She squeezed one of her heart pills out of its foil wrapping and placed it under her tongue. “Okay, but what do you mean by guest?”

“Call it what you will. Chaperon, escort, duenna. While you are here, I will be here.”

“Actually, you’re only a duenna if you’re an older woman minding young girls. And Spanish.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Am I hearing things, or did you just correct me?”

Blythe took a nervous sip of water. “Sorry. Old habit. I used to teach history—that was before I was history.”

“I know.”

“How much do you know?”

“Enough.”

“Then maybe you can tell me how I’m supposed to explain you to my visitors.”

His turn to ruminate, but this time his silence didn’t frighten her; it made her curious. The guy seemed so sure of himself, with that unearthly confidence, yet he didn’t have an answer ready, as though this situation was a first for him too. Then there was the Spanish word he’d gotten wrong. How could an omnipotent force of the universe possibly make a mistake like that? Come to think of it, why was he giving her this reprieve?

“If you don’t mind me asking—and make no mistake, I’m eternally grateful and everything—but have you ever done this before? Granted a person extra time, I mean.”

“Not exactly.”

“So why me?”

“Why not you?”

Blythe pondered that one so hard that she pouted, something she’d done as a schoolgirl; and for the first time, Death smiled at her. It was a cute, cheeky lopsided grin that reminded her strongly of Hank Bonden, the boy’s father, when he’d been a similar age.

“Don’t worry. That was a rhetorical question,” he told her.

“Ah. Well, in that case, I’ll repeat my question, which wasn’t at all rhetorical. Why me?”

“Because you asked nicely.”

“Yeesh. I wouldn’t want to play you at poker. Or do you prefer chess?” She threw him a wink.

“Actually, I’m partial to Battleship.” He returned the wink, and she didn’t know whether to laugh out loud or shudder at the idea of the Grim Reaper having seen himself spoofed by an actor on screen. William Sadler, Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey. One of Rose’s favorite films.

“So, who are you? I mean what are you? What do I call you?”

“Call me…Bellamy.”

“Just Bellamy?”

“How about…Bellamy Scythe?”

Blythe pulled the two halves of her cardigan together and hugged herself. “Okay, just Bellamy.” She shifted position, unsure of this new intimacy they were sharing. He still hadn’t told her why he was doing this.

“The answers to all your questions will come in time,” he said. “For now, think of me as an interested observer.”

“Interested in what exactly?”

He brushed the knees of his trousers. “People, life, the things we take for granted.”