He waved his spoon at me. “Prude.”
I tossed my head. “Crude.”
“Touché, Miss talks-about-blood-without-a-flinch.”
“So? You are a. . .” I stopped with the sudden realization that we were flirting. Flirting! Then my mind returned to the more urgent subject. “The point is; they could be up to something. I can’t go find out, though, because the last time I eavesdropped the consequences were pretty bad.” Oh, but I wanted to hear! I wanted it desperately. I wanted it so badly that. . . uh oh.
“Dianne, your ears are. . .”
“I know.” My new, shaggy wolf-ears twitched. I hit them, one after the other. “Bad ears! Bad ears! Go be human!” Matt just stared. After a few more futile swats, I sighed again, and said, “Oh well. I’m going to be stuck like this until my Id gets what it wants, so we might as well find out what’s going on.”
“Could you not breathe so loud?” I asked Matt.
“So-rry. Can you hear what they’re saying?” We were sitting on the
steps downstairs, facing the closed door. The moment I heard Mom and
Shawn walk towards us I would alert him, and we would bolt. My ears twitched, and I listened hard. Shawn was scratching his head
and letting out a long sigh. “I’m not sure what to say, Sel.”
Mom wasn’t bitter or angry, just tired. “So it’s Sel again after wolfbitch?”
“I want to apologize for that. For all of what I did that year. You still
got your. . . boyfriend. . . to get me out of jail when the cops grabbed me,
and I wasn’t grateful at all.”
“You’re saying this just because I’m dying,” Mom said.
Shawn sat down–I could tell because the sofa creaked. “Don’t say
that, please. In the eighteen years since I last saw you, I did a lot of
thinking, and I realized that I had behaved inexcusably.”
“
Inexcusably
doesn’t even reach it. I won’t mince words with you,
Shawn; you were malicious. The following-us-around-for-monthscollecting-evidence-on-Andy was restraining order material.” I heard the
rustle of clothes as Mom edged away from him.
“Wait–no, look, I’m sincerely repenting now. I’ve grown since I’ve
last seen you, Selene.”
“Well, I can see that—thirty pounds or forty?”
I stifled a giggle, and Matt stared at me. Shawn sounded irritated. “I didn’t mean physically. I mean that I shouldn’t have been so cruel to you about you accidentally biting me. In fact, there was a time when being a
werewolf saved my life.”
“Really? When?”
Matt poked me. “What are they saying?” he hissed–which to my
wolf-senses sounded like a shout.
“Ssh! He’s apologizing for treating her badly.”
“Ohh.” Matt nodded, looking wise. I didn’t tell him that he still had
some ice cream stains on his cheeks.
I cocked my head towards the door again, and listened to Shawn tell
his story. “. . . I’m not really proud of my alcoholic phase, but to tell the
truth I was quite drunk, walking alone through the alleyways. Then out
of the shadows comes a young woman, very thin, blonde, and pale. I
tried to shake hands with her but fell over. She was smoking a cigarette
and was holding a bottle of vodka and offered it to me. I drank some of
it, and, inebriated as I was, it pushed me over the edge. When I woke up
the next morning I had no idea what had happened next, but I could
taste blood in my mouth, and there were deep scratches in the walls of
the buildings surrounding us. There was no sign of the woman, only a
pile of ashes. There were also two little scabs on my neck.”
I listened to Mom, Shawn, Matt, and myself breathe, along with the
distant sounds of Matt’s parents still scolding his little brothers upstairs. “So she was an unscrupulous vampire?” Mom asked, putting an extra
stress on ‘unscrupulous’, to differentiate that woman from Dad and Nat. “It certainly seemed like it. And had I not changed into a wolf, she
would have either killed me or made me a were-vampire. What’s the
difference in the process, anyway?”
“According to Andy, once your blood has been nearly all drained you
have an immense craving for it, and will fight to drink from the vampire
who has just bitten you. It’s stronger than any craving for nicotine or
heroin could be. If they want you to be a vampire, they will give you a
sip, but if they don’t, they fight you off, which isn’t too hard because you
tend to be very weak. If a few minutes have passed and you haven’t
sucked any blood, you simply die of exsanguination. The fiction writers
think that you’re forced to drink, but actually you try to force the other
vampire to let you drink. It’s like how drowning people will pull down
anyone, even their mothers, just to get a breath of air.”
“Hm.” Shawn said, non-committal. “Has your husband ever tried to
bite you?”
“No!” she said quickly.
“Really? I don’t believe you.”
“Um. . . he did suggest it. But that’s because he doesn’t want me to
die, and he won’t if I don’t want him to.”
“How do you know he won’t?”
