At six-eighteen that morning Frederick Nichols died.

Mackenzie, his granddaughter, knew it had to be after six-eighteen. He was fully dressed with only his slippers missing, kicked off by the fit that ended him. His smoking jacket was laying on the chair in his bedroom, ready for him to have his morning cigarette quickly before she stopped by to have breakfast.

It was his ‘retirement anniversary’ as he called it. They always had breakfast as a family. Especially during summer break.

Mackenzie looked at Miss Georgia. She was crying softly and praying. Her daughter, Ivelisse, was sitting with her trying to console her. Grim faced men in orderly uniforms moved past toward the bedroom while their boss spoke to her father.

“I know it’s ridiculous. But dad wanted it done as soon as possible,” Paul Nichols said. He was cleaning his glasses with a fancy special cloth. The Nichols archaic family crest emblazoned on it. He kept squeezing too hard, his frame would bend.

“I understand, Paul,” the man said. He had a sympathetic face, but his patience was thin. Mackenzie could feel it. “We can’t just fire it up and do the deed the same day. There’s paperwork. Death certificates.”

“Ah!” Miss Georgia cried, she railed in Spanish at the orderlies and rushed passed them.

“Hey! Mama!” Ivelisse grabbed her and pulled her back whispering to her. Miss Georgia grabbed her slipper and prepared to throw it, “Please do not touch anything! We will move things. Show us where you need the path for the gurney! Mama,”

The orderlies gave loud sighs and explained what furniture would need to move. They pointed to the large taxidermized bear Mackenzie was sitting under. Her eyes widened and Miss Georgia immediately prepared her shoe.

“Mama! It’s in the way! They aren’t gonna carry him like a sack of potatoes! Dignity!” Ivelisse tried to emphasize.

Miss Georgia huffed and then her lip quivered. She looked from the orderlies to Paul and then back to Mackenzie. Nodding she put her slipper back on and slapped her cheeks. Rubbing the few tears that formed at her eyes she got to work shuffling along and moving the small end tables and other odds and ends that crisscrossed the main hall to the stairs.

“Kenzie,” Ivelisse said softly to her. Mackenzie’s head snapped up and locked eyes with the older woman’s. She had trouble not focusing on the birth mark above her chin. “I’m gonna go get the dolly. I’ll need to move the big thing. Two minutes, okay?”

She nodded, “Yes, sorry Miss Ivelisse.”

Ivelisse made a tsk sound and gave her a big hug, burying her face in Mackenzie’s shoulder. Mackenzie returned it halfheartedly. When they broke apart Mackenzie stood and went to stand next to her father. She took his glasses from him and gave them a quick clean before handing them back.

“Thanks, dude,” he replied putting them on. “How soon can we have the cremation?”

The funeral man rubbed his forehead, “We get him there by two, traffic through Harper’s Block god help us, we can have everything done by the end of the day. One day for viewing. Friday. We can set up for Friday,” he said, giving in.

“Thank you, Anthony,” Paul said clapping his hand on the man’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to pressure you about it-”

Anthony waved him away and patted Paul’s face, “No problem. My old man poured one out when we got the call. I can save one for you before the viewing?”

“No. Charlotte and I will busy organizing,” he motioned to the old one-time duplex, “This! Maybe a beer after the estate sale, my treat.”

Anthony returned the clap and threw a thumb to the kitchen, “Mind if I use your phone? I want to let em know to be ready for us.”

“Sure,” Paul set a hand on Mackenzie’s shoulder and squeezed. Mackenzie winced. Her father was lean, almost shockingly skinny, but he had a good bit of grip strength. “Mack, go check on your mom for me.”

“Yes, daddy,” Mackenzie said as she hugged him.

Mackenzie was almost her father’s height just under five-five. She had her mother’s shape, a traditional hourglass figure from puberty hitting her hips and chest like a truck. She had creamy brown skin with darker freckles below her greenish hazel eyes and across her rounded nose.

Her hair was pulled back and bound tightly in two bunches. Because she took after her mother’s hair the curls and length caused it to puff out, bobbing slightly as she walked. She had tried dreadlocks when she was younger, but hated the feeling of them.

She was wearing a pair of clean black shoes with buckles, light blue leggings, and shorts over them. Her shirt was plain blue, and she wore a baggy letterman jacket over it. The jacket was her mother’s and depicted a lioness’ face on the back.

Mackenzie adjusted her own glasses and looked outside the open door, frowning when she noticed a few bugs flitter in. The entryway of her grandfather’s house was modeled off of Japanese homes, with a step up into the house proper. She looked down at her shoes and at the carpet she had been walking on feeling suddenly ashamed.

