Page 91 of Living with Death

“But…” I shake my head. “You mean all this time, the boxes falling and icing and sugar… spirits were knocking them off the shelf?”

“Yes. The portal goes up. It’s a congested area.”

“Up.” I point.

“Up,” he counters.

“Wow. They were pretty angry to be going to Heaven.”

“Wouldn’t you be if you’d been waiting in a long line for a long time?”

I laugh. “I guess so.” I run a hand through my damp hair. After our lovemaking in the kitchen, we bathed and went for round two. I rode Azrael while he licked my breast, hand around my neck as water lapped around us until we both came moaning against each other’s lips.

He whispered filthy words into my ear, telling me how good I felt to him, and then switched to sweet murmurs, telling me how much he loved me. I don’t want this ever to end, but how does it continue?

Right now, I don’t want to ask.

Chapter Thirty-Four

The mansion is pushed back from the road on two acres of land. It’s made of white brick, with black shutters. The driveway is white sandstone, and the bushes and flowers are well-groomed. I knock on the door and wait.

Once my father passed, she sold their home and bought this. I don’t blame her. Why would you want to stay in a home where you were abused often? I hear someone approaching the door, and I lick my lips and clear my throat.

“Mabel, how lovely to see you,” Rami says.

Rami has been with us for as long as I can remember. She helped take care of me and take care of our home. I hug her, breathing in that familiar scent I haven’t smelled in so long.

“Sorry, it’s been a while.”

“I understand. Life gets busy. Come in.”

I nod and walk through the door, taking in the vast space—dark wooden floors and a staircase that’ll take your breath.

“Your mom is in the library.”

“One thing we have in common,” I say.

She smiles. “Yes, you two love books, but I believe you have more in common than that.”

I narrow my eyes. “Not likely.”

She hums in response.

We walk down the stretch of the hall before approaching a set of French doors. Rami taps on the glass and opens one. “Lori, your daughter is here to see you.”

Mother looks up from her reading, removing her glasses. “Mabel,” she says, clearly shocked.

I walk inside, giving Rami a tentative smile. She returned it and closed the door.

“Hey,” I say.

“What brings you by? Would you like something to drink? You didn’t ride your bike here, did you?”

“No, Mom.” I look up at her book collection. “To both.” I slide my hand over the books. “It’s grown since the last time I saw it.”

“Hmm,” she agrees, “I do read a lot. Help yourself to any of them.”

I run a hand over her desk and then claim a chair. I inhale and ready myself for this conversation. “I want to start by saying I’m sorry for judging you harshly.”

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