Thursday Afternoon

July 2026

When he showed up, he looked just like my stepdad from my childhood. Like he hadn't aged all that much. He couldn't have been more than forty.

I was taken aback. Shocked to see him standing in my house when we hadn't spoken in years. Not since Mom passed.

Not after her addiction. He had left her too, when things got bad. I don't blame him. She was mean. Always angry. Vindictive. Toward the end, all she seemed to care about was scoring her dope. Chasing that high.

I had just finished the first coat of paint in my daughter's room when he strolled in.

Or, more accurately, appeared.

To be honest, the moment I saw his face, I knew.

I knew why he was there.

Death.

I saw through the facade.

"Is this supposed to ease the transition?" I asked.

"Kinda. It's a new thing we've been tasked to try."

"Does it work?"

He shrugged.

"I'm skeptical of it all."

I let that sink in.

"You know... I've been seeing you. Or at least, I think it was you. The last few weeks, while I was driving, I'd catch glimpses of my mother in the rearview mirror."

He nodded.

"She said, 'See you soon.'"

"Yeah," he said. "That's sort of our calling card. Like a warning."

"Right."

I nodded, taking it all in.

"Well... I don't suppose there's a second chance?"

"You already had one," he said. "When you overdosed five years ago."

"Yeah."

I looked down at the paintbrush in my hand.

"I guess I did."

"And begging won't change anything?"

Death simply stared at me.

"No," he said.

"Is it my heart?" I asked. "Or something else?"

"Does it matter?"

I thought about it.

"No. I guess not."

I looked around the room. The half-painted walls. The little space waiting for my daughter.

"My wife is staying at her sister's for the weekend," I said. "I promised her I'd have the nursery finished before she got back."

Death looked around the room. At the paint tray. The roller. The half-painted walls.

He shook his head.

"You always were a procrastinator."

Despite everything, I laughed.

"Yeah. Fair."

Death stood motionless, his face unreadable.

Then, almost like someone had restarted his system, he seemed to come back.

"That'll be fine."

"What just happened there?"

"Oh," he said casually, looking down at the floor. "I was clearing it with the top brass."

I laughed softly.

"I was kind of hoping I'd go out sober," I said. "So my wife wouldn't have to carry another heartbreak because of my addiction."

Death was quiet for a moment.

"It's Thursday," he said. "You've been clean for five years. That's not nothing."

He glanced down at my arms.

"I'll make sure they stay free of fresh track marks."

I looked at him.

He nodded.

A huge sigh escaped from me. One I didn't realize I'd been holding.

"Your reprieve will end before she returns home," he said. "Sunday night."

"Right."

I picked up the roller again.