He was helping.

So on this day, he brings a candle, white for purity. He places it by her bedside and holds her hand. “Please, Ángel, show her kindness. Let her leave this world as herself. I will do anything. Anything…”

For the first time in days, her eyelids flutter. They peel open, blue as the day he met her, and clear, oh so clear.

“Héctor,” she says, her breath sweet as candy. He can taste her kiss.

“I’m here, mi amor. I’m here.” Tears drip from his eyes as he touches her cheek, adrenaline coursing through him like a young man. He feels powerful.

“Te amo,” she says.

His smile stretches so wide, it strains his cheeks.

“I see it, Héctor.” Her eyes glow with the intelligence of youth. “I will see you there. I’ll be waiting for you.”

When the last breath puffs from her chest, it’s as if it puffs straight into his own. He grows dizzy. Storm clouds swirl before him. Blue flames erupt in his temples. He reaches for the bed rail to steady himself, leaning his head on her chest, which no longer moves.

Fever rushes through him as he inhales her scent, sickeningly sweet, like August flowers.

She is gone.

And something else has arrived. It’s inside him.

He lifts his head, his chest puffing for the both of them. His vision ripens. He removes his glasses and sees dust drifting in the air. He turns toward the closed window and hears a bee buzzing against the glass. Then the smells come—the pungent cleansers, stale air, and oh, yes, there’s Maria, the perfume lingering in her hair.

Something is changing within him.

Something he can’t control.

Something he doesn’t want to stop.

“Mr. Gonzalez?” says a nurse rushing into the room. “Oh, Mr. Gonzalez! Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss!”

She fiddles with the machines, her hands busy and her eyes glassy. She is filling with grief.

Only he is not sad. He knows the truth.

His wife is not gone. She is waiting for him.

Soon he will join her, but not until he spreads the word.

His prayers have been answered, and others must know.

He must tell them.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Vera

Vera swirled her strawberry-banana yogurt, her eyes in a dead stare as she pictured Mr. Gonzalez’s face morphing before her, his deep voice, and his thick drool. What happened to him?

“I once had a guy tell me I smelled like lasagna. I had actually eaten lasagna the day before, but I had showered since and brushed my teeth twice. Explain that,” remarked Chelsea, a fellow food service employee, as she bit into a ham-and-cheese sandwich with glowing neon mustard. She was a sophomore at community college and managed to get her girlfriend hired two months ago. Technically, Vera was a third wheel on their lunch dates, but considering she sat alone in her high school cafeteria, this was better.

“I had a lady once ask me to pick food from her teeth. Like, she thought I was going to stick my fingers in her mouth and dig around.” Samantha pretended to gag as she snagged a baby carrot from her girlfriend’s tray.