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“I’m not paying you, right?”
Dick shook his head.
I muttered, “Good.”
“Am I your first customer?” I looked up to see my father standing in the doorway.
“Daddy!” I cried, throwing my arms around him and nearly bowling him over. “Yes, you are.”
If there was anyone who could help with my “Improve relationships with family” goal, it was my father. I am an unabashed Daddy’s girl. Not like Carol Anne Mussler, whose home life took on a decidedly creepy aspect after she dedicated “Every Breath You Take” to her father at the high school’s annual talent show. But what more could I do than pledge my undying favoritism for the man who gave me my lifelong love of reading? The man who defended me from Mama and Grandma Ruthie’s repeated attempts to make me into a Jenny clone? The father who loved me unconditionally, despite my growing catalogue of flaws? If Daddy hadn’t decided to give me the unfortunate middle name of Enid, he would have been a parent without fault.
Daddy stroked my hair back from my eyes. “What’s the matter, Pumpkin, afraid no one will show up?”
I mulled that over for a millisecond. “Um, yes. That would be it.”
Daddy opened his wallet and handed me his Mastercard. “Well, point me to the coffee bar, and start a tab for me. And then bring me one of those books on how to be a better parent to an adult vampire.”
“Well, if you gave me a valid credit card, you’ve got my vote for Father of the Year.”
Dad took a long look at the ritual candle selection. “Does that mean you can give me a good deal on a magic wand and an owl?”
“I would respond, but we just established a storewide no-hitting policy,” I said, poking him in the ribs.
He tucked a hand under my chin. “It looks great, honey. Everything. I can tell how much work you girls put into it. I’m very proud of you.”
“Thanks, Daddy. Is Mama coming?”
Daddy cleared his throat. “Mama sends her support in spirit. But Jenny had some meeting tonight, and she needed Mama to babysit.”
“Hmm. Convenient.” I rolled my eyes.
Behind us, the bell tinkled, and the door opened. A goth teen with a pasty face, pierced nose, and lime-green-over-dirty-blond ringlets slumped into the store. She was a vampire, but she was so young. And she was obstinately avoiding eye contact. I took the direct approach, saying in my most pleasant tone, “Hi, welcome to Specialty Books. Can I help you find anything?”
She stopped and stared at me. I think she was willing me to disappear. OK, then.
“Are you looking for something in particular or just browsing?” I asked, dialing down the cheerful factor a few points.
The green-haired teen queen was now staring through me.
“I think she’s pretending to be invisible,” Andrea whispered from behind the counter.
I did not want to alienate my first non-blood-related customer, so I stepped out of her way. As she passed, I reached out to her, gently prying at the edges of her mind. Generally, I can’t read vampires, but she seemed so new, I guess would be the word, that I wanted to see if I could get a few impressions.
Instead, I was flooded with the chaos of adolescent thought bubbles. She was lonely and was afraid of what would happen if her mom found out she’d driven the family car into the worst part of town. She wished I would just leave her the hell alone so she could look for the latest Buffy Season 8 comic and read it in peace in one of those cool purple chairs. She wished she’d brought enough cash for the comic and a mocha latte, because the coffee smelled pretty good, and she loved, looooved chocolate and missed it like crazy. She even missed her mom telling her that chocolate gave her zits. Her mom didn’t talk to her much at all these days. Her whole stupid family seemed afraid of her, but they were even more afraid of kicking her out of the house. It was just great to be allowed to stay in your own room because your dad’s afraid to talk to you. She didn’t know why I was hassling her; it wasn’t as if she was going to steal or anything. Old people always followed her around in stores because of her hair. She wished she’d never dyed it green, but then her mom made such a big deal out of it that she felt she had to keep dyeing it over and over just to try to get a little attention—
I had to fight to pull myself out of the swirling vortex of her thoughts. I shook my head, trying to throw off the feelings of gloom and isolation.
God, I was glad I wasn’t a teenager anymore.
“You’ll find the Buffy comics over in our graphic-novels section, near the back,” I murmured quietly. She turned, eyeing me warily. “Andrea, could you get our first official customer a tall mocha latte with the ‘special’ syrup? On the house, of course.”
The Buffy lover, whom I’d decided I was going to like, even if it killed me, had eyes the size of saucers when I winked at her. “Th-thanks,” she stuttered, in a voice that was higher, shakier, than the voice in her head. “I’m Cindy.”
“Really?” I asked, eyeing the nose piercing. “I did not expect that. Cindy, I’m Jane. That’s Andrea. Let us know if you need anything.”
“OK.” She turned on her heavily booted heels and headed for the graphic novels.
“And for the record, I’m not that old,” I called after her.
