Page 40 of Living with Death

He smiles, rubbing his nose against mine. His wings flap, the wind catching them as we soar. Black stretches out behind him. Beautiful wings shine like silk in the morning light.

He lifts his chin. “Look.”

I slowly twist my head. My eyes widen, and my mouth opens. The sky’s a pale blue as orange light reaches across, sunburning the tops of the clouds—rays of yellow spread, weaving through the white clouds, the sun a blinding orange.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, and I don’t think I ever will again.

He twists us, and I laugh, my eyes crying happy tears.

“How does it feel?” I ask him.

“What?”

“The sun’s warmth against your face.”

“Ah,” he says. “It feels heavenly.” He smiles. “We’ll both be able to cross something off the list.”

“Yes,” I murmur.

We stay like this, away from the world below, just us two and the sunrise.

And I think to myself,What have I been doing all this time?

*

After our sunrise flight, I had a cup of coffee in front of the fire as he ate some more pancakes. We then watchedStepmom, and I cried like usual. Afterward, Azrael left for a while. I took a much-needed nap before going for a run and checking in with Cook. Azrael scratched sunrise off my list. I was excited to see what sunset would look like with him.

“If you could have done anything else with your life, what would it have been?” I ask as we sit near a heater on the deck of a restaurant.

“I’ve never been asked that before,” he says.

“Well, to be fair, you don’t speak to people often.”

He chuckles and then sighs, leaning back in his chair. He looks out on the steely water. Boats bounce back and forth, birds flying around their sails. “I would have been a fisherman.”

“A fisherman?”

“Yes. I like the water. Centuries ago, I watched the men from the In-Between and wondered what it would have been like to wake up every morning and get out there, knowing whatever you caught would feed your family.” His eyes narrow as if he can still see those men in their boats, pulling up nets and counting their catch.

“I would have been a husband and a father. Owned a little piece of this earth and grew old beside my woman.” He rests his elbow on the table, running his fingers across his chin. “I would have worshipped her every night as our children slept soundly in the home we built together.”

A warmth licks my core as I think about him worshipping his woman. How would that feel to have his hands roam down my body before he settled between the cradle of my thighs and claimed me? I cross my legs, shaking those thoughts away.

Thoughts I should not be having.

“We would have danced under the pale moon and sat side by side as the sun rose.” I watch his face, pulling the sleeves of my sweater over my hands. It’s heartbreaking to mourn something you’ve never had, and his expression tells me he’s thought about this a lot.

“I would have been a great man,” he says, looking over at me.

I feel a tear roll down my cheek and wipe it away. The thought of him being a human man and having those things. The idea of him marrying a woman and making her the happiest person on earth. A pang of jealousy is unwelcome. “I believe that, too.”

He gives me a small smile. “What about you, Mabel Carmichael? How would you have wanted your life to go?”

I lift my hot chocolate, savoring the warmth against my hands. “I used to dream I was adopted.” I laugh lightly, gazing upward at the sky. “I had these awesome parents who chose me. When I was old enough, I went off to college.” I wave a hand. “Somewhere different than here. I got exceptional grades in my creative writing classes,” I say matter-of-factly. “And I'd relish the smell when I returned for the holidays—homemade cookies in the oven.” I smile, and Azrael returns it, but it’s not like mine. Sad even. “The Christmas decorations are meaningful, not those perfect things you get at the store, but ones you collected over time that remind you of a memory.

“The Christmas tree is covered in messy, silver tinsel because who cares if it drops on the floor and if the lights are colorful and don’t match the outside icicles?” I lick my lips. “My father would hug me and tell me he loved me. My mother would tell me I was perfect like I was. Freckles and all.” I look over at Azrael. “And the best part? He wouldn’t beat her after one too many drinks.”

I take a sip from my mug, licking my top lip. “Dad never touched her face, however.” I place the cup down, crossing my arms as I recall the many bruises I’d see on her body. He would leave after. I’d check on her and sometimes see her lift her shirt to look in the mirror. Her back would already be turning black and yellow. But she never cried, not one tear. It was like a challenge for her. See how much she could take. She’d almost smile as if she’d won.

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