Her father had his slippers on, but that was because he had arrived early. Mackenzie had run late mailing at the post office, sending Bethany, her best friend, a birthday gift.

She had been irritated at first, her mother had promised her it would only be five minutes. It ended up being an hour. And then they finally did get to papa’s house they had to find parking down the block because of the hearse.

Mackenzie walked outside to the stoop and smelled her mother’s cigarettes before she saw her. Charlotte Nichols was sitting on the banister of the stoop, one leg up, using it as an arm rest. Her pack was almost empty. Mackenzie looked from it to her mother and saw her make up was smudged.

“Mama?” Mackenzie asked.

“Hey baby. Y’all finally get things settled with Mr. Anthony?” Charlotte asked. Her accent was slipping out.

Paul and Mackenzie were both born in Harrison City, located on the coast of lake Erie. Charlotte had been born in Louisiana. Mackenzie wasn’t sure where. The snurl her mother’s mouth made when she asked always discouraged the conversation further.

Charlotte was a dark-skinned woman, who gave off a strong presence like the heroine, or villain, of an old exploitation move. She was taller than her husband and daughter by almost a full half a foot. She had clean manicured nails and an expertly cut afro that framed her chiseled, handsome face. Her large lips, all of Mackenzie’s school friends were jealous of, took the cig and then a long drag.

She looked from it to her daughter and gave a warm smile. Mackenzie smiled back, “Daddy sent me to check on you.”

“Check on me? I bet that man has almost worn his glasses a hole,” she muttered as she killed the cig in an ash tray full of others. “Sheeit,” she mused under her breath looking at her watch. “Mackenzie, baby, where is,” she stopped and looked back up at the house. “Let’s go see if your daddy is doing alright.”

Charlotte hopped down and cursed again as she realized she got some ash on her jeans. She quickly grabbed the small brush Frederick had used to clean his own smokes up and brushed it off. She then dumped the tray into a small pail of sand under where she had been sitting. They walked in and Charlotte slipped out of her heels and into her slippers. Mackenzie smiled and did the same.

“Paul,” Charlotte called, seeing he wasn’t in the main hall.

“He went upstairs Mrs. Nichols,” Ivelisse said, “They got him on the gurney and he and mama wanted to say goodbye.”

Charlotte had taken Mackenzie’s hand. She squeezed it, “Mackenzie. You go find Macaroon,” Frederick’s cat, “And get his carrier. We’ll take him home. I’m gonna go say bye to dad.”

“I want to-”

“Mackenzie. You can say goodbye at the viewing. I ain’t gonna be at that. This will be my last chance,” Charlotte’s face softened. She closed her eyes and rubbed them, “Macaroon, please.”

“Yes ma’am,” Mackenzie said dropping her hand and moving toward the bottom kitchen.

Macaroon was an old and strangely obedient cat older than Makenzie. She once asked her grandfather how old he was, and he had joked Macaroon had been around since before Paul was born. Hard to believe, except for the pictures Frederick had around the house of a younger Paul holding him.

Paul claimed the cat he played with, and Macaroon were different animals, same name. But Mackenzie knew better. One, her grandfather never lied to her. Two, if you looked at the grainy photos close enough you could see the thin white line that went down Macaroon’s neck and chest, the source of his name.

Mackenzie went from the smoking room to the library, to the guest room, to the kitchen, almost knocking Anthony over. She apologized quickly and ended up at the door to the basement. Macaroon would always show up to stop her from going down there.

Her grandfather used it as a makeshift machine shop and garage. As a girl, it was always dangerous. Charlotte once called it a death trap and almost ordered Frederick to get rid of it. Instead, he locked the door and swallowed the key in front of her to prove Mackenzie was safe from it.

She smiled at the memory. It had been a trick; Frederick had hidden the key under his tongue and went down almost immediately after Charlotte left. Macaroon standing guard to ward Mackenzie off.

“Macaroon?” Mackenzie called.

She put her hand on the basement door and sighed before moving to the closet opposite it. Inside she saw Macaroon’s many carriers. Four or five that were broken, two that had simply crumbled from age. One that was just a leather bag with a screen on it. The big plastic one with the blanket was one Paul had finally gotten some time when Mackenzie was ten.

A soft meow caught her attention. She picked it up, grunting at the awkward shape, and moved back toward the kitchen. Macaroon was sitting proudly in one of the chairs. His big green eyes were focused little knives, but they dilated almost to black when he saw her.

