7 Minutes in Heaven Read online

  by

  Tracey Ward

  by

  Tracey Ward

  Text Copyright © 2018 Tracey Ward

  All Rights Reserved

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except as used in book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  prologue

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter 7

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  chapter twenty-nine

  chapter thirty

  chapter thirty-one

  chapter thirty-two

  chapter thirty-three

  chapter thirty-four

  chapter thirty-five

  chapter thirty-six

  chapter thirty-seven

  chapter thirty-eight

  chapter thirty-nine

  chapter forty

  chapter forty-one

  prologue

  I’m falling.

  I’ve done that a lot this year. I’ve fallen for lies. Fallen in love. Now I’m falling through the water in the lake like I’ve done so often before, but this time is different. This time is going to be my last time. For everything. My last breath is rising in a rush of bubbles that hurry to the surface like champagne escaping a bottle. My last sight is the sun watching watery overhead. My last touch is liquid running through my fingers like silk. Like time. Like every ethereal and untouchable thing in the world. Like laughter. And my last thought . . . my last thought is of him. Of Kyle. I’ll miss him. I hope he’ll miss me.

  It’s a strange hope to have for the guy who just murdered me.

  They say that when you die, your brain stays active for seven minutes. Well, my name is Grace Murray, and these are my minutes.

  minute one

  chapter one

  “Mom!” I shout over the banister. “Have you seen my keys?!”

  I hear a clatter in the kitchen. Footsteps thump impatiently into the living room until my mom’s pale, pretty face is staring up at me. Her eyes are sharp, her lips a tight line slashed across her face.

  “How many times do I have to ask you not to shout?” she asks for the billionth time.

  “I’m sorry,” I lie. “I’m running late.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “Ashley’s.”

  “Not everything in the world is your sister’s fault.”

  “This is! She took forever in the bathroom. I barely had time to take a shower. I don’t have time to dry it and now I can’t find my keys.”

  Mom glances at the coffee table covered in magazines. The couch scattered with pillows. “Have you checked your purse?”

  “It was the first place I looked.”

  “Backpack?”

  “That’s the second place I looked.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Grace. I don’t see them.”

  “You didn’t even look.”

  She laughs quietly, disappearing back into the kitchen. “I doubt you did either.”

  “Ugh!” I launch myself away from the railing, heading straight for Ashley’s room.

  Her door is open. She’s dressed and ready to go; shoes on her feet and blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She’s at her computer watching a video on YouTube. I don’t have to look at it to know that it’s about ocean animals. Ashley is thirteen but ever since she was six she’s been obsessed with the ocean and everything that lives inside it. It’s practically all she talks about. We thought it was quirky until about five years ago when she went to a specialist and was diagnosed with Autism. That’s when we realized she’s not just into ocean stuff – she’s obsessed with it. Her mind is filled with it 24/7. Even when you’re talking to her about something else, she’ll suddenly spew some random fact about the lifespan of sea turtles or the name of the newest type of coral that’s just been discovered. It’s like she can’t help it. It bubbles up out of her, even when we’re in the middle of a movie in the theater or ordering dinner at a restaurant.

  You’re up, Ash. What do you want to order?

  An octopus has three hearts.

  So . . . chicken fingers, then?

  It’s embarrassing sometimes.

  But if anyone else called her embarrassing to my face, I’d slap them in theirs. She’s my sister. Only I’m allowed to talk trash about her.

  “Hey, have you seen my car keys?” I ask, but I’m already searching her room. It’s a mess. The floor is clear but there’s stuff on every surface. Books piled high on the desk. A massive aquarium quietly humming on the dresser, surrounded by fish food bottles; both empty and full. There are two half-finished glasses of water on the left nightstand and an old school rotary phone on the right. It’s not plugged in. Ashley just likes the sound it makes when she spins the dial.

  “No,” she answers absently. She doesn’t look away from her video.

  “Are you sure?”

  “About what?”

  I sigh, glaring at her impatiently. “Are you sure you haven’t seen my car keys?”

  “I never touch them.”

  “I know you don’t touch them, but have you seen them?”

  “No.”

  I glance at the digital clock on the desk next to her. My stomach flips anxiously when I read the time. “Mom will be yelling at you in five minutes to get downstairs, okay?”

  She nods once. “Five minutes.”

  “Do you want me to set a timer on your phone?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I pause, even though I’m running late and getting later by the second. “Do you want me to braid your hair for you?”

  That gets her attention. She looks at me over her shoulder, smiling sweetly. “Yes, please.”

  Ashley loves the feel of having her hair braided. It’s something soothing in a world that almost always feels abrasive to her. It’s why I take an extra three minutes that I don’t have to do it for her.

  When I’m done and she’s happy, I dart down the hall to my room. It’s not much cleaner in here than it was in Ashley’s. I have clothes strewn across every surface. On the bed, over my chair, piled on top of my dresser.

