The Single Undead Moms(96)

“Don’t,” Marge said softly. “Give us a minute.”

“Marge, honey, you’re not strong enough to make good decisions right now,” Joyce told her, patting Marge’s hair.

Marge clearly didn’t like being told she wasn’t “strong enough” for anything, despite the fact that she’d told me the same thing almost every day while I was on chemo. “It’s fine, Joyce,” Marge insisted. “There are things we need to talk about.”

“I will be right over there,” Joyce said, glaring at me. “I’m watching you.”

I slid into the chair abandoned by Joyce. Marge stared down at her full coffee mug, rubbing her thumb along the handle.

“I’m so sorry, Marge.”

“I don’t even know how to respond to that anymore. I’ve heard it so many times today,” she said, shaking her head. She looked up at me, eyes shimmering with tears. “Is this how it felt for you?”

“Yes,” I said. “But at least Rob’s death was an accident. Knowing that someone hurt Les, that’s got to be so much worse.”

“I just don’t understand how this happened. I keep asking, who would want to hurt Les? And the police were here, and they asked so many questions. I didn’t know how to answer so many of them. He was behaving so strangely, ranting about you, making phone calls that he didn’t want me to hear. I just don’t know what happened to him in the last few months. I feel like the man I married died a long time ago.”

Tentatively, I reached out and patted her cool, dry hand. She didn’t take mine, but she didn’t flinch, either. I considered that progress. “I don’t know what the police told you, but I didn’t have anything to do with this, Marge. I am sorry about what happened to Les,” I told her. “I was angry with him, toward the end, but I would never wish that on him.”

“I know that,” she assured me. “I know I said some things right after you were turned—things I regret. But deep down, I know that you couldn’t hurt Danny or Les or me. We just needed time to adjust. If we’d just had more time, maybe Les would have . . .” Marge’s voice trailed off as twin tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s going to have to be a closed-casket funeral. Did the police tell you that? There was so much damage. Even so, I don’t think it would be a good idea for Danny to be there. That’s just too much to ask of a little boy. Have you talked to him yet?”

I shook my head. “I didn’t know how to explain to him.”

“I could help you with that,” she offered. “Maybe it would help, coming from both of us.”

“I think so, too,” I said. “We can tell him tomorrow night. You could come over, maybe help him with bathtime and bedtime stories. That might help both of you.”

Marge’s thin, unpainted lips trembled into something that resembled a smile. “I would really appreciate that.”





14




Confrontations with other parents are going to happen—at your child’s school, at the ball field, at the mall. The important thing to remember is that thanks to the prevalence of security cameras and smartphones, you’re probably being recorded. So footage of your retribution will be held against you in a court of law.

—My Mommy Has Fangs: A Guide to Post-Vampiric Parenting

Jane told me to lie low, to let the Council investigators look into Les’s murder.

And I intended to follow her instructions, at least in spirit. She was already a smidge displeased with me for doing a mourner’s run over to my mother-in-law’s without talking to her. But since she hadn’t specifically told me not to condole with Marge, she couldn’t exactly get mad at me. Well, she could, but she chose not to.

Finn called, offering—hell, pleading—to help me manage this new crisis, but I sent his calls straight to voice mail. I had decided, for once, that I would listen to Jane’s advice about Finn and keep my distance. Finn’s charming little fibs had grown to a tsunami of lies I just couldn’t ignore. And while I wanted to believe that he felt something for me, everything he’d ever said or done seemed too carefully calculated, an orchestra of manipulation that left my head reeling and my heart sore.

Telling Danny that evening that his papa was gone had not been easy, even with the added consolation of his mamaw coming over to make his favorite dinner—spaghetti and cut-up hot dogs. Danny had been too young to understand when Rob died, and my resurrection hadn’t exactly helped him comprehend a grave one couldn’t escape. He didn’t quite grasp where his papa had gone and why he wouldn’t be back.