With a move almost like a sigh he hopped down from the chair and walked to her, sitting on his haunches, and meowing again.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

“You know, don’t you buddy?” she asked scratching his chin. He purred and rubbed his cheek against her fingers. Mackenzie hiccupped and sat down next to the carrier. “I don’t want him to be gone, Macaroon,” she whispered. Shaking slightly, she grabbed the cat into a hug. He continued to purr and did his best to wrap his paws around her neck.

Sobbing softly Mackenzie did not move until she heard the rattling wheels of the gurney leave the house.

<><><>

Mackenzie laid on her bed, her back to the door. The sun had set an hour or more ago. Her pillow was wet from her crying and leaking snot. She sniffed and slapped at the bed behind her to try and find the tissues she had been using. She found the box and dug her finger in to found it empty.

“Shit,” she said softly.

A rapping came at ger door, “Baby?” Charlotte called, “Do you mind if I come in?”

“No ma’am,” she said.

The door opened allowing light to reveal Mackenzie’s feet. She pulled her legs closer and wiggled into the seam made by her bed and the wall. She felt the weight of Charlotte sitting then laying down, their backs together.

“Martin came by. He wanted to ask if you were okay,” she explained.

“I’m not,” Mackenzie admitted.

“Clarice called a little while ago, she wanted to come by too. I told her you were busy,” Charlotte continued.

“Thank you,” she said back.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Mackenzie spied the shadow of a cat creeping up as Macaroon slid inside and sat by the door’s hinges. He began to tick-tock his tail but stopped when she heard Charlotte shush him.

“It’s okay. He only does it when he’s nervous,” Mackenzie said.

“Seeing what dad fed him, what does he have to be nervous about,” Charlotte grunted. Mackenzie sniffed and hiccupped. Charlotte felt her shake and she quickly rolled over. She grabbed Mackenzie’s arm and rubbed. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean-”

“We just talked to him yesterday!” Mackenzie screamed, “He was fine! He never said anything was wrong after a doctor visit! I know you and dad never believed him, but he never lied to me!”

Charlotte frowned and pulled Mackenzie into a hug, “Baby. It’s not that I didn’t believe him. My daddy died of a stroke; you know that. It came sudden and fast. And he was way younger than Freddie. I just know these things can happen like that.”

“Papa was healthier than granddaddy Sloan, though,” Mackenzie said. “Mee-maw always let him sneak the foods the doctor told him to avoid.”

“Lord she did,” Charlotte sighed, “She called today. She’s coming for the viewing, be here in the morning.”

“Great,” Mackenzie grunted, “I can’t wait to be told I’m being too proper. She should just tell me to be more black,” Mackenzie hissed. “I’m not going to any salon she suggests either. Or going to stay with her!”

Charlotte squeezed her daughter’s arm again. Her face scrunched up as she tried to fight the conflict inside her. She knew her mother wasn’t the nicest, or most considerate person. Normally the disrespect from Mackenzie would earn a pulled ear, but she was hurting, more than Paul or Charlotte by miles.

“When I told her dad had died, she put the phone down,” Charlotte whispered.

Mackenzie hiccupped again and felt tears come, “So? She probably did it,” she tried to gather some poison to spit, “To laugh.”

“No, Mackenzie. She did it to cry. Mama never cried in front of me, point of pride with that woman. Not even in daddy’s hospital room. And you know what she asked me after almost ten minutes?”

“What?” Mackenzie said her voice cracking.

“She asked if it weas okay for her to come see us, stay with us while we got his funeral ready,” Charlotte laid her chin on Mackenzie’s head, “Everyone loved dad, Mackenzie. He was a good man. Your daddy wasn’t the first white boy to get me on a date, but he was the first one to take me home.”

Charlotte smiled, “He quit smoking for seven years after you were born,” she said.

“I remember,” started again when he said his old brand got re-made in Ireland.

“We all have to live in a world a little bit darker without him, Mackenzie. Remember, you’re not the only one hurting,” Charlotte kissed Mackenzie’s temple and stood, “We’re gonna order pizza, I doubt either of us could cook tonight. Your dad’s headed to Fran’s and Will’s to get some movies.”

“And weed for you two,” Mackenzie thought.

“I’ll order you some cheese sticks, but you know your daddy when there’s a movie on. He’ll gobble em up if you don’t get ’em first.”

“Thank you, mama. I’ll be down in a little bit,” she said.

When Charlotte left Mackenzie turned and sat cross-legged. She focused on Macaroon, who was patiently watching her. Her lip trembled. Sitting up Mackenzie held out her arms and discarded her pillow.

“Macaroon, come here please,” she begged. The cat raised its hip and lowered its head. With a single jump he cleared the distance from the door to her and hit her in the chest. Mackenzie let out a grunt of air at the impact. “Good jump, never knew you could do that!”

