Page 47 of Living with Death
After scrubbing the wall, I clean the whole kitchen, working my way into the dining room before moving toward the living room. I turn the record player on, and Billie Holliday croons through the speakers as I mop the hall floor, my hair falling around my face. My mind goes back to my dance with Azrael.
I dip my mop and wring it out. It was simply two people dancing in the kitchen, but it was probably the sweetest experience of my life. I wonder where he is.
I finish mopping and dump my bucket before grabbing a glass of water. Leaning against the kitchen counter, I study the tile, the crack Grams made. I grab my water bottle, spraying the plants in the window. I should tear down that wall and expand the kitchen. After all, who needs a dining room? I walk down the hall and run my hand over my hair.
I might as well clean the bookshelves and place all the books I’ve read throughout the years away. I reroll my sleeves and grab the dusting spray and a towel, removing old books and papers.
I find myself sitting on my knees, looking through a photo album with black and white photos of Grams and Grandpop. Some of me when I was a little girl and my mother, too. I laugh. She’d die if she knew there were photos of her bare bottom. I close the book and stand. A note falls, feathering to the floor.
I bend to pick it up, hearing the wind murmur against the house, causing old wood to creak and shift, and the light above me flickers. Chills run down my arms as I sit on the couch's edge.
My Dearest Mabel,
Know that I am well and found your grams, but I’m afraid I may have done something I shouldn’t have. Death has tricked you. Please be cautious.
I will see you again.
Grandpop.
I place my hand over my mouth. Tears fill my eyes. “He’s found Grams.” I sniff, looking up. How did this letter get here? I flip the note over before rereading the front.Death has tricked you—my mind reels.
Has he tricked me?
How?
I stand, leaving the books. I want to talk to Cook and see if he can help me make sense of this. I walk over to my coat before stepping onto the porch.
The crisp night air brushes across my face, chilling me to the bone from the sweat on my body. I grab my bike, looking down at the bent wheel.
Shit.
I look at my watch. It’s still early enough to take it by the shop. The wheel wobbles and squeaks as I walk it down the road. I approach the spot where I died, stopping to look at the large tree they’ve moved from the road. The branches flattened, the trunks split, and strips of wood and bark are peeled back, some blown off a few feet away.
They say it only takes an instant to alter a person’s life. An ah-ha moment is what they call it. Something that scares you so severely, change is the only thing you can do. Mine happened here, but was it supposed to?
How has Death tricked me?
I round the corner to Cook’s. He sits in his rocking chair but stands when he sees me. “Mabel, what are you doing this fine night?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
He studies my bike. “Looks like you need a new rim and tire, too.”
“I do. Can you give me a ride to the bike store?”
“Sure can.” He puts the closed sign on the door. “They’ll have to make do until I get back.”
After the guy at the bike store tells us he can change the tire in twenty minutes, I ask Cook if I can treat him to a late snack.
He gets a slice of pizza, and I grab a coffee from a nearby place and sit on the benches in the square. He’s got a bottled Coke. “You know, used to, you couldn’t drink this stuff out of anything but a bottle.” He takes a satisfying sip and says, “Ah.”
I smile.
“Those were the good ol’ days.”
“Hmm.” I take a sip of my coffee.
“What’s on your mind?” he asks.
