I walked directly to the kitchen with the plates. The kitchen area was immaculate. Abuelita ran a tight ship, and tonight she was ready to go. I washed the plates and forks while Abuelita finished putting pots away.
“OK, Isis, you can take off.” Abuelita didn’t even turn around when she said it. I was ready for bed but didn’t want to sound too excited. “Are you sure? I can help you lock up.” I was really praying she would say no, but I would stay if she needed me.
“I’m good, child. Besides, Bob is doing his rounds. I’m sure I’ll be OK.” She smiled when she said that. Bob was very efficient.
“Thank you, Abuelita. Good night.” I dried my hands and gave her a kiss on the cheek on my way out.
“Good night, Isis,” she said as I ran out the door.
“Good night, Bob,” I yelled at the night. There were no buildings near the little restaurant, so I knew sound would travel.
My minivan was parked in its usual place, the spot farthest from the restaurant. Abuelita liked her paying customers to have front-row parking.
The minivan was old and beaten up, and it had once been midnight blue. Now it was just a faded blue. My godmother had given it to me, and I had nicknamed it the Whale. I wasn’t complaining; the Whale saved me on gas, and I could pack my whole life into it. On top of that, it was paid for. I opened the door and was blasted by the heat that was still trapped inside. How could it be in the high eighties in September?
This night I was ready to go home to my small apartment on Summerhill Road. It was a seven-minute drive using the service roads next to 30, Highway 30, but I was exhausted all of a sudden.
Chapter 2
Did I mention that everything I owned fit into the Whale? That included everything in my one-bedroom apartment. It wasn’t in one of the fancy complexes in town, but for $400 a month, I wasn’t complaining. Compared to my last apartment in Washington Heights in New York, this was luxury.
I owned a small futon that doubled as my bed and sofa. A wicker table sat in the middle with my books and sheet music. The bedroom was actually my studio, where my sax hung out. Most of my clothes were in plastic storage containers from Walmart. The bathroom was next to the bedroom. A small hallway with appliances made the kitchen area. It was a good thing I didn’t cook much, because there was barely any room in the kitchen to walk around. I loved cooking, but it’s too much trouble to cook for just one person.
Most of my stuff had come from Walmart. I probably had an obsession with the supercenter—or, more accurately, I couldn’t afford any other place. I spent way too much time wandering the store buying things I didn’t need, like more books. The apartment had no curtains, or even pictures on the wall. I never bothered with that stuff. I was never in one place long enough to settle. I had piles of books all over the apartment; they were neat and organized. I just refused to buy bookshelves. Those things were hard to move. On the positive side, everything was paid for, and I had no debt. Keeps things simple when you need to move in a hurry.
There was a knock at my door. It was almost eleven, and I had no friends. All the people I knew I’d left at Abuelita’s. Texarkana was a relatively safe city by my standards, and I wasn’t too excited to get killed there. When it comes to crime rates, most people have a hard time looking at the big picture. For the natives, Texarkana was becoming too big and dangerous. They wanted to keep the small-town feel. When people know your name at the restaurant you frequent, you live in a small town. No matter what the natives believe. With that in mind, I grabbed my bat and walked to the door.
“Who is it?” I tried to make my voice sound mean and menacing. Instead I sounded as if I had swallowed a frog. Just my luck.
“I have a message from Brooklyn. Could we talk?” a female voice said. The voice had a slight accent, maybe European. She sounded friendly, but the Brooklyn part didn’t make me feel better. I had left Brooklyn in a hurry. Besides my godmother, nobody from that life knew where I was.
“Isis, we can talk in private, or we can do it this way. It’s up to you.”
How did she know my name? I slowly opened the door with my left hand, keeping my right on the bat. I peered through the crack, trying to look mean.
I had heard stories that when Death comes for you, your life flashes before your eyes. Well, that was a lie. My life didn’t flash. Instead, everything froze. As I stared at the woman on my threshold, I knew I was seeing Death. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not talking about someone who was there to kill me. I was actually staring at Death herself, the Grim Reaper. Why Death was wearing a very expensive designer suit and four-inch heels was beyond me. For that matter, why was Death beautiful, with a curvaceous body and long, silky brown hair?
“Can I come in now, or do you just plan to stare at me?” There was mischief in her voice, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit sheepish.
“Sure, why not?” If Death was at my door, there was no point in hiding.
“Do you know who I am?” She strolled into the apartment and did a quick scan. She was wearing a light jacket over her suit. I guess Death doesn’t feel heat or cold, because it was still too warm for all those layers even in September.
“Death.” The word came out harsh, even for me. That was all I was able