She laughed and held him in her lap. Playing softly with him she cooed and listened to him purr. She heard the beep of the alarm system as the front door opened and she laughed when she heard her dad whoop out a horror movie title.

“Fran gave him a free sample again, yay,” Mackenzie huffed as she hugged Macaroon. “Now I have to go down there to avoid the dad tax. Come on, Macaroon.”

She let him go and went to the door. When she turned to look back, she noticed that Macaroon was looking out her window, in the direction of Frederick’s house. When she was about to say something, her mind ticked.

No.

He’s looking in the direction of Anthony’s funeral home.

<>

“Oh shit!” Charlotte screamed as she buried her face in Paul’s arm. He and Mackenzie laughed.

“Baby, it’s only a movie. Look! You can see the seam of the-”

“Shut up! That shit is real! They killed that girl!” Charlotte cried back shaking him by his collar. “Mackenzie, baby! You wanna sleep with us cause you ain’t feelin’ it, yeah? Your daddy won’t protect me now!”

Mackenzie snorted, “No, mama, I have to keep Macaroon company. Afterall, you said he wasn’t gonna sleep with you!”

Charlotte glared at the cat who was watching the screen intently. He was sitting in the opposite recliner to Mackenzie while Paul and Charlotte were on the couch between them. The four pizzas, the two adults had destroyed, were on the coffee table and random crusts scattered about. Mackenzie had claimed a few pieces, as well as her cheese sticks, as soon as they arrived to have a chance at dinner.

Before Paul could settle from another laughing fit their phone rang.

“Aw, shit. Mack, pause it, you have hands,” he said as he tossed her the remote and climbed over the back of the couch.

“Thank Jesus,” Charlotte sighed. “I’m going to have a smoke,” she went to one of the reading nooks in their windows and opened it. Pulling her pack from her back pocket she dug a match from behind her ear.

“Mama! Not in the house!”

“Hush up! You want me to go wandering off all scared in the dark?” Charlotte asked. Mackenzie shook her head and wagged a piece of crust to Macaroon. “At! Human food is bad for cats. He’ll get sick.”

“Bread won’t hurt him,” Mackenzie pouted.

“What? Okay, that sucks. Sorry to hear that, Anthony. How long of a delay?” they heard Paul ask.

Macaroon’s head swiveled toward the hallway with the phone.

“Okay. I’ll be by in the morning to grab dad’s stuff. Do me a favor and make sure any of his little trinkets stay with-Okay. Yeah, that makes sense. Sorry. What? No, you sound drunk. See you tomorrow,” Paul hung up and walked back rubbing his face. “Talk about a buzz kill.”

He sat down with a hard thud and put his glasses back on, “What’s wrong, Paul?” Charlotte asked.

“Anthony’s old man, Giuseppe, was gonna prepare dad. Something happened and there was a water main break or something,” Macaroon meowed, “Hush Rooney. Giuseppe had to go to the hospital.”

“How bad is it?” Charlotte asked. Macaroon followed with another meow.

“Pretty bad, Joe’s left side got hit by a pipe. Dad’s body is fine, and they got all of his stuff together. They’re gonna have to move him over to, uh,” Paul took held up a piece of yellow note paper, “Powell and Sons. That place next to the suburbs?”

Macaroon growled and began to fervently lick his paw.

“Macaroon?” Mackenzie asked drawing his attention, “It’s okay. One place is as good as another. Papa will be-”

Macaroon hissed at her and raised his heckles.

“Hey! Cat! You watch yourself round my baby!” Charlotte screamed.

“Charlotte it’s fine he’s just. Are you smoking inside? Lotte! Come on,” Paul griped.

“Don’t Lotte me. This animal just,” she pointed at Macaroon who yowled and leapt toward her. Charlotte cried out and dodged. Like a bullet Macaroon slid through the open window and landed effortlessly on the iron gate around their lot.

“Macaroon!” Mackenzie screamed as she ran to the window, “Come back! It’s okay, We’ll go check on Papa tomorrow!”

Macaroon stared back at her, his eyes wide. For a moment Mackenzie thought she saw his mouth open. The cat then wiggled and leapt again.

“Mama! How could you!” she yelled, shaking her fists, “He was all I had left!”

“Mack! Don’t yell at your mother!” Paul said sitting up, “Macaroon always prowls at night. He’ll be back by-”

“He prowled in another part of the city! He’s only been here a few hours! He’ll get lost!”

