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“Why Gilbert?”
“He was the first in our family who looked like he might amount to something. He was such a good boy, and in a sincere way. He honestly cared about his mother, his little sister, his classmates at school, his country. He was one of the first boys in the Hollow to sign up for the Army after Pearl Harbor. He was the first man in our family to start college, much less finish it.” Dick smiled proudly. “And his sister was a sweet girl, just a little, well, stupid. But she was the first girl born to the family in about five generations, so she was special, too.
“When their father died and his mother was having trouble making ends meet, I came forward. Just knocked on the door one night. I didn’t tell her who I was exactly, just a distant cousin who was interested in making sure the family was well taken care of. I think she knew there was something not quite right about me, especially when I told her I didn’t want to meet the kids or tell them I was helping them. But she was too happy to accept my money to say anything.”
“I always got the impression that you were lucky to take care of yourself. How’d you support a family?” I asked.
“I have ways of making extra money when I need it,” he said, slightly offended. “When Gilbert needed money for graduate school, I sold a kidney on the black market for tuition.”
“We can grow those back?” I asked.
“It wasn’t my kidney.”
“And now we’re back to the disturbing territory I’m comfortable with.” I snorted. “So, you’re a family man, a loving patriarch. In essence, you’re a total fraud.”
He looked chastened. “Don’t tell anybody.”
“Are you going to tell him? I think it would mean a lot to Mr. Wainwright to know he has some family left.”
“What am I supposed to do? Come barreling into the store and shout, ‘Hey, pal, wanna go outside and play catch with Grandpa?’ “
I shrugged. “Well, you might want to work your way up to catch. He does have that bad hip. You should at least think about telling him. What have you got to lose?”
Dick tucked his canines over his bottom lip. All pretense, all of the smug self-assurance, fell away as he said, “What if he’s ashamed of me?”
“You’re a vampire. You’re the coolest grandpa on the block. He’ll be thrilled.”
“I’ll think about it,” Dick said. Suddenly, he raised his voice and poked me in the shoulder. “Let me work through this. Don’t try to nudge the situation along. Don’t drop hints or make conversational segues or—”
“I got it, I got it,” I told him, raising my hands in self-defense. “I wasn’t even thinking about it.”
Dick looked down his nose at me and arched his eyebrow.
“OK, I was thinking about it a little bit.”
13
Humans who prove unfaithful to their were-spouses are rarely heard from again.
—Mating Rituals and Love Customs of the Were
My future step-grandpa was an enigma wrapped in a riddle stored in a Rubik’s Cube, which I always had to resort to rearranging the stickers to solve. I won’t pretend my interest was rooted in concern for my grandmother, just a general weakness in my character that would not allow me to leave a question unanswered.
For the record, four cans of Starbucks Double Shot Dark Blend Blood and Espresso is just enough to yank a vampire out of bed before sunset. Zeb wisely armed himself with caffeine before entering my daytime lair and enlisted Jettie’s help in shoving me into an ice-cold shower (in my pajamas) to complete the wake-up process.
Some older vamps can venture out in the day under controlled circumstances with no problem. I blister and smell like burnt popcorn, which stays with you for days. So I slathered myself in Solar Shield SPF 500 sunscreen and donned huge Jackie O sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat before venturing out to my newly sun-safe car. OK, fine. Zeb had the motor running, and I dove through the open door, unbelievably exhilarated by my not bursting into flames.
As he turned the key in the ignition, Zeb asked, “Remind me again why we’re risking you bursting into flame to drive seventy miles to visit some old folks’ home?” Clearly, he didn’t appreciate the Mama-caliber guilt tactics I’d used to get him to accompany me on this little excursion.
“Because when I snuck a look into Wilbur’s wallet, this was the address on his ID.”
Zeb was aghast. “You snuck a look at his wallet? When?”
“Christmas,” I said, looking down to avoid his glare.
“Why would you do that?” he demanded.
“He left it right there in his coat pocket, come on.”
