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He prompted, “What kind of blue?”
“The kind that’s not red or yellow,” I deadpanned.
“There are hundreds of different shades of blue.”
“Cobalt.” I huffed. “My mom had this vase when I was a kid, cobalt glass. I used to sit on the floor and watch the sunlight coming through it.”
“Where is it now?”
“Gigi broke it when she was five.”
“When did Gigi start living with you?” he asked.
“We went from favorite color to custodial issues?”
“I’ve wanted to ask for days but couldn’t find a way without sounding inquisitorial. How is it that you’re raising Gigi?” he asked as I turned onto County Line Road. “Where are your parents?”
“They died a few years ago. Gigi was twelve. They were coming back from a New Year’s Eve party, and they were struck by a drunk driver.”
He said, “I’m sorry.” And for once, I was sure he was sincere. “What were they like?”
“My dad worked at the phone company. He loved York Peppermint Patties and Conway Twitty. Mom was a teacher. She was all about her garden. You’d probably figured that out already, since she named us Iris and Gladiola. Even now, something happens every day—whether it’s Gigi saying something really funny or some crisis with the house—and my first instinct is that I should call them and talk to them about it. And then I remember that I can’t, and it’s like losing them all over again.”
“I’m sorry that they passed when you were so young.”
I shrugged. “We were lucky that Gigi wasn’t with them. She was staying with a friend that night.”
“Where were you?”
“I was home for the holidays, sleeping off stress from finals. I had just finished my degree in biology, a semester early, and started a graduate program, plant biology at Washington University in St. Louis.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said. “Why plants?”
“Why not plants?” I shot back.
“It just seems like a sheltered, lonely field, especially when you consider that you clearly have a gift for customer service. You know what someone wants and how to get it to them. What did you plan on doing with your education?”
“I was torn between research and commerce. I didn’t know whether I wanted to find new uses for plants in pharmaceuticals or open a shop where I sold herbal shampoo. I thought I had time to figure it out.”
Talking helped me focus. I managed to slow down to a safe speed, remember to use turn signals, and not follow other drivers so closely that I could read which brand of pine-tree air freshener they were using.
“Somehow I thought it would be easier, better for Gigi, for her to leave the memories behind and come stay with me in St. Louis. I don’t know what I was thinking, believing I could work, go to school, and take care of a teenager. Gigi was my parents’ late-in-life surprise. She was used to being the center of their world. She missed her friends. And she was used to a smaller, rural school environment. She didn’t adjust very well. She made friends with the wrong kids and started getting into trouble—fights at school, skipping classes, that sort of thing. I realized that what I was doing wasn’t working and wouldn’t work, no matter how much I wanted it to. So I made a change, quit school, moved back here, and made her needs my priority.
“We tried to rent or sell the house, but we never found a buyer. A few months after we moved back here, I was still looking for a permanent ‘breadwinner’ sort of job and failing miserably. A high-school friend’s sister had been turned into a vampire and asked me to take care of the flowers for her wedding. Beautiful sprays of gardenias, very dramatic without the cliché of using calla lilies. She liked the way I organized the flowers. And since she couldn’t go out during the day and didn’t trust her mother with the other details, I ended up taking care of the cake, the bar order, the tuxes. Before I knew it, I’d planned her whole wedding for her. That’s how I got my start working with the undead.”
“You didn’t think to work in a nursery or for a landscaper?” he asked.
“It was a while before I could work out in the garden and not get weighed down, I guess, by memories of my mom. And in the long run, I think I’m better suited to not working with plants, because it would have become a job instead of something I loved. Working with vampires was a perfect solution for me. I needed a job that was daytime-oriented and flexible, for Gigi. I wasn’t qualified for much. I couldn’t sell a life vest to a drowning man. But I’m organized. I’m a multitasker, and I knew a few people who worked at the courthouse. Vampires had come out of the closet a few years before, and they still were having trouble setting up hours so the newly declared undead citizens could come in and pick up the paperwork they needed to straighten out taxes and property. I figured vampires are busy, just like everybody else. And they have an even smaller window of time to get out and about … and frankly, some of you are kind of lazy when it comes to the details of everyday life.”
“Undeadist,” he muttered.
I ignored him. “I volunteered to run the paperwork out to their houses during the day, while they were sleeping. I built up a list of contacts, got to know the vampires at the local Council office, and everything just sort of went from there. I’m thinking about adding a transport service. You know, for vampires who don’t like to fly? It will be a while yet before I can afford it. But it’s nice to have a plan.”
There was a long pause from the other end of the line. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “You are a very clever girl.”
I snorted. “I know.”
Han Solo, eat your heart out.
