When Nova and I walk through the front door of CVOX, the hearse is waiting at the curb. Nova looks at me questioningly.
“That’s our ride for the evening,” I say.
Nova cocks her head and gives me her crooked smile. “Is this a joke?”
“Nope. When I was on my way to work tonight, the driver of that vehicle ran a light and hit me and my Schwinn. My Schwinn didn’t make it.” I shrug. “I did. I guess it wasn’t my night to die.”
Nova lifts her face to mine. “Thank God for that,” she says. I look into her eyes. The steadiness in her gaze has anchored me for the past three years.
“I do,” I say. I’m surprised at the catch in my voice. And then, another surprise. “Nova, I want to stick around. I want to see what happens next.”
The fog has lifted. Above us the red lips and Mick Jagger tongue that form the O in the CVOX call letters blaze in the night. Nova slides her arm through mine.
“I’ve never ridden in a hearse before.”
“I guess tonight’s your lucky night.”
“I know it’s my lucky night,” she says. For a woman in a caterpillar suit, Nova moves quickly. She reaches up, draws me to her and kisses me.
“Let’s go to my place,” she says. “Let’s see how this story unfolds.”