Page 89 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter

Death stood on the corner, dressed in all black.

It was only a glance, but I knew what it meant. He hung his head as if it hurt him to hurt me, and vanished.

It was as if my lungs collapsed, the weight of an elephant there, making it impossible to draw breath.

When I could make a sound, it was a scream.

“Shit, lady! What’s the matter with you,” the driver said, swerving.

“Stop!” I pounded on the partition. “Turn the car around! Take me home now!”

“Hit the glass again, and you’ll be walking.”

“You have to take me back now. I don’t care what it costs.”

I held myself in the back seat, papers scattered at my feet as I prayed.Please, no, God. It’s just a coincidence. Everything is fine.

I couldn’t allow myself to think of anything else.

Gabby was fine.

Gabby was fine.

Gabby was fine.

If I thought it enough, then it would have to be true.

I checked the time. Maybe she hadn’t left yet. Perhaps it was just a coincidence.

I flew out of the cab as soon as it pulled up, not even waiting for it to stop. I threw money at the driver and grabbed the papers to my chest.

“Gabby!” I screeched, running up the stairs, papers fluttering like leaves behind me as I searched the house, going room by room, scared I’d find her fallen behind a door or having suffered a heart attack.

I searched and searched, but she wasn’t there.

My mind jumped to all the different scenarios. Where could she be, and what had happened?

I was running to our room to call her agent when the phone rang.

At that moment, I knew.

Itcouldhave been Winston checking on his mom.

Itcouldhave been the maid calling in sick, the wrong number, or any number of things, but at that moment, I knew.

I sat on the bed, watching it ring. But it could’ve been her, and she could’ve been fine. That was the only reason I picked up.

“Hello?”

It was her agent, Joan. “Jimi, they’re taking her to Cedars-Sinai—you have to get there quick.”

A Visit From Death

The bed dipped as Death sat beside Nella, her figure frail in the sheets.

The alarm clock read 11:45 a.m., but the thick pulled curtains shrouded the room in shadow, the space stinking of neglect and stale smoke, stubbed cigarettes spilling from the ashtray—gray dust smeared on the surface. Three fat gnats circled above the empty wine bottles littering the bedside table, and the trash can overflowed, the garbage piling onto the carpet. Gabrielle’s clothes were still hanging in the closet, her brush still on the dressing table.

In the center of it all, Nella lay huddled, the spilled wine appearing like blood in the dark light.