The Five People You Meet in Heaven

Eddie saved the little girl.

From the text:

"Tala?" he whispered.
She looked up.
"The little girl at the pier? Do you know about her?"
Tala stared at her fingertips. She nodded yes.
"Did I save her? Did I pull her out of the way?"
Tala shook her head. "No pull."
Eddie shivered. His head dropped. So there it was. The end of his story.
"Push," Tala said.
He looked up. "Push?"
"Push her legs. No pull. You push. Big thing fall. You keep her safe."
Eddie shut his eyes in denial. "But I felt her hands," he said. "It's the only thing I remember. I couldn't have pushed her. I felt her hands."
Tala smiled and scooped up river water, then placed her small wet fingers in Eddie's adult grip. He knew right away they had been there before.
"Not her hands," she said. "My hands. I bring you to heaven. Keep you safe."

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Lines formed at Ruby Pier—just as a line formed someplace else: five people waiting, in five chosen memories, for a little girl named Amy or Annie to grow and to love and to age and to die, and to finally have her question answered—why she lived and what she lived for.