it on her husband’s finger. But that just made her think of what his finger had looked like after the accident, like nothing she’d ever seen before, or wanted to see again. Unfortunately, that image of his charred body was still the one that came first, like a black shadow over the man he had been.
Hastily, she wrapped the items back up and set them to the side. She closed her eyes, trying to even out her breathing. They were just things. Things she’d done without for the past week. Things she was so glad to have back.
“Still no shower?” Death leaned against the pillows, legs outstretched on the bed’s cover, and wore a Labelmaker nametag just like Maude and Claude’s that said, Hi! Please call me the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. “Oh. You got distracted. Anything good in there that your brother or that nice lawyer sent along? Or your friend Eric?”
Casey hadn’t thought about that—the fact that Ricky had probably looked through the bag. That Eric certainly had, because he’d known exactly where to take it. Casey went hot at the memory of what had almost happened between the two of them, scared and passionate, in the depths of the old theater. There had been some hard kissing, and clothes flying, before Reuben’s ghost had interrupted them. She pushed the image away, turning her attention back to the contents of the bag.
“So what’s there?” Death would’ve been digging through the bag that second, if it were a possibility. As it was, Death just had to wait.
A little more tentatively now, Casey began taking things out. Her jeans, shirts, underwear, socks…all freshly laundered. Had Ricky done that? Or Eric? She put her Dobak aside, and laid her hand on it.
“Oh, no,” Death said. “Does that mean it will be even longer until you bathe?”
She smiled. “No point in taking a shower and then getting all sweaty.”
Death’s nose wrinkled. “You and your workouts. Like missing a few days is going to send you back to fat land.”
“Not fat land. Just to a place where I’m not so fit. I do need to keep up my strength, you know.”
“For all of those bad guys we keep coming across. How about this for an idea? We move in nicer circles, and avoid fistfights and nasty people? Ever thought of that?”
Casey continued through the bag, taking out her bathroom supplies—some of them brand new, thanks to Ricky, probably—a couple paperback novels, and her wallet. She flipped it open, studying her face in the driver’s license. So much had happened since that photo had been taken. The print still said Casey Kaufmann, her name before she’d become a Maldonado, and her address was from the house where she’d grown up. The house where Ricky still lived. She and Reuben hadn’t been married long enough that her license renewal had come up, so the ID served as a reminder of what had come before. In the picture she looked happy, healthy, and completely unaware of the tragedy her life would hold.
She riffled through the cash pocket of the wallet. Lots of money there. More of it than she’d had before, which most likely meant Don had gone against his better judgment and added what he could. He’d thrust himself into the “aiding and abetting” category by sending her bag—he probably figured he might as well send the money, too. Someday she’d thank him for all of the risks he’d taken.
At the bottom of the bag, Casey found a folder. It hadn’t been there before. She took it out and looked at the plain manila cardstock.
“Anything good?” Death asked.
Casey opened it. On top of the stack of papers was a letter, in Ricky’s handwriting. She set it aside, waiting to read it until she’d seen what else was there. Underneath the stationary lay a photo. In it, she and Reuben smiled into the camera, a newborn Omar between them on the hospital bed. She looked sweaty and pale and exhausted…and happy. Reuben’s dark hair was mussed, and bags underscored his eyes, but again there was unmasked joy. Omar, as usual during those first days, was asleep, his entire face scrunched, as if he’d had to close it all down in order to get any rest.
“Ah, photos,” Death said. “Haven’t I always told you to carry some with you?”
Casey turned the picture face down and looked at the next one. There she was, with Ricky and her mother, the summer before the accident. Casey was giving