  How hard is it to open the drawers and put them away? Mom always complains.

  “Did you find your keys yet?!” she shouts from downstairs.

  “No!” I shout back, practically growling with frustration. “Ashley hasn’t seen them either!”

  “Will you give her a time warning?!”

  “I already did!”

  “You better find your keys quick! You’re going to be late!”

  “I know. I know,” I mutter to myself.

  I check the bathroom. The laundry room. I look in the pockets of the jeans I wore yesterday, just in case I put my keys in there
and forgot.

  I didn’t. They aren’t.

  I’ve turned the house upside down and I can’t find them anywhere. I’m starting to panic. I’m worried I’ll have to either walk in the cold or hitch a ride with Mom when she drops Ashley off. Dad’s already gone. He heads to work at the ski shop before the sun comes up, so he’s no help. And if I go with Mom and Ashley, I’ll be crazy late. The middle school is in the opposite direction of the high school and Mom probably won’t have time to take me anyway. She and Ashley have their morning planned down to the second with laser precision. Neither of them will like me messing with it.

  “Ashley!” Mom calls gently up the stairs. “Computer time is up! Let’s go, hon!”

  “Coming.”

  I follow Ashley down the stairs, watching the way a small, purple jellyfish sways from the zipper on her purple backpack. Almost everything Ashley owns is purple. Sometimes I have to buy purple things too just to keep her from freaking out. Purple binders. Purple pens. Purple popsicles.

  I hate the color purple.

  “Did you find your keys?” Mom asks when we hit the entryway.

  I shake my head dismally. “No. I looked everywhere.”

  “You need to keep better track of your things.”

  “I keep track of my stuff. They just walked off somewhere.”

  “Don’t you usually toss them right there on the side table?” she asks, gesturing to the shining, black table by the door.

  “Always. That’s the only place I put them.”

  “Did you leave them in your car?”

  “No. I’m not stupid.”

  “You shouldn’t call people stupid,” Ashley scolds seriously. “It’s mean.”

  “I didn’t call anyone stupid. I said I’m not stupid.”

  “Okay. Mom and I have to go. Bye.”

  Ashley waves before darting quickly out the door.

  “You should check your car,” Mom suggests, shrugging into her coat.

  I yank mine off the hook behind her before hurrying out the door. A thin layer of ice crunches under my boots as I stalk to the driveway where my old black Camry is parked. I make a show of pulling on the frigid door handle to prove that it’s locked and the keys aren’t inside, but it opens easily. I stumble back a step in surprise.

  Mom stands imperiously on the porch. “Are they in there?”

  Grudgingly, I bend over to look inside. My keys are dangling from the ignition.

  “I didn’t leave them in there,” I protest, though it’s a lost battle and I know it.

  “Obviously not,” she chuckles sarcastically. She comes down the steps to hand me my backpack from the foyer. She smiles sweetly. “You’re frantic. Promise me you’ll calm down and you won’t drive too fast, okay?”

  “Okay,” I grumble, reluctantly taking my backpack from her. “But I didn’t leave them in there.”

  “Must have been a ghost.” She leans in to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. Her skin is warm and soft against mine that’s already starting to feel brittle in the cold. “Have a good day, Grace.”

  “You too, Mom.”

  As Mom and Ashley pull out of the driveway next to me, I turn the key quickly. My car starts without a hitch but the heater rattles angrily. It’s never liked me. It won’t actually get warm until I’m pulling into the school parking lot. My fingers will be frozen to the steering wheel by then. They’re already starting to ache.

  I go to back out of the driveway, but the second my tires start to roll, I know there’s something wrong. The steering wheel is vibrating. The car is pulling to the right.

  “What now?” I groan, kicking my door open to go look.

  The black exterior of my car is caked with dirt and grime. It’s mostly gray snow that’s been on the ground for days but refuses to melt away. The weather won’t allow it. November in Utah means frigid temperatures and unpredictable snowfall. Even though we haven’t had a fresh batch of snow, we’re constantly struggling with the hardpacked mountains of it left over from the last dumping. People think snow is so pretty, but that’s when it’s fresh. After a while, it’s not fun anymore. It’s cold and ugly and annoying, and all you can think about is spring time. Every night, I dream of the lake unfreezing and the hours I’ll lose on its shore with my friends.

  Winter is the worst.

  When I walk around to the passenger side of my car, I find the problem immediately. I have a flat on the back. Totally deflated. Totally useless. I have a spare but I don’t know if I have time to change it. Dad showed me how when I first learned to drive, but that was in the summer. It was warm out and we sat on the ground together next to the tire, talking about how it’s done. If I sit down now, my butt will freeze to the driveway.

  If I stay and try to change it, it could take me forever.

