The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(20)

He furrowed his forehead, raised his eyebrows in the middle, and looked sincerely concerned.

“You apologize a lot,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

She instantly realized what she’d done and froze, flustered, not sure where to go next, so she blundered ahead. “The only people who don’t apologize are psychopaths.”

The moment it came out of her mouth she wished she hadn’t said anything. He studied her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

They stood for a moment, face to face, as she processed what he’d said, and then she burst out laughing. After a second, he did, too. He let go of the casserole dish and she pulled it to her body, holding it across her stomach like a shield.

“I’m not even going to say I’m sorry again,” she told him. “Can we start over?”

He held out one big hand, “James Harris,” he said.

She shook it. It felt cool and strong.

“Patricia Campbell.”

“I am genuinely sorry about that,” he said, indicating his left ear.

Reminded of her mutilated ear, Patricia turned slightly to the left and quickly brushed her hair over her stitches.

“Well,” she said, “I suppose that’s why I’ve got two.”

This time, his laugh was short and sudden.

“Not many people would be so generous with their ears.”

“I don’t remember being given a choice,” she said, then smiled to let him know she was kidding.

He smiled back.

“Were the two of you close?” she asked. “You and Mrs. Savage?”

“None of our family are close,” he said. “But when family needs, you go.”

She wanted to close the door and stand on the porch and have an actual adult conversation with this man. She had been so terrified of him, but he was warm, and funny, and he looked at her in a way that made her feel seen. Shrill voices drifted from the house. She smiled, embarrassed, and realized there was one way to get him to stay.

“Would you like to meet my family?” she asked.

“I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” he said.

“I’d consider it a personal favor if you did.”

He regarded her for a split second, expressionless, sizing her up, and then he matched her smile.

“Only if it’s a real invitation,” he said.

“Consider yourself invited,” she said, standing aside. After a moment he stepped over her threshold and into the dark front hall.

“Mr. Harris?” she said. “You won’t say anything about”—she gestured with the casserole dish she held in both hands—“about this, will you?”

His expression got serious.

“It’ll be our secret.”

“Thank you,” she said.

When she led him into the brightly lit dining room, everyone stopped talking.

“Carter,” she said. “This is James Harris, Ann Savage’s grandnephew. James, this is my husband, Dr. Carter Campbell.”

Carter stood up and shook hands automatically, as if he met the nephew of the woman who’d bitten off his wife’s ear every day. Blue and Korey, on the other hand, looked from their mother to this enormous stranger in horror, wondering why she’d let him into their house.

“This is our son, Carter Jr., although we call him Blue, and our daughter, Korey,” Patricia said.

As James shook Blue’s hand and walked around the table to shake Korey’s, Patricia saw her family through his eyes: Blue staring at him rudely. Korey standing behind her chair in her Baja hoodie and soccer shorts, gawping at him like he was a zoo animal. Miss Mary chewing and chewing even though her mouth was empty.

“This is Miss Mary Campbell, my mother-in-law, who’s staying with us.”

James Harris held out a hand to Miss Mary, who kept sucking her lips while staring hard at the salt and pepper shakers.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” he said.

Miss Mary raised her watery eyes to his face and studied him for a moment, chin trembling, then looked back down at the salt and pepper.

“I’ve got a photograph,” she said.

“I don’t want to interrupt your meal,” James Harris said, pulling his hand back. “I was just returning a dish.”

“Won’t you join us for dessert?” Patricia asked.

“I couldn’t…,” James Harris began.

“Blue, clear the table,” Patricia said. “Korey, get the bowls.”

“I do have a sweet tooth,” James Harris said as Blue passed him carrying a stack of dirty plates.

“You can sit here,” Patricia said, nodding to the empty chair on her left. It creaked alarmingly as James Harris eased himself into it. Bowls appeared and the half gallon of Breyers found its place in front of Carter. He began to hack at the surface of the freezer-burned ice cream with a large spoon.

“What do you do for a living?” Carter asked.

“All kinds of things,” James said as Korey placed a stack of ice cream bowls in front of her father. “But right now, I’ve got a little money put aside to invest.”

Patricia reconsidered. Was he rich?

“In what?” Carter asked, scraping long white curls of ice cream into everyone’s bowls and passing them around the table. “Stocks and bonds? Small business? Microchips?”