Hedidn’t comment.Good man.
“I mean you get why, right? You know why I'm theabsolutelast person who should have akid.Aside from the fact thatswinging bats at demons and going out to the barsis life for me, you know my history.Having a babywould be sobeyondfucked up.Sorry, err I meant, messed up.It’s just better if I don’t create a screwed-up sociopath to add to the stream of a-holes in a broken world.”
We let the next hour stretch out in silence.Eventually I realized I wasn’t going to get any sleep, but that didn’t meanMr. Smithshouldn’t. I threw the test in the trash and helpedMr.Smithinto bed, tucking him in like how I rememberedhe did for me when Ihad sleepovers with Emma. I think he’d like that.
Wood creaking below told megranhad returnedfrom naughty bingo. I quickly slippedbackinto my room, not wanting to alert her that I was still up. We’d tell her about the kids tomorrow, and I’d find some time to slip away to fix my problem.
And Iabsolutelydidn’t feel one teeny tiny ounce of guilt or weirdness about keeping this from Travis.
Not one bit.
Satan must have createdthehours between4:00and 10:00a.m.,so I did my best to avoid them. Blinking my bloodshot eyes, I got out of bed, finallyadmittingdefeatat 6:00 a.m. I tried to keep my feet light against the steps as I went down the creaky stairs so as not to wake Travisin the living room. I knew he thought I was inconsiderate, but I respected people’s sleep. I wasn’t a monster.
I was surprised to findgranin the kitchen already, a mug of coffee in her hands, the newspaper in front of her.
Droppinga kiss on thewispysilverhair,I walked by to grab my own mug for legal addictivestimulants.The ceramic was cold in my handand had a delicate flower design under the fancy cursive thatsaid,“It’s a throat punch kind of day.”
“What are you doing up so early?” mygran asked, surprise evident in her voice.
My voice came out rough and low.“Couldn’t sleep.”My hand curled around the coffee pot handle,thenI stopped.
Wasn’t there a thing aboutpregnant chicksnot drinkingcoffee?
What does it matter? You’re not going to be pregnant forlong.
Despite the thought, my hand slidaway.
“Do we have any tea?” I asked my Gran. “Something without caffeine.”
Shetiltedher headupto lookat me; herdarkeyes receding into her crêpe paper face.
“What?”I asked, shying away from her accusatory stare.
“Why aren’t you guzzling down coffee like a drug addict?” she asked.“Especially at an hour you haven’t seen since you were a baby.”
I should have known better than to say anything. She was oldas sin itself, but she wasn’t stupid.
“My stomach’s upset,” I coolly lied.
Her eyes narrowed further. “Why?”
I shrugged my shoulders before whirling around to the coffee pot again. “I don’t know,maybe I ate something funky? But fine,I’ll drink coffeeand gladlyhurl on yourhouse slippers.”
Gran went back to her newspaper.“The top shelf in the cabinet to your right. There is some peppermint up there.Kindly do nothurlin the living room.”
“You must be the only person still reading a newspaper,” Imumbled, grabbing the box of peppermintthat was just barelyin reachand covered in dust.
She only grunted in response. I shot a look at the headline she was reading. “Suicides on the rise.”
“I guess people aren’t taking well tothis whole creatures of the nightroaming the earth thing, huh?”
She shook her head. “People are afraid of change. Always have been, always will be.” Then her facefell,and I knew she was thinking of Jessica.
“Do you think that’s why she did it?”
Gran shook her head. “I don’t know.”
I put the kettle on the stove after filling it with water. Islapped on a sassy smirk. “Not everyone can be as tough as you,gran.”