  If I walk and try to hurry to school, I’ll probably be just as late. I’ll miss first period no matter what I do.

  Today is for suck.

  chapter two

  Roosevelt High School is old. You can see it in the sixties color scheme on the walls. You can smell it in the damp air in half the classrooms. We use the same lockers our parents and grandparents used, a new generation of Jackson townies that will live and die in the narrow city limits. Nothing changes here but the weather.

  So, when a new family moves to town, they’re big news. It’s Kyle Rixton’s first day at Roosevelt, I’ve never seen him, but I know all about him. Gossip gets around, and Kyle is the hottest news this school has had in years. He’s also apparently the hottest guy anyone has ever seen.

  “Gorgeous,” Makena gushes excitedly. “I had English with him this morning and I couldn’t stop looking at him. I was worried I was going to go blind, he’s so pretty.”

  “He can’t be that good looking.”

  “He is,” she fires back hotly.

  “Okay, okay,” I laugh, throwing my locker shut with a bang. “Sorry. I’m sure he’s devastating.”

  “He’s agony. I think I’m in love with him but I think I also hate him, you know?”

  “I don’t.”

  “You will,” she promises me. “When you see him, you’ll be done for. You’ll die. Seriously.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  The truth is, I can. I’m sort of off guys at the moment. After I dated Mark Blanchard – the grabbiest, handsiest SOB in the entire state – I went a little sour on men. It’s not like I’m going to the other team, I’m just not interested in dating. It’s so much hassle. Too much drama.

  Makena will never give up on it, though. She loves love. She’s obsessed with it. Even after her last boyfriend, Evan, was caught making out with Marcy at a party, she still believes in HEAs. I don’t know where she gets all her optimism, but it’s endless. Almost as endless as her hate for Marcy.

  Personally, I’m not so sure she deserves all the blame. Yeah, Marcy is the school party girl. She drinks, she flirts, she’s beautiful and she knows it. She doesn’t care what anyone thinks of her, making her kind of a selfish jerk sometimes, but what about Evan? He’s the one who had a girlfriend. He’s the cheater. Makena doesn’t speak to him anymore, and that’s good, but I don’t think she puts enough of the blame on him. I guess it’s easier to blame Marcy.

  “We have to go to the party at the lake this weekend,” she tells me.

  I groan miserably. “Seriously? It’s going to be so cold.”

  “There’ll be a bonfire.”

  “Can I sit inside it, because that’s the only way I’m staying warm.”

  “Do what you want,” she chuckles, “but make sure you look good doing it. You’re going up against Marcy. You have to bring your A game.”

  “Wait, what? I’m going up against Marcy how?”

  “For Kyle,” she says like it’s obvious.

  “No,” I laugh. “I’m not doing that. I don’t even know him!”

  “We have to fix that,” she informs me, pulling me toward the exit. “You need a meet cute.”

  “Oh God.”
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  “It should have happened already. He lives across the street from you.”

  “I don’t go outside much. You know, since it’s freezing and all.”

  “It would have been perfect if he saw you with your flat tire this morning. He could have driven you to school.”

  “I’m not getting in the car with a guy I’ve never met. That’s how horror movies start.”

  “That’s how romances start too.”

  “I don’t think that’s how mine starts,” I chuckle.

  Makena lights up excitedly. “How do you think yours starts?”

  “I don’t know. On accident, probably. I’m definitely not looking for it.”

  “Are you still swearing off guys? I thought you were over Mark.”

  “I am, but I’m not over the trauma.”

  She frowns in disgust. “He’s so gross. I wish you would let me tell everyone what he did.”

  “No. Never.” I pull her to a stop out of the way of the crowd of people walking past us. I stare down at her seriously. “You promised you’d never tell anyone.”

  “I know, and I won’t, but it’s messed up. He’s messed up.”

  “And that’s why I’m staying away from him and everyone like him.”

  “You mean everyone with a penis?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Yeah. Those people.”

  “But what if you met one that was super nice and super hot and—”

  “Named Kyle?” I finish for her.

  She smiles unapologetically. “Maybe.”

  I roll my eyes, leading her toward the door. “If you like him so much, why don’t you go for him?”

  “I can’t compete with Marcy,” she replies glumly.

  “That’s crap. You’re beautiful.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m cute. Maybe even adorable, but I’m not beautiful. Not like she is.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “No. You’re not.” She pokes me hard in the side, making me squirm away. “You’re prettier.”

  I giggle as I run from her. I make the mistake of running right out the door into the cold.

  We gasp in unison, the cold collapsing our lungs in an adjustment that physically hurts. I’m only going from one building to the next so I didn’t bring my jacket, but I miss it. I wrap my arms around myself as the chill sends a wave of goosebumps over my skin. It bites at my body like a thousand angry insects intent on eating me alive.