The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(19)

She made sure Korey and Blue were enrolled in summer camp (soccer for Korey and science day camp for Blue), she called Grace to get the phone number of someone who could look at their air conditioner, and she picked up groceries, and packed lunches, and dropped off library books, and signed report cards (no summer school this year, thankfully), and barely saw Carter every morning as he dashed out the door (“I promise,” he told her, “as soon as this is over we’ll go to the beach”), and suddenly a week had passed and she sat at dinner, half listening to Korey complain about something she wasn’t very interested in at all.

“Are you even listening to me?” Korey asked.

“Pardon?” Patricia asked, tuning back in.

“I don’t understand how we can almost be out of coffee again,” Carter said from the other end of the table. “Are the kids eating it?”

“Hitler said caffeine was poison,” Blue said.

“I said,” Korey repeated, “Blue’s room faces the water and he can open his windows and get a breeze. And he’s got a ceiling fan. It’s not fair. Why can’t I get a fan in my room? Or stay at Laurie’s house until you get the air fixed?”

“You’re not staying at Laurie’s house,” Patricia said.

“Why on earth would you want to live with the Gibsons?” Carter asked.

At least when their children said completely irrational things they were on the same page.

“Because the air conditioning is broken,” Korey said, pushing her chicken breast around her plate with her fork.

“It’s not broken,” Patricia said. “It’s just not working very well.”

“Did you call the air-conditioner man?” Carter asked.

Patricia shot him a look in the secret language of parenting that said, Stay on the same page with me in front of the children and we’ll discuss this later.

“You didn’t call him, did you?” Carter said. “Korey’s right, it’s too hot.”

Clearly, Carter didn’t speak the same secret language of parenting.

“I’ve got a photograph,” Miss Mary said.

“What’s that, Mom?” Carter asked.

Carter thought it was important his mother eat with them as often as possible even though it was a struggle to get Blue to the table when she did. Miss Mary dropped as much food in her lap as made it into her mouth, and her water glass was cloudy with food she forgot to swallow before taking a sip.

“You can see in the photograph that the man…,” Miss Mary said, “he’s a man.”

“That’s right, Mom,” Carter said.

That was when a roach fell off the ceiling and landed in Miss Mary’s water glass.

“Mom!” Korey screamed, jumping backward out of her seat.

“Roach!” Blue shouted, redundantly, scanning the ceiling for more.

“Got it!” Carter said, spotting another one on the chandelier, and reaching for it with one of Patricia’s good linen napkins.

Patricia’s heart sank. She could already see this becoming a family story about what a terrible house she kept. “Remember?” they would ask each other when they were older. “Remember how Mom’s house was so dirty a roach fell off the ceiling into Granny Mary’s glass? Remember that?”

“Mom, that is disgusting!” Korey said. “Mom! Don’t let her drink it!”

Patricia snapped out of it and saw Miss Mary picking up her water glass, about to take a sip, the roach struggling in the cloudy water. Launching herself out of her seat, she plucked the glass from Miss Mary’s hand and dumped it down the sink. She ran the water and washed the roach and the sludge of disintegrating food fragments down the drain, then turned on the garbage disposal.

That was when the doorbell rang.

She could still hear Korey giving a performance in the dining room and she wanted to make sure she missed that, so she shouted, “I’ll get it,” and walked through the den to the quiet, dark front hall. Even from there she could hear Korey carrying on. She opened the front door and shame flooded her veins: Ann Savage’s nephew stood beneath the porch light.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said. “I’ve come to return your casserole dish.”

She could not believe this was the same man. He was still pale, but his skin looked soft and unlined. His hair was parted on the left and looked thick and full. He wore a khaki work shirt tucked into new blue jeans, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms. A faint smile played at the corners of his thin lips, like they shared a private joke. She felt her mouth twitching into a smile in return. In one large hand he held the glass casserole dish. It was spotless.

“I am so sorry for barging into your home,” she said, raising her hand to cover her mouth.

“Patricia Campbell,” he said. “I remembered your name and looked you up in the book. I know how people get about dropping off food and never getting their plates back.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, reaching for the dish. He held onto it.

“I’d like to apologize for my behavior,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry,” Patricia said, wondering how hard she could try to pull the dish out of his hands before she started to seem rude. “You must think I’m a fool, I interrupted your nap, I…I really did think you were…I used to be a nurse. I don’t know how I made such a stupid mistake. I’m so sorry.”