Page 43 of Drop Dead Gorgeous
“Not like that.”
She waits.
“I am Death.”
The words settle quietly between us.
Not dramatic.
Not theatrical.
Simply true.
She doesn't laugh. She doesn't recoil. She studies my face with that same thoughtful patience she's shown every flower she's ever arranged, as though she's turning the truth over in her hands to see how all the pieces fit.
Finally she speaks.
“I think... part of me already knew.”
I say nothing.
“When I told you my dad was in hospice, you didn't try to comfort me.” She looks up. “You just nodded. Like you understood.”
“I did.”
Another silence settles between us, but it feels different now. Not awkward. Thoughtful.
“So...” she says quietly. “You know.”
“Yes.”
“My father?”
“Yes.”
She swallows.
“And... me?”
For the first time since we've met, I find I cannot hold her gaze.
“Yes.”
The word barely makes it past my throat.
“You've known all along?”
“Yes.”
She looks down at our joined hands, her thumb absently brushing across my knuckles.
“When?”
I almost answer.
The date is as familiar to me as my own name.
Before I can speak, she lifts her free hand.
