Page 78 of Living with Death

She says this as if she’s convincing herself that she did the right thing.

She walks to the door, slamming it behind her. I hear her heels tap against the porch steps, and silence falls over the house. I drop back on the couch, and as I stare at the empty chair Grandpop loved, I have no idea that my mother is crying for the first time in her adult life.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A knock sounds on the door, and I look toward it, realizing I’ve been sitting here for hours staring at the fireplace, going over everything my mother said. We’re so different, she and I.

I would never trap a man for money. I would never put my daughter in the situation she put me in. I’m trying to understand her, trying to find some kind of, I don’t know, a sliver of I get why she did what she did, but I’m coming up empty.

The knock thuds again, and I reluctantly stand. I walk to the door, seeing my neighbor from across the street.

“Can I help you?” I ask, holding on to the doorknob.

She smiles, but there’s an awkwardness in her eyes. “Hey, Mabel. Um, we’ve noticed you haven’t decorated for Halloween yet, and we’re just wondering when you will?”

I look past her at her house. Spiderwebs and pumpkins, and blow-up ghosts cover her yard. I peer down the road, seeing the same in everyone else's.

“You know it’s tradition. We all do it together.” She wrings her hands.

They all do it together. I haven’t put a single decoration up since I took over this house, and she’s asked me to since day one. “I’ll get on that,” I say.

She smiles, her whole face lighting up with relief. “Thanks so much, Mabel. The kids will love it. We have plenty to share if you need some candy to give out. We always go overboard.” She laughs, puts her thick blonde hair behind her ear, and waves her hand. “Anyway, thanks again.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, shutting the door. I kick my boots off and look up the stairs. Sadness washes over me in a solid wave. The urge to go down to Cook’s and talk to him is strong. I’ll never be able to do it again.

The door settles when I push away from it and head toward the stairs. I grab the railing, noticing something out of the corner of my eye. I turn to look, seeing Azrael standing by the fireplace in the living room. The fire roars to life behind him, and he swallows, looking utterly beautiful in all black, his skin as pale as milk.

“I need to speak to you,” he says in a low voice. Vulnerable, like a child confessing he’s done something he shouldn’t have. My stomach dips, and my hand tightens on the banister.

“You don’t know how to knock on a door, do you?”

“Would you prefer me to?”

“Yes. Then I could tell you I don’t want to talk and leave you outside my house instead of in my living room.”

He angles his head, scratching across his chin like he doesn’t know how to handle these situations––a woman being upset with him. “I understand you’re angry with me. Please, give me a moment to say what I need to, and then I’ll go. You won’t see me again if it’s what you wish.” His brow furrows. The Angel of Death appears defeated and lonely.

Is that what I wish? My heart aches at the thought. I was so quick to defend him with my mother, yet I’m telling him I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I’m angry, but I don’t want him gone from my life.

Frowning, I move away from the stairs and walk to the couch. I sigh, releasing tension. “Be quick. This has been a draining day.”

He looks at me, and I can imagine what a mess I seem. My eyes are puffy, my face pale and tired. His eyes dance between mine and then drop to the floor. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

My heart flutters, but not in a good way. In a way, that tells me it knew and didn’t want to believe it.

He licks his lips, his eyes darting to my feet. “When you first met me, I told you I’d been watching you.”

I narrow my eyes, a sick feeling swirling in my belly. “Yes.” Where is he going with this?

He looks at me with caution. “I’d watched you for two years because Henry had asked me to. He’s the only one who’s ever been able to speak to me.”

“Wait, Grandpop? Is he the one?” I run my hand over my arm, thinking back on when Azrael told me he’s only been able to speak to one mortal. All that time and only one. My grandpop.

Azrael moves from the fireplace and takes a hesitant seat beside me. The couch dips with his weight. “I was so fascinated. I asked him if he was happy with how his life turned out.” He focuses on the shimmering fire. “It’s a question I’ve always wanted to inquire. I’ve seen humans at their most vulnerable state––the end of their lives and never been able to speak to them about how it all went. I’ve disliked that aspect for a long time, but he talked to me.” He rubs his chin, wonder clearly on his handsome face.

That’s the aspect he hasn’t liked. Not the one where he ends people’s lives and takes them away from those who love them.

“During our conversation, I noticed a photo of you.” He looks back at me, his eyes holding a soft glow. Sweet affection swirls in those mysterious eyes. I’ve never had anyone look at me that way. Never has a person made me feel important like he does.

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