“So what time is Danny heading home?” Les asked casually.
“In a bit. I don’t want him staying up too late.”
“But you’ve probably got cleanup duty after everything shuts down, right? Most of the parents do,” Les said, his tone too casual to be genuine. “I’m assuming that the sitter the Council hired will be with him tonight. You’re not just going to leave him alone in the house, right?”
“Why do you ask?”
Les shrugged, sliding his arm around Marge’s shoulders as she sidled up next to him. She creased her brow, looking between Les’s contrived relaxed posture and my face-full-o’-tension. “Just want to make sure our grandson is taken care of.”
“I’ve always taken care of Danny,” I told him. “No matter what. He’s a happy, healthy little boy. And if you’re interested in spending time with him, instead of trying to reshape him into the boy you think he should be, I think we’ll be able to iron out an arrangement. But you are his grandparents. That’s your role. I’ll respect your role, if you respect mine.”
For a second, Les’s easy demeanor dropped, and I saw the rage simmering underneath the surface. His dark eyes focused on me with a sharp hatred I could feel like heat on my skin. His lip drew back in a snarl. I was afraid he was going to take a swing at me, not because I was worried about him hurting me but because beating an old man into the ground, particularly an old man who was suing me for custody of my son, was not going to help me in court. But as soon as the rage had appeared, it ebbed. Les’s face relaxed, and his hand was hanging loose at his side. “Well, you never know what could happen,” he told me, walking away without a word to his wife.
“What was that about?” I asked Marge.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “He’s been behaving so strangely for the past few weeks. I’m starting to worry about him.”
“He mentioned that you two have come to a settlement agreement?”
Marge frowned and shook her head. “Not that he’s told me. In fact, he’s stopped returning our lawyer’s calls.”
“I’m worried, Marge.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him. I’ll see you in a few days?” she asked quietly. I nodded. “Thanks, honey. You take care of yourself.”
My first instinct was to find Danny, to make sure that Les hadn’t decided to snatch him from the Pumpkin Patch Party and spirit him away to Grandpa Brainwashing Land. Zipping around the fairway at vampire speeds, it only took me a few minutes to find my son, bouncing his heart (and most likely his dinner) out in the inflatable castle with Harley. Part of me cringed, seeing my slightly undersized son bouncing around the vinyl with boys twice his height, pinging between them like a grinning ping-pong ball. But I knew he needed to be bounced around a bit. I needed to let him fall and get hurt and fail, because otherwise, he would never learn how to get back up.
That didn’t stop me from cringing when a collision with Harley sent him sprawling against the mesh walls, under the feet of two third-graders. Kerrianne called for Danny to get up before he got turned into “people jelly,” and he gamely obeyed, waving and hooting all the time.
“Hey, hon. How is your voluntary servitude?” Kerrianne asked me.
“Could you take Danny to your house tonight?” I asked. “Les was being, well, weird as hell earlier, and it made me nervous.”
My lack of greeting or response to her “servitude” jibe brought Kerrianne to attention immediately. “Of course. I’ll tell Wade we’re switching locations.”
“Thanks. I feel better knowing you’ll be somewhere unfamiliar to Les.”
“Hey, did I hear that you were planning to run for PTA president next year? Are you really planning to run?”
“Oh, hell, no. I wouldn’t touch that job with a ten-foot pole. But Chelsea doesn’t need to know that. I want her to spend the next year thinking I’m going to wrestle her power away in some bloody vampire coup.”
“Well, it’s working. Chelsea is having kittens over by the cotton candy.”
“Excellent,” I drawled, steepling my fingers together like a Simpsons villain.
“Hey, is Finn planning on showing up?” she asked.
“Decidedly not,” I said. “I’ve asked Finn for some space.”
“Because you and Wade finally did the deed?”
“No, and how did you—”
“Oh, please, you came back from that thunderstorm with obvious deed signals all over your face. Not to mention the dirt on the back of your jacket and the smudges on his jeans. Frankly, I’m a little hurt that you didn’t immediately dish with me over it. You know how I feel about Wade’s ass. I need some vicarious information. Come on, it was bone-shaking, wasn’t it? It had to be.”