Page 59 of Living with Death

For Sam, that means brushing on some glittery, purple eyeshadow. She’ll slip on some wedges because even though she’s tall, she thinks women should always wear heels. Straightening my boot socks, I put my foot on the pedal and push off the sidewalk. Lit pumpkins sit outside the town's stores, and purple and orange string lights illuminate the way.

I imagine she’ll relax as soon as she finishes her second beer. I glide off the walkway, pedaling in the bike lane, narrowing my eyes when I spot Cassie walking down the street. A blow-up of Snoopy sits on a giant pumpkin, swaying in the center of the town’s square.

Cassie looks toward me, and I wave.

She blinked, looking behind her to see if I was waving at someone else. I instantly feel regret. None of us have taken the time to get to know her. Of course, it’s hard to get to know someone when they don’t speak and seem to prefer to keep to themselves, but now that I know she’s sick, I’d like to help.

Maybe she doesn’t want help, Mabel.

That could be true. Cassie may turn me down, but at least I’ll know I tried. On my break, I got on social media and saw her profile. I looked at the last photo she’d posted. It was dated a few years ago. Cassie was smiling, and her daughter was grinning with chocolate on her face. I noticed she’d linked her mom as a family member, so I also went on her profile.

Cassie’s mom posted prayers for her family and different sayings about God. What a tragedy they went through. She lost her granddaughter and lost her daughter in the process. I have all this money sitting in a bank account, mostly untouched. It’s time I start doing some good with it.

Azrael drifts through my mind, and the conversation I know we will have. I need to understand why my grandpop sent me that letter.

“You could have been clearer, Grandpop so that I wouldn’t have all these questions.”

I ride past Cook’s, seeing him sitting in his rocking chair, strumming some tunes on his guitar. I give him a wave, and he lifts his hand.

I round the road, and moments later, I’m pulling up to my house. I lift my bike, twist the doorknob, and walk inside. The smell of wood burning fills my senses as I remove my hat and rub my hands together.

“Azrael, are you here? “The fire crackles in the fireplace, warming the bottom floor. I walk down the hall to the kitchen and stop. A shiny new stove rests where the old one was. I exhale.

“Mom, you just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“Hello, darling.”

I jump, hitting my back against the wall and placing my hand over my heart. “Azrael.” I exhale.

“I’m sorry,” he says, smiling.

I shake my head. “When did Mom come by?” I need to get my key back from her.

“Earlier.” His dark eyes brighten. “There was talk of ripping up carpet.”

Good God. I know the carpet needs replacing. I make a mental note to call her.

“Where were you during this?”

“In the shadows,” he says.

I nod.

He leans against the opposite wall, sliding a hand into his pocket, his shirt rucked to his elbows. Tattoos cover his forearms, black lines swirling and twisting.

We stand in the dim hallway, facing one another.

“What do the tattoos mean?” I ask.

“They’re a telling of who I am. Each of us has unique markings, given the day He created us.”

“Oh,” I say. “I like them.”

He smiles. “I like you.”

I look to the floor.

“You have got to stop doing that,” he says. “When I say something to you, know that it is true. There’s nothing sexier than confidence, darling. And you should have it.”

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