amazed. “I’d almost believe it of you. You’re very . . . odd.”
“I’ve heard that before,” she muttered.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, and even though he hadn’t been sharp, exactly, her heartbeat began to thrum in her ears.
“You didn’t mean that I’m a freak?” she clarified, trying to keep things light.
“No. I meant that you’re rare. Different. Even a little otherworldly at times,” he said quietly. He reached up and touched the charm where it rested at the base of her throat. Her pulse leapt just inches from his pressing fingers. So much for keeping things light. She stared up at him, her glib comment melting on her tongue.
“I know I was harsh last week in the garage,” he said.