Page 48 of Living with Death

I look over at him, feeling my brow furrow. “Grandpop…sent me a note.” I slide it from my coat’s pocket and hand it to Cook.

“Sent?” he asks.

I nod as he studies me for a moment and then takes the note, lifting it into the light so he can see. He swallows and places the letter on his lap.

He lifts his gray brows, running his hand over the side of his matching goatee. Over the years, that thing went from solid black to salt and pepper, and now it’s completely gray. I’ve known him for as long as I can remember. He and Grandpop used to go fishing together when the weather was right, and then they’d clean the fish, and Cook would get the fryer going. All his family would come to the store. They’d set up big tables in the parking lot, and everyone would bring a dish.

Being with him reminds me of being around my grandpop. He doesn’t say anything, so I do. I look out across the square. “Remember when I told you about the voice I was hearing?”

He nods.

“Well…” I clear my throat. “There isn’t any way to say this that would make it make more sense, so I’m just going to say it.”

“That’s the best way,” he says.

“I died the other night.”

“Come again.”

“The other night, lightning hit a tree. I flipped over it, and I died.”

I tell Cook everything about that night, and I tell him everything I did yesterday was with Death. He sits and listens, not judging, just absorbing everything I’ve said, and then he’s quiet. He looks over at me and then takes another sip of his Coke. “Your grandpop and I were best friends,” he says. “Back in our day, it was frowned upon for a Black man and a white man to be friends, but we were.” He laughs.

“Even though people disapproved, no one gave us a hard time about it. We stayed out of people’s way, and they stayed out of ours.” He squints his eyes from the sun. “We used to get a case of beer and go dove hunting. Your grandpop was a terrible shot, but I got enough of them for us to cook up.” Wrinkles form beside his eyes as he laughs. “Of course, if he were here, he’d tell you I was a lying fool.”

I smile, knowing the truth of that.

“Beings we were so close, your grandpop would share things with me he didn’t share with anyone else.”

I slant my head, turning toward him. “What things?”

He looks over at me. “Remember when I told you I saw the dead sometimes?”

I nod, recalling our conversation when I told him I heard a voice.

“Well, it wasn’t me. It was Henry.”

I narrow my eyes, looking down at the ground.

“He called it a gift and said that sometimes they just wanted someone to hear them before they passed on.” A wrinkle forms between his brow, and he rubs his hand over his leg. “We were lucky enough to be together for most of the war. They didn’t give a shit about segregation. We were all just trying to stay alive. He’d wake me up sometimes at night, shaking like a leaf. He’d tell me what he saw, and boy, I don’t know how he went back to sleep. I’d have to get up and have me a smoke.”

Chills run down the center of my back. I recall several nights hearing Grandpop talking. I’d walk downstairs, and no one would be there. It was after Grams passed. I thought maybe Grandpop was talking during sleep or old age was kicking in, but now, well, it all makes sense.

He exhales. “So he’s found your grams. That’s good.” He smiles.

“But what mistake did he make? And how has Death tricked me?”

He shakes his head. “I wish I had an answer for that.” He rubs his thumb over the glass bottle. “Making deals with beings who aren’t a part of this world seems like a dangerous game, but something tells me there’s a reason he’s picked you. I don’t see a being like that not having a purpose. As far as tricked, think back on the last few days. Has he said anything that makes you think he’s not being truthful?”

I shake my head. “No. He’s been completely open. Anything I ask, he tells me.”

“So maybe ask him. See what he says.”

Chapter Fourteen

Azrael

Two years before

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