The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires(29)

“It’s him,” Miss Mary said. “It’s him. I know I have it somewhere.”

Patricia pried the photograph from between Miss Mary’s fingers. It was an old black-and-white shot of the minister from Miss Mary’s church in Kershaw surrounded by grim-faced children clutching Easter baskets.

“I’ll find it,” Miss Mary said. “I’ll find it. I know. I will.”





CHAPTER 10


She sat with Mrs. Greene, reassuring her that it wasn’t her fault, while they waited for Miss Mary to fall back asleep. After the old lady began to breathe deep and regular, she stood in the driveway and watched Mrs. Greene’s car back out and wondered how tonight had gone so wrong. It was partly her fault. She’d ambushed everyone with James Harris and they’d ambushed him back. Partly it was the book. Everyone felt irritated at having to read it, but sometimes they humored Slick because they all felt a little sorry for her. But mostly it was Miss Mary. She wondered if she was getting to be too much for them to handle anymore. If Carter got home from the hospital before eleven she’d bring it up with him.

An intolerably hot wind screamed off the harbor and filled the air with the hiss of bamboo leaves. The air felt heavy and thick and Patricia wondered if it might be making everyone restless. The live oaks whipped their branches in circles overhead. The lone streetlight at the end of the driveway cast a slender silver cone that made the night around it blacker, and Patricia felt exposed. She smelled the ghost of used incontinence pads and spilled coffee grounds, and she saw Mrs. Savage squatting in her nightgown, shoving raw meat in her mouth, and Miss Mary standing naked in the doorway, a skinned squirrel, hair streaming water, waving a useless photograph, and she ran for the front door and slammed it behind her, pushing it hard against the wind, and shot the deadbolt home.

Something small screamed in the kitchen, then all over the house. She realized it was the phone.

“Patricia?” the voice said when she picked up. She didn’t recognize it over the interference at first. “Grace Cavanaugh. I’m sorry to call so late.”

The phone line crackled. Patricia’s heart still pounded.

“Grace, it’s not too late at all,” Patricia said, trying to slow down. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“I called to see how Miss Mary is doing,” Grace said.

“She’s asleep.”

“And I wanted you to know that we all understand,” Grace said. “These things happen with the elderly.”

“I’m sorry about James Harris,” Patricia said. “I meant to tell everyone, I just kept putting it off.”

“It’s unfortunate he was there,” Grace said. “Men don’t know what it’s like to care for an aging relative.”

“Are you upset with me?” Patricia asked. In their five years of friendship it was the most direct question she’d ever asked.

“Why would I be upset with you?”

“About inviting James Harris,” Patricia said.

“We’re not schoolgirls, Patricia. I blame the book for the quality of the evening. Good night.”

Grace hung up.

Patricia stood in the kitchen holding the phone for a moment, then hung up. Why wasn’t Carter here? It was his mother. He needed to see her like this, and then maybe he’d understand that they needed more help. The wind rattled the kitchen windows and she didn’t want to be alone downstairs anymore.

She went up and knocked gently on Korey’s door while pushing it open. The lights were out and the room was dark, which confused Patricia. Why on earth was Korey asleep so early? The hall light spilled across Korey’s bed. It was empty.

“Korey?” Patricia said into the darkness.

“Mom,” Korey said from the shadows by her closet, her voice low and even. “There’s someone on the roof.”

Cold water flooded Patricia’s veins. She stepped out of the hall light and into Korey’s bedroom, standing to one side of the door.

“Where?” she whispered.

“Over the garage,” Korey whispered back.

The two of them stood like that for a long moment until Patricia realized she was the only adult in the house, which meant she had to do something. She forced her legs to carry her to the window.

“Don’t let him see you,” Korey said.

Patricia made herself stand right in front of the window, expecting to see the dark shape of a man outlined against the night sky, but she only saw the sharp, black line of the roof’s edge with thrashing bamboo behind it. She jumped when she heard Korey’s voice beside her.

“I saw him,” Korey said. “I promise.”

“He’s not there now,” Patricia said.

She walked to the door and flipped on the overhead light. They both stood, dazzled, while their eyes adjusted. The first thing she saw was a half-empty bowl of old cereal on the windowsill, the milk and corn flakes dried into concrete. She’d asked Korey not to leave food in her room, but her daughter looked scared and vulnerable and Patricia decided not to say anything.

“There’s going to be a storm,” Patricia said. “But I’ll leave your door open and the hall light on so your father remembers to say good night when he comes home.”

She pulled Korey’s comforter back. “Do you want to read your book?”