The Tessa Randolph Collection, Books 1-3 by Paula Lester (best ereader for comics .txt) 📗

There wasn’t much to look at. Its minimalistic décor was even more striking since Tessa was looking for something to occupy her mind.

Then her gaze fell on the filing cabinet and she had an idea. She set her coffee on the desk and opened the cabinet. Her hand trembled slightly, hovering over the files as she hesitated. Then she flipped through to the Rs. Her heart pounded wildly as she went through the alphabet, looking for Randolph.

But there was no file for Michael Randolph.

“You’re looking in the wrong spot, Theresa.”

Tessa whirled around to face her mother, who leaned against the door frame nonchalantly.

“I, uh, I am?”

Cheryl crossed to the desk, picked up Tessa’s coffee, and handed it to her. Then, she opened a desk drawer and pulled out a canister of wipes. She used one to wipe the spot on the desk where the coffee had sat.

“I didn’t expect you to come in today,” Tessa said.

“Well, I can see that,” her mother said. “I assume you wouldn’t rifle through my things if you expected me to show up at any moment. And I assume you’re looking for your father’s file.”

Tessa shrugged and looked at her feet. “What makes you think that?”

“Because there isn’t anyone else’s file you’d be interested in.” Cheryl paused and drummed her fingers on the glass desk. “His paperwork isn’t filed under his name.”

“Why . . . why not?”

Cheryl paused and pursed her lips. It alarmed Tessa because her mother didn’t usually have to stop and think about what to say. Words came easily to her, and she didn’t put her foot in her mouth like her daughter did routinely.

Finally, Cheryl let out a long breath. “Because he wasn’t supposed to die that day.”

She’d spoken so softly that Tessa wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Her voice cracked when she asked, “Did you say Dad wasn’t supposed to die?”

Cheryl didn’t look up. She only nodded.

Tessa sank into the opposite chair. “What does that even mean? How does that . . .” She thought for a minute. “Was he murdered or something?”

But even as the words slipped out, she knew that wasn’t right. Chet Sanborn had been murdered—and reaping his spirit had shown up as an assignment for Tessa. So, even murders were expected as far as the universe was concerned.

Her mother verified her thought process with a shake of her head. With her lips pressed tightly together, she finally made eye contact with her daughter. She leaned forward. “Your dad took someone else’s place.”

“Whose?” Tessa felt a sinking feeling like a weight had been flung inside her belly.

Cheryl paused, wincing as though the words were causing her physical pain. “Theresa, you were slated to die that day.”

Over the years, Tessa had heard the phrase about feeling like the air was being sucked out of the room, but before then, it had just been a saying. A cliché without real meaning. Until that moment.

Tessa felt as though she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. They burned like she’d run a marathon. She gasped and choked. This was worse than her apartment ever dared to be.

Cheryl looked sympathetic. Beside the wipes in her drawer, she found a box of tissues. She took one for herself and passed Tessa the box.

“I saw it on another reaper’s schedule by accident. You were supposed to get electrocuted by our stupid, old toaster—if you can believe it. I was totally distraught. I told your father, and he was calm. He grabbed my hands and said it was all going to be okay. Then he went into the kitchen and grabbed the toaster. He took it into the garage and beat it with a hammer. He asked me to distract you, so I made some pancakes and took them up to your room.”

Tessa remembered those pancakes like they were the last vestiges of happiness in her life.

“Then, your dad told me to stay out of the kitchen,” Cheryl continued. “He didn’t want me to get in trouble at work for what he was about to do. But I peeked around the door frame without them knowing. I saw it all. When Sylvia, the reaper who was supposed to take you, arrived in our home, your dad opened his arms wide and begged her to take him instead. At first, she refused. But eventually, she agreed.”

“Why?”

Cheryl looked so sad as a small smile tilted up her lips. “She was a mom too.”

“So, he exchanged himself for me?” Tessa said, amazed she’d found the air to speak. “That’s allowed?”

Cheryl shook her head, and her tone was sharp. “No. It isn’t allowed. Sylvia almost lost her job, and there was a big to-do over it. You don’t even want to know all the red tape it created. It’s still not completely settled.” She reached across the desk and squeezed Tessa’s hands. “But you’re here. It’s what your dad wanted.”

So many thoughts swirled through Tessa’s mind that she couldn’t seem to catch one. Her dad wasn’t supposed to die. She was. She shouldn’t be there right now, talking to her mom and feeling the throb of blisters on her heels. She should be on the other side doing . . . whatever spirits did there. Float around and wax philosophical, maybe? Watch their loved ones struggle on earth and send healing energy?

She had no idea how to feel about what she’d just learned. She just felt lost. A new form of grief washed over her. Guilt.

“That paperwork you were looking for is still under your name,” Cheryl said. “If you’d looked a bit beyond the Ms to the Ts, you would have found it. But it’s not really something you need to read.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Cheryl shook her head. “Michael asked me not to. And I didn’t see any point in adding that pain to your plate. Losing your dad was hard enough.”

She was right about that. Tessa wanted to take the box of tissues and cry in bed all day.

But Cheryl stood