Crimson Death (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #25)(37)
At around eleven, the kids started whining a little— which, in their defense, was an impressive stretch of good behavior. After some not-so-subtle pleading looks from my parents, I led the kids downstairs to run in the hospital gardens. I set myself up on an ornate wooden bench underneath a shockingly red sugar maple so I could keep an eye on them, and hopped back on my phone.
Snapchat was pretty much an endless stream of people cooking and showing off about it. Yay, pumpkin pie ready to go, hashtag blessed, hashtag clean eating, hashtag loljks. To be honest, it was weird to see people going about their day like normal. Like, because my Thanksgiving had gone to hell, it should somehow grind to a halt for everyone else, too.
Nothing from Will. Which was fine. He had his own life. He was probably busy with his family, and his friends, and music, and laughing, and corny games.
Totally, totally fine.
“Ollie, can we have a selfie?” Crista popped up out of swear-to-God nowhere, peeking at my phone over my shoulder. Dylan, as usual, stood on tiptoes at her side. Crista bounced backward. “Can you show everyone my dress?” As she spoke, she shucked off her thick overcoat. Beauty was pain, after all. “Hold on, hold on. I’ll tell you when to take it. Get ready.”
I brought Snapchat up and switched it to front facing, holding the phone as high as I could to get the other two in. Crista was crouching on the ground. “I’m ready.”
“Okay, go.” Crista shot up at that moment, flinging sunset-colored leaves in the air. I took the picture just as the leaves started showering us. Dylan cackled in the background, swatting at the leaves as they fell, and Crista threw a handful at his face, shrieking.
I captioned the picture “better than pumpkin pie,” which was maybe a lie and definitely petty, and sent it out to everyone but Will. If Will spoke to me, I wanted it to be because he was thinking of me, not because I prompted him. Apparently, despite how platonic we’d become, I still cared about being chased. Hashtag pathetic.
My phone buzzed. Will? Be Will, be Will, be Will.
It wasn’t Will. It was a message from Lara. Hah. I think I know those kids.
Even though Lara and I had reached a kind of truce, talking outside of group situations still wasn’t a normal thing for us. I’d added her to the Snapchat list, yeah, but I’d also sent it to about a hundred other people. After a moment trying to figure out if she was trying to set me up somehow, I sent back, They’re my cousins. A minute passed, then she replied. No shit? They used to go to my church.
“Ollie, I’m hungry.” Dylan appeared at my side again, his puppy-dog eyes gazing up at me.
Right. Yeah. It was lunchtime, wasn’t it? I considered offering to take the kids to McDonald’s or something, then I remembered Aunt Linda might not still be awake by dinner. Whatever we did for lunch was probably going to be the Thanksgiving meal for the day. We’d have to make do. I grabbed Crista and Dylan and hit up the hospital cafeteria, as well as a hallway vending machine. By the time we got back to Aunt Linda’s room we were armed with french fries, hot dogs, hash browns, lasagna, Hershey’s chocolate, a few peanut butter cups, a real slice of pumpkin pie (the last one the cafeteria had left) and bottles of Coke (Dylan insisted).
Luckily, Aunt Linda was awake, so we were able to pool the haul in the center of the bed. Crista and Dylan clearly thought the lunch’s contents were the biggest stroke of luck they’d ever come across.
Mom raised her eyebrow at me. “No vegetables?” she asked as she reached for a hot dog.
“Good luck finding any.” I shrugged. “I think this is the hospital’s profitability plan. Don’t provide anything with vitamins, so visitors get sick and need to come to the hospital. Then their visitors get sick, too. It’s a vicious cycle.”
“Why aren’t you eating, Mama?” Crista asked through a mouthful of peanut butter and chocolate.
Aunt Linda lifted her head off the pillow. It looked like it weighed fifty pounds. “I ate earlier, honey. I didn’t know we were all doing lunch. Now I’m jealous!”
I didn’t think for a second that she’d eaten earlier. But she looked a little green, so I didn’t push it.
As far as Thanksgiving meals went, it was modest, but still nice. No one complained, in any case. Mom, Dad, and Uncle Roy talked and joked like normal. Even if Aunt Linda was too tired to join in, she smiled the whole time. She barely took her eyes off Crista and Dylan, though.
After we finished eating, my parents decided to take the kids for another walk. They were bounding around like fleas riding pogo sticks in a jumping castle. My bad. I forgot about the downside to sugar indulgences.
We were plunged into an eerie silence as the kids’ voices faded down the hallway. Linda closed her eyes, and I assumed she was angling for another nap. Then I realized with a shock she was crying.
“Are you okay?” I asked, as Uncle Roy jumped to grab her hand.
“What hurts, baby?” he asked, but she flapped him away.
“Nothing. Nothing, I’m sorry. It’s just … I just …” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and sucked in a breath. “This is the oldest I’m ever going to see them. I’m never going to see Dyl grow bigger than a baby. And Crissy in her dress … she’ll have a prom dress one day. And I’ll never see it. I won’t be there. It’ll happen without me.”