“Quincy, I am very sorry to interrupt. I waited for some time . . .”

I make a face.

“Over beyond the trees there. I could not hear anything, I assure you. I wish I could have afforded you more time, but . . . well, again, my apologies.”

“Who are you? How do you know my name?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He pushes his glasses up. “My name is Mr. Oklahoma.”

“I have one more stop,” I tell him. “Then we can go.”

I walk four rows over, two rows up, gently set the last two stems on two side-by-side graves. “I love you too,” I say. “And I’m sorry.”

II.

Mr. Oklahoma’s car is immaculate.

No surprise.

One look at him and—out of nowhere—pristine pops into my head.

I’m fairly confident I’ve never said pristine, ever.

Funny the randomness that hangs out in our brains just waiting for its shot.

“So, are you okay?”

I stare straight ahead. “I found out I’m dead. Everything’s peachy.”

“Right. I just meant . . .” He clears his throat, switches up his grip on the steering wheel. “All things considered, but you are right. Vacuous question.”

“If vacuous means stupid, you have my full agreement.”

Mr. Oklahoma laughs, but he immediately reins it in. “Fair,” he says, his voice once more flinty.

“Ask you a question, man?”

“Certainly.”

“How much time do I have before I’m fake-smiling in a box?”

“That is a question best put to your mother, Quincy.”

“No one wants to give me any answers.”

“You are free to ask anything.”

“Yeah?” I say, glaring at him across the seat. “Would you bring your son back to life and not tell him?”

Mr. Oklahoma frowns. “That is not . . . I am uncertain, were I in her shoes, the path I would choose. But I understand why your mother chose the approach she did. It is not my place to say what is right or wrong, but . . . I do not think she was wrong. Her motivations were pure, her intention was to protect you, and I am not sure you can ask more from a person.”

“And everyone knows . . . what happened to me?”

“If by everyone, you mean your mom, Jamal, Whit, and our staff at the Center.”

“What about the doctors at the hospital? The nurses? The cleaning crew?”

Mr. Oklahoma shakes his head. “After we obtained permission to move your body, we transported you to our facility. No one outside of the people I mentioned knows about your reanimation.”

“But why me? Why did you choose to bring me back?”

“The question you need to ask, Quincy, is why not you? You left this world a hero. You displayed courage where most would hesitate. There are plenty of adults who would not have made that sacrifice.”

I laugh. “You know I wasn’t trying to die, right?”