“Mackenzie, chill out,” Paul threatened, pointing at her, “We’ll leave his blanket from the carrier by the garden gate. He’ll be able to smell it. I also have some of dad’s pipe weed. If he isn’t back by morning, we’ll go and check around dad’s house.”

Mackenzie’s lip quivered, “But-”

“No buts! It’s been a long day. Go to bed, please,” Paul said laying back.

Charlotte tried to put a hand on Mackenzie’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off and stomped to her chair. She grabbed the last of her food and hurried upstairs before slamming her door.

“I think she called us weed heads,” Charlotte said.

“Give her a few minutes and then take this to her,” Paul dug around in his pockets and pulled out a tiny elephant carving.

Just bigger than his palm, it was simple and cleanly cut. Looking like ivory, it was made from a type of wood from the baobab tree in Africa. A favorite of wild elephants to eat. Frederick had been a whittler and made it on one of his many trips in his youth. Glue and resin filled dozens of gouges and scars that had accumulated over the years. One that Frederick had never covered was a cross shape over the left eye.

Charlotte gasped as she took it and held it up to the light, “I went back and got it before I went to Fran’s. Dad said it should be thrown into the sea after his death, but he said Mack should do it.”

“You give it to her, Paul,” Charlotte relented handing it back. He shook his head and pushed it away. “Paul. I’m. I don’t know how to apologize for-”

“Macaroon will come back. He always comes back. And if he doesn’t. Well. Miss Melody always finds another black cat with the white stripe. I doubt she’ll tell the difference,” he said waving his hand. “Or we can finally get her a dog.”

Charlotte scoffed and headed after Mackenzie, “No thank you. I’m already feeling bad enough about a cat. I’d hate to buy something to love it for eight years and then spend a week crying every time I hear a bark.”

Paul’s laughter echoed up the stairs as she made it to the landing. She looked at Mackenzie’s door and let out a breath. She scratched the door with her nails.

No answer.

“Mackenzie? Your daddy forgot to give you something. Macaroon ain’t the only thing you got left, baby. I’m going to leave it here. Goodnight. We love you,” Charlotte said softly. She put her hand on the door then left the little elephant on the ground.

Charlotte did not hear when the door opened, or the soft thank you Mackenzie said as she took the elephant and held it to her chest.

<><><>

Mackenzie’s eyes opened. She had been dead asleep. Something had moved downstairs. Not uncommon for Paul to have a midnight snack after smoking. So why was she waking up? She had been a heavy sleeper her entire life.

As carefully as possible she grabbed her glasses and put them on, creeping to her door. She had left it open so maybe she could hear. She heard a gruff voice muttering.

“Daddy?” She said softly. She stuck her head into the hall and looked down toward their room. The door was closed, and no lights were on. She swallowed. “Did. Did someone break in?” she thought.

“How do neither of them have change?” she heard. Taking a breath Mackenzie rolled back into her room pushed herself against her wall. She held her breath as something quickly dashed up the stairs. “No time. No time. What was the number?”

The phone table between her room and her bathroom shook as something landed on it. She heard the plastic of the phone being knocked over and then buttons being pressed.

“Loud as shit. Good thing Mack sleeps like the dead,” the voice continued. Ringing. “Hello? It’s Macaroon.”

Mackenzie started, “What?” she mouthed, she peered back out between the door and frame and saw the cat indeed sitting on the table, holding the phone to his head. Mackenzie squeezed the elephant figurine in her hands. “What the fu-”

“He was moved. Yeah, they hit the water main. Almost took out old man Joe. You can’t ward everything, Bandit. Flowing water is always a problem. Well, when you see him, you can tell him to be a water witch. Some place named Powell and Sons. What’s the rating. Yeah, I can wait.”

Macaroon examined his paws and sighed tapping his foot on the table.

“Come on. Come on. How many unrated funeral homes can even be in this city? Yeah, I’m here. What? Why was that the back up! Shit. I’m on the way. I need a scooter. Not here. It’s warded to hell and back you can’t even scry the block. I’ll head to Winston and Fortieth. Have it meet me there!”

Macaroon hung up and took a steadying breath, “Gotta get the carrier,” he growled leaping down.

Mackenzie quickly hid herself again as she heard the cat scuttle downstairs. As quietly as she could she followed and spied him sexting by way of a window. He closed it behind himself but left it open just enough to wiggle a paw in. Nodding with some satisfaction she watched him vanish in the night.

She sat on the stairs and blinked. Her brow furrowed and she tapped her lip with her fingers. Winston and Fortieth was just two blocks away. In the middle of the road between her and Martin’s house. Making a rushed, but silent run down to the first floor Mackenzie called Martin and told him to meet her at the intersection with his bike.

<><><><><>