I wanted to rip Shawn’s throat out for suggesting such a thing–and
for sowing doubts in my mother’s mind. Couldn’t she see that he was
again trying to break Mom and Dad up? Matt was mouthing something
frantically and pointing to his eyes, so I knew that mine had gone wolfie
again.
“Andy loves me and he wouldn’t lie to me. You never got to know
him, aside from the physical assault.”
“I said I was sorry about that!” For an instant, he was angry, then he
began to wheedle Mom, saying insinuating things about her husband.
“Yes, I know that he loves you. But is it a disinterested love? Is he really
going to let you wither away when all he has to do is wait for you to fall
asleep, then bend down and do the deed?”
“He respects my wishes. He always has.” Yet she didn’t sound so
sure.
Shawn had caught up on it, too. “Has he been neglecting you lately? I
saw some definite tension there.”
“He’s been going out for walks a great deal–he can’t fly much now
that he’s sick. I think he’s. . . I think. . . I. . .” Her voice trailed off. “Yes?”
“I think he doesn’t want to be near me,” she whispered. “He won’t
say so, but he’s angry at my choosing death over a vampire life. He said I
should think of Dianne. I am thinking of her, but I can’t do it! I can’t!” “Ssh, there, there.” There was the sound of patting. Was he hugging
her? My muscles tensed.
“It’s just too much! Dianne’s suffering, and Andy’s being distant and
cold, and I have to carry a huge secret that’s eating me up from the
inside. I don’t know if I can handle it, I don’t I don’t I don’t. . .” She
began sobbing.
It was terrible hearing her cry, a sound I had heard entirely too often
in recent days. The pain it caused me had a quicker effect on my wolfears than a dozen foghorns. They shrank away to humanity, and my eyes
turned blue and teary. Before I knew it, Matt had his arms around me,
whispering in my ear.
“Whatever you heard, Dianne, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Just don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Or–or do cry, if it makes you feel better. Just. . . do. .
. something. . . argh. . . I really suck at this.”
I looked up at his blurred face and choked out, “We need to go before
they find us.”
Fifteen minutes later, the Spiralli patriarch and matriarch were
apologizing copiously for their youngest sons’ behavior, and asked the
Anghels if we managed to have a good time. Fortunately neither Mom’s
face or my face looked puffy by then. Mom said that the meal was lovely,
Dad complimented them on the décor, and I gave Matt’s hand a quick
squeeze. We had still not gotten past friendship, but it was a cozier
friendship that before I had entered his house. One good thing had come
out of that dinner, anyway.
When we were back into our house and had flicked on the lights, I
cleared my throat to cut the blanket of silence, thick as expired peanut
butter. “Can one of you please drive me to school at six on Wednesday?
Taylor and Matt are in the concert, and I want to support them.” “Certainly, dear.” Mom kissed me on the cheek. The spot burned. Dad sank into the easy chair. “We can’t make our next mortgage
payment,” he said, woodenly.
Mom and I both froze. “What?”
“You know how I self-published that one book of mine which sank
into the dark abyss of ignominy? We now have a choice between going
without heating for the winter, not paying for the house, or not taking
care of your upcoming medical costs.”
“Oh, Andy!” Mom brought her hands to her cheeks. She shook her
head, unwilling to hear more. “Let’s not talk about that right now. I’m
very tired, and I would like to take a shower and go to bed. Goodnight.”
She went up the stairs.
I looked back and forth from her path of retreat to Dad’s limp form.
He moved his lips slowly. “
Out of the night that covers me, black as the Pit
from pole to pole-
”
I tried to pull him to an upright position. “Next line, Dad, next line.
I
thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul
.”
He gently pushed me away and sank further. “No. My soul isn’t
unconquerable, and I don’t think there may be any gods paying attention
to me.” Taking off his sunglasses and dropping them on the floor, he
gazed at me with his bloodstained eyes. “Do you consider me a failure,
Di? I don’t have a real job, none of my stories has ever been heard of, and
the only thing that I’ve done for your mother is kill her. If it wasn’t for
you two, I’d be better off dead.”
I couldn’t stand it any more, so I grabbed my father by his skeletal
shoulders and shook him hard. “Now, this may be rude, but listen to me!
You. Are. Not. A. Failure. You are a wonderful father, a considerate
husband, and simply the coolest vampire there ever was. Nat is nothing
compared to you! You’ve never, ever said a needlessly unkind thing to
Mom or me, and you’ve always tried to do what you thought was best
for us. Mom thinks that you’re avoiding her because you’re angry that
she won’t let you make her a vampire. I don’t understand why she’s not
willing, but it’s what she wants. She’s afraid that you might sneak up on
her and bite her anyway.”
Dad looked stunned. “She thinks that? You know I would never even
pinch her if she asked me not to!”
