Page 73 of Living with Death
“Why did He allow it? Does He usually do things like that?”
Dark hair falls over his forehead, and he brushes it away. “We don’t question Him, but no, it’s a rarity.” He swallows, and his tongue goes to the roof of his mouth. “Mabel. I’m afraid…”
We pull up to the house, and he looks past me, his brow furrowing. I follow his gaze, seeing Sam sitting on my porch and my mom standing by the door with her arms crossed, that usual scowl on her perfect face.
Sam and my mom together? What on earth?
“What’s going on?” I look at him. His face has gone paler than usual. “Azrael?” I say before looking back. Sam stands with an uncomfortable expression as she side-eyes my mom. They’ve never met. I can only imagine how that conversation went.
The wind blows leaves across the sidewalk, and I open my door, feeling the breeze curve over my face.
“Mabel, where the hell have you been?” Mom asks, walking down the porch steps.
“Why are you here?” I ask, looking past her at Sam. Her face is grave. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been worried sick. Where did that man take you?” She looks at Azrael as if he’s a bug that should be squashed immediately. Like he’s the issue here. “We thought someone kidnapped you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, “I say. “I’m fine.”
“Why didn’t you answer your phone?” Truthfully, I haven’t even thought about my phone. The thing stays silent most of the time anyway.
“I was preoccupied.”
“Well, you shouldn’t ignore your phone. Something could have happened to me, and you wouldn’t have known about it. Mabel, where is your head sometimes?”
Something could have happened to her, and I wouldn’t have known. Jesus, this woman. Does she care about anyone else but herself? Has she ever?
“Why are you here?” I repeat, the blood running through my veins beginning to simmer. I look back at Azrael. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at my mother like he wants to vaporize her. The car drives off, leaving a trail of cold smoke and disturbing leaves.
Mom tugs at her blazer. The thick fabric appears itchy, matching the skirt just above her knees. Bright pink stands out in the gray atmosphere, and her blonde hair blows in the wind. She looks uncomfortable—my mother, uncomfortable.
“Cook has died.”
“What?” I shake my head. No. No, no, no.
That can’t be right. I look to the ground, my hand going for my throat. Cook was healthy. There was nothing wrong with him. I swallow as my chest tightens, the air seeming to cut off around me. My eyes go to the road, and I don’t think before running.
I hurry to the store, my lungs protesting with every step. Why can’t I breathe?
I inhale sharply, and oxygen-like needles pierce my lungs as my legs burn. I run as fast as possible as cold sweat trickles down my lower back.
He’s not dead. Cook is in the kitchen, hands deep in some batter with grease bubbling beside him. BB King’s up too loud, and he can’t hear when someone calls him.
I run into the parking lot, my feet throbbing as I rush to the door. A sign hangs on the front.
We are closed until further notice. I yank on the door.
“Cook!” I hit my fist on the glass. “Cook, I have something to tell you!” I run to the side, putting my face to the window. It’s dark, but I can see his stool behind the counter. “Cook, open up!” I squint, peering toward the kitchen. There’s a light.
“I know you’re in there. You’re tricking everyone.” Hot tears run down my face. “I need to talk to you, to tell you what’s going on in my life. I found someone, and I think I love him, Cook. Please tell me it’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
I hit the window. “Cook, why aren’t you answering me?” I hit the window repeatedly, my palm stinging from the impact.
My tears blur my vision as I hang my head.
A sob escapes my throat. “What am I supposed to do without you?” I shake my head, my hands trembling as my shoulders quake. Who am I supposed to talk to now?
I rub my eyes, sliding down the side of the building.
