Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand
Page 5
“Hi, Kitty, it’s your mother.”
“Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that they’ve stopped changing my medication every week. I seem to be approaching something resembling equilibrium.” The woman had cancer and yet managed to sound cheerful. She was turning into one of my heroes.
“Cool. That’s great.”
“How are the wedding plans coming?” She said this in the suggestive mother voice, with a wink-wink nudge-nudge behind the words. This was another reason to elope in Vegas: so my mother would stop grilling me every week about how the wedding plans were coming. I didn’t think I could deal with that tone of voice for the eight months it would take to plan a conventional wedding. But Ben was right. She’d kill me when she found out. I didn’t want to tell her.
Why did I suddenly feel twelve years old again? “Um... okay. We haven’t really decided on anything yet. I figure we have time.”
“I don’t know, you remember with Cheryl’s wedding, the photographer they wanted was booked a year in advance. You really have to take these things seriously.”
My older sister Cheryl had had a big, traditional wedding. My pink taffeta bridesmaid’s dress was hanging in one of Mom’s closets, cocooned in plastic, never to be worn again. I had vowed not to perpetrate pink taffeta on anyone.
“You know, Mom. We’ve had one big wedding in the family. Ben and I were thinking of something a little smaller.”
“How small?” she said, suspicious.
“Um... city hall?” Just testing the waters.
“Oh, you don’t really want to do that, do you? I remember at Cheryl’s wedding you were so jealous, you kept talking about how much bigger yours was going to be.”
I didn’t remember that at all. “That was years ago, Mom. Things change.” You meet a scruffy lawyer who wouldn’t be at all happy with a big wedding. You become a werewolf who isn’t comfortable in crowds of people who look like they’re attacking you when all they want is a hug.
“Well. You should at least pick a date so we can tell people what weekend to save.”
Oh, why couldn’t I just tell the truth? This was going to get messy.
“Mom, if we decide to do something a little... nontraditional... you promise you won’t be angry?”
“It depends on how nontraditional. We’re not talking skydiving or nude or anything, are we?”
“No, no, nothing like that. More traditionally non-traditional.” I winced. And yet I kept on digging that hole.
“If you’re worried about the expense, your father and I are happy to help—”
“No, that’s not it, either. I think it’s just that Ben and I aren’t very good at planning this sort of thing.”
“Well, you know I’d be happy to—”
That was exactly what I was afraid of. “No, no, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out. So how are Cheryl and the kids?”
That successfully changed the subject, and we chatted on about the usual Sunday topics. We started to wrap up the conversation, which in itself was a drawn-out production. Finally, she said, “I heard about your Las Vegas show. That sounds like a fun time.”
“Yes, it does.” I was wary. Like an animal who sensed a trap but couldn’t tell where it was.
A long silence followed. Then, “You and Ben are going to elope, aren’t you?”
She had to be psychic, it was the only explanation. Or she just knew me really, really well.
I put on a happy voice. “It just sounds like so much fun.” I hoped I was convincing.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know her quite as well as she knew me. There seems to be a little part of our parents that we never understand. It’s like trying to imagine them before the kids, or finding out that they smoked pot in college. It both surprises you and doesn’t. Mom would react one of two ways: she’d either berate me and inflict an epic guilt trip, or she’d somehow turn my plan around and make it her own. Waiting for her answer was like waiting for a lottery drawing: have hope, expect disappointment.
“How about this...” she started. A compromise. She’d suggest some small boutique wedding thing, like the daughter of a friend of hers did at Estes Park, which would still be wildly expensive and require planning and be socially acceptable. I waited for the pitch, but I was still going to tell her no.
Then she said, “Why don’t your father and I come along?”
I opened my mouth to argue but made no sound. It was a free country. I couldn’t stop her from going to Las Vegas. And as compromises went, it wasn’t bad. Somehow, though, the idea of eloping in Las Vegas sounded a whole lot less sexy with your mother along for the ride.
“That’s okay, Mom, you really don’t have to—”
“Oh, no, it’ll be fun. And you’re right, one big wedding is probably enough for a family. You should do something different. Why don’t I call Cheryl to see if she wants to come along, and I imagine Mark’s folks would be happy to look after the kids for a few days—”
Well. At least there’d still be a pool and froufrou drinks.
That rule about vampires not being able to enter a place without being invited was true. What the rule didn’t say is that it applied only to private residences. Public places, like office buildings, for example, were free and clear. An hour or so after dark—enough time to wake up, dress, maybe grab a bite, literally, from one of his willing donors, and drive over here—Rick appeared in the doorway of my office without any fanfare.
“Hello,” he said, and I jumped, because I hadn’t heard him coming. It was like he appeared out of thin air, and at the same time seeming like he’d been standing there for hours. Hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks, he leaned against the doorjamb and quirked a smile. He had dark hair and fine features, and he dressed well and looked great, like an upper-class scion comfortable with wealth and attention. He also smelled cold. Like a well-preserved corpse, which he was.
“I hate when you do that,” I said.
“I know. Sorry,” he said in a way that made it clear he wasn’t, really. “How are you doing? The pack coming together all right?”
Taking over the pack had been weird. I’d vanished into exile, then a year later came blazing back onto the scene like the Lone Ranger to run the bad guys out of town. Some of the other, stronger wolves in the pack might have taken the opportunity to challenge me, to question my authority by starting fights. So far, I’d managed to talk everyone out of it. Rick didn’t need to know all those details.
“Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that they’ve stopped changing my medication every week. I seem to be approaching something resembling equilibrium.” The woman had cancer and yet managed to sound cheerful. She was turning into one of my heroes.
“Cool. That’s great.”
“How are the wedding plans coming?” She said this in the suggestive mother voice, with a wink-wink nudge-nudge behind the words. This was another reason to elope in Vegas: so my mother would stop grilling me every week about how the wedding plans were coming. I didn’t think I could deal with that tone of voice for the eight months it would take to plan a conventional wedding. But Ben was right. She’d kill me when she found out. I didn’t want to tell her.
Why did I suddenly feel twelve years old again? “Um... okay. We haven’t really decided on anything yet. I figure we have time.”
“I don’t know, you remember with Cheryl’s wedding, the photographer they wanted was booked a year in advance. You really have to take these things seriously.”
My older sister Cheryl had had a big, traditional wedding. My pink taffeta bridesmaid’s dress was hanging in one of Mom’s closets, cocooned in plastic, never to be worn again. I had vowed not to perpetrate pink taffeta on anyone.
“You know, Mom. We’ve had one big wedding in the family. Ben and I were thinking of something a little smaller.”
“How small?” she said, suspicious.
“Um... city hall?” Just testing the waters.
“Oh, you don’t really want to do that, do you? I remember at Cheryl’s wedding you were so jealous, you kept talking about how much bigger yours was going to be.”
I didn’t remember that at all. “That was years ago, Mom. Things change.” You meet a scruffy lawyer who wouldn’t be at all happy with a big wedding. You become a werewolf who isn’t comfortable in crowds of people who look like they’re attacking you when all they want is a hug.
“Well. You should at least pick a date so we can tell people what weekend to save.”
Oh, why couldn’t I just tell the truth? This was going to get messy.
“Mom, if we decide to do something a little... nontraditional... you promise you won’t be angry?”
“It depends on how nontraditional. We’re not talking skydiving or nude or anything, are we?”
“No, no, nothing like that. More traditionally non-traditional.” I winced. And yet I kept on digging that hole.
“If you’re worried about the expense, your father and I are happy to help—”
“No, that’s not it, either. I think it’s just that Ben and I aren’t very good at planning this sort of thing.”
“Well, you know I’d be happy to—”
That was exactly what I was afraid of. “No, no, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out. So how are Cheryl and the kids?”
That successfully changed the subject, and we chatted on about the usual Sunday topics. We started to wrap up the conversation, which in itself was a drawn-out production. Finally, she said, “I heard about your Las Vegas show. That sounds like a fun time.”
“Yes, it does.” I was wary. Like an animal who sensed a trap but couldn’t tell where it was.
A long silence followed. Then, “You and Ben are going to elope, aren’t you?”
She had to be psychic, it was the only explanation. Or she just knew me really, really well.
I put on a happy voice. “It just sounds like so much fun.” I hoped I was convincing.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know her quite as well as she knew me. There seems to be a little part of our parents that we never understand. It’s like trying to imagine them before the kids, or finding out that they smoked pot in college. It both surprises you and doesn’t. Mom would react one of two ways: she’d either berate me and inflict an epic guilt trip, or she’d somehow turn my plan around and make it her own. Waiting for her answer was like waiting for a lottery drawing: have hope, expect disappointment.
“How about this...” she started. A compromise. She’d suggest some small boutique wedding thing, like the daughter of a friend of hers did at Estes Park, which would still be wildly expensive and require planning and be socially acceptable. I waited for the pitch, but I was still going to tell her no.
Then she said, “Why don’t your father and I come along?”
I opened my mouth to argue but made no sound. It was a free country. I couldn’t stop her from going to Las Vegas. And as compromises went, it wasn’t bad. Somehow, though, the idea of eloping in Las Vegas sounded a whole lot less sexy with your mother along for the ride.
“That’s okay, Mom, you really don’t have to—”
“Oh, no, it’ll be fun. And you’re right, one big wedding is probably enough for a family. You should do something different. Why don’t I call Cheryl to see if she wants to come along, and I imagine Mark’s folks would be happy to look after the kids for a few days—”
Well. At least there’d still be a pool and froufrou drinks.
That rule about vampires not being able to enter a place without being invited was true. What the rule didn’t say is that it applied only to private residences. Public places, like office buildings, for example, were free and clear. An hour or so after dark—enough time to wake up, dress, maybe grab a bite, literally, from one of his willing donors, and drive over here—Rick appeared in the doorway of my office without any fanfare.
“Hello,” he said, and I jumped, because I hadn’t heard him coming. It was like he appeared out of thin air, and at the same time seeming like he’d been standing there for hours. Hands in the pockets of his tailored slacks, he leaned against the doorjamb and quirked a smile. He had dark hair and fine features, and he dressed well and looked great, like an upper-class scion comfortable with wealth and attention. He also smelled cold. Like a well-preserved corpse, which he was.
“I hate when you do that,” I said.
“I know. Sorry,” he said in a way that made it clear he wasn’t, really. “How are you doing? The pack coming together all right?”
Taking over the pack had been weird. I’d vanished into exile, then a year later came blazing back onto the scene like the Lone Ranger to run the bad guys out of town. Some of the other, stronger wolves in the pack might have taken the opportunity to challenge me, to question my authority by starting fights. So far, I’d managed to talk everyone out of it. Rick didn’t need to know all those details.