I let go of him. “Yes, I know that. But she doesn’t. Let her know! Do
something romantic for her! So you gave her AIDS. It wasn’t your fault.
You’ve given her plenty else that has made her life worth living. Wake
up and smell the plasma, Dad! No more moping. You and I are going to
sit down, brew some blood and chocolate, not get the mugs mixed up,
and plan a way to show Mom how much we love her and are behind
her, no matter how sick she is and what her decisions are.”
“Dianne, I. . .”
I shook my head vehemently. “No ifs, ands, or buts. We are going to
save your marriage, make Mom happy, and that’s final!”
For a moment Dad just stared, jaw slack and hands in midair. Then
he grabbed me in a bear hug that nearly crushed my ribcage. “I love you,
Dianne!”
It took Dad and me four days to formulate and carry out our scheme, enlisting the help of some neighbors along the way. Dad fitted easily into the crack between our bedraggled couch and scuffed white wall. For me it was a tight squish, but I managed it.
Dad slid his arm over and draped it onto my shoulder. “That was a wonderful thing you started, Dianne. I never told you how proud of you I am.”
I smiled, and then tensed. “I think I hear the car.”
The two of us held our breath as Mom’s weary footsteps reverberated in our ears. By now darkness came early in the evening, and the living room was black and empty. Mom fumbled for the light switch, calling out, “Dianne? Are you there?” When she flicked it on the room was not flooded with light, since Dad and I had unscrewed and unplugged everything except for one bulb that gave off a dim glow. Mom looked around, sighed, and sat down on the couch disconsolately. She buried her face in her hands and began to cry quietly.
At that moment Dad emerged silently, wrapping his arms around Mom and kissing her on the cheek. She turned around and gasped in amazement.
That was my cue. I turned on the CD player I had placed on the floor next to me, and the house filled with the jangling introduction of Coldplay’s
Yellow
, which was Mom’s and Dad’s favorite romantic song from their dating days.
“Andy. . .” Mom asked, trying to pull away, but unable to, since Dad had tenderly and firmly encircled her waist. “I don’t understand.”
“We wanted to show you how much we love and admire you,” he replied. “Care to dance?”
She looked up at him, relief brimming in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. “So you’re not angry with me?”
Dad took one of her hands in his and placed the other on her hip, beginning to slowly move around the living room. “I never was.”
I stole out from my cramped hiding place, struck a match, and lit candles around the first floor, paying special attention to a candelabrum on the dining room table. When the song ended, Dad gave Mom a kiss on the lips, the sweet kind, not the gross face-sucking kind.
“I’m sorry for avoiding you when you’ve been needing me most, Selene,” he explained, leading her over to the dining room. “It was because I was weak. I still am. Seeing you worn out and dying because of me, and my neither being able to help or at least suffer with you—I couldn’t bear it. It was very selfish of me, especially my coercion.”
He went down on his knees. Dad’s very traditional in his romance. “Will you forgive me?”
Mom pulled him up and hugged him, their two frail forms interlocking. I couldn’t restrain myself and joined them. We made a supernatural sandwich with a mother—not a werewolf right now, but a mother—as the filling. I sneezed and we parted, laughing.
“You two planned this?” Mom asked, drinking in the dining table with her gaze. Dad had bought two bouquets of irises, Mom’s favorite flower, and we had garlanded Mom’s chair with the purple blossoms to make a flowery throne. On the wall hung a poster of the three of us curled up together on the couch, superimposed over a picture of a silvergray wolf howling at the full moon. The photo was mine. I had found the wolf picture on the Internet, and Matt helped me put the pictures together and print it out on several sheets of paper to put together, making one beautiful mural.
Spread out on the table was a meal for two: Thai beef salad, green curry, and papaya salad, with jasmine rice. Mom loves Thai food but doesn’t know how to make it, and our budget was so tight that we couldn’t afford to eat out except for on my parents’ anniversary.
We had this tonight because Taylor’s mother had lived in Thailand as a child and was an excellent cook. She knew Mom was sick, but nothing more, and had generously whipped up the dinner for Mom and me.
Grinning for the first time in at least two weeks, Dad poured out some wine for him and Mom from a bottle that Grandpa Davidson gave them at their wedding. Dad can drink some beverages, just not anything foodlike—smoothies, shakes, and chocolate are out, and soda was too sweet. Instead of slurping blood from a mug as he usually did, that evening Dad sipped his meal with a soup spoon from one of our few unchipped bowls. It looked like gazpacho and was a nice gesture of normality.
“Do you like it?” I asked Mom.
She did not need to say anything, for she was both beaming and sniffling with feeling. Silently she reached out and grasped Dad’s hand…I somehow don’t think that Dad did much writing that night.