Broken Heart 01 I'm the Vampire, That's Why (28 page)

"This almost-but-never-really stuff we're doing when we make love."

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He shrugged. "There are many ways vampires find pleasure without binding."

"Yeah, but it seems like… cheating somehow. Not going all the way. Sometimes, you gotta shit or get off the pot."

"You have the strangest way of putting things," he said, chuckling.

I wasn't in the mood to chuckle. My stomach dipped in terror as I realized the truth about me and Patrick. Either I choose the binding with him… or we would spend our days almost making love.

"You've shown me some great stuff… some terrific things… but Patrick, my kids are my world. What kind of mother would I be to bring you into our lives when you don't want all of us?"

Patrick stepped away to glare at me. "Who says I do not want all of you?"

I crossed my arms and hugged myself, miserable. "I do."

"Have I once asked you to be less to them so that I might have more?"

"No." I swallowed the knot of dread in my throat. "I figure you've lived four thousand years. What's a few more?"

He frowned at me. "I don't understand."

Damn it. I didn't want to have this conversation. Apprehension iced my throat, my belly. Oh God. But if not now, when? What would change about the scenario if we had the argument today or twenty years from now? "Patrick, I'm not stupid. What's seven or eight decades to a man who's been around for four millennium? So, maybe… you think hey, I just gotta wait it out."

"This is what you truly believe? That I value my happiness over yours?" asked Patrick, his tone warbling with pain. "I want nothing more than for you to always be happy and safe. To always feel loved."

I didn't think I could feel worse, but his words carved out my heart and tossed it onto the pavement.
Way
to go, Jessica
. I reached out to touch him and realized that was a bad move. So I shuffled back another step and gnawed on my bottom lip. "I'm sorry, Patrick. Maybe I shouldn't have… okay, yeah, I assumed a lot."

"I told you that I wouldn't fail you again, Jessica," he said. "And as long as I walk the Earth, I will honor that vow."

I needed a good curl-up-and-cry and chocolate. Oh, no. Chocolate. The last time I'd tasted it was drinking fromSharon . And she'd eaten champagne truffles because Patrick asked her to give me something I thought I'd lost. Pain lanced me. PoorSharon .

"Here." Patrick handed me a slim silver device.

I took the cellular phone from him and peered at it. "More technology? Yuck. Take it back."

"A mom without a cell phone? Not possible." He smiled, and I knew he sought to break the tension between us. Too bad it wasn't freaking working.

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"One for emergency use that I keep in the car. And I haven't driven a car in forever because, apparently, I have
sidhe
blood now and we have faster modes of transportation." I tucked the phone into the front pocket of my shorts. "So the phone is hooked up to some kind of vampire network?"

"Consortium network," said Patrick. "All the members' numbers are in the address book."

"Thanks."

We stood there, awkwardly staring at each other. Then Patrick sighed, leaned over to kiss my cheek, and whispered, "Good night, love."

He misted into silver and faded away.

Well, fine. Go brood. Suddenly restless, I ambled into the yard. The wet grass slapped against my bare toes. I thought about my childhood, about how I used to run through all the lawns barefoot, risking bee stings and stickers, just to feel the summer grass under my feet. Back then, the air was always tinged with honeysuckle, so heavy and thick with sweetness of those blooms it was like you could lick the air and taste syrup. The neighborhood kids would play hide-and-seek until dusk, our laughter and screams echoing into every backyard. When it got too dark, we'd chase lightning bugs, putting them into glass containers with punched-hole lids… until our mothers made us dump out the poor insects and berated us for ruining perfectly good Mason jars.

I used to hate the night. Yeah. I hated when the sun went down and robbed us of childhood delights.

After daylight abandoned us, we had dinner and homework and baths and bedtime. The night had stolen from me, and I resented it. Now, all I had, all any vampire had, was the night. I guess it was a good case of being careful what you wished for.

I spent some time with Bryan and Jenny. We watched
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
, which was an odd movie for the kids to select, but there's no accounting for taste. Especially ours.

I made meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole for dinner. It was a favorite meal of the kids, though watching 'em devour it was just a reminder that I would never consume regular food again, especially after they each got to dig into a chocolate pudding cup. I wondered what would happen if I ate real food? I probably didn't want to find out.

Later, after bedtime rituals were complete,Bryan hid in his room to play an hour's worth of PlayStation 2. Jenny and I read another two chapters about the adventures of a trio of best friends in the magical world of Droon.

"Do vampires celebrate Christmas?" asked Jenny as I tucked her into bed.

"Heck, yeah," I said.

"Wilsonsaid vampires have their own religion and holidays and that him and his mom were converting."

Wilsonwas sixteen and his mother was Patsy Donahue. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. The hair stylist would sooner dye herself pink and run through town naked than celebrate any religious holiday. Patsy said the holidays were excuses for drinking and eating in excess, which she gladly did.

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"IsWilson the one that said vampires didn't celebrate Christmas?"

"Yeah, he said vampires celebrate Yule. And he said that on December twenty-fifth, he gets to say,

'you'll do this' and 'you'll do that' and we have to because it's honoring his new religion."

I laughed this time. ThatWilson . What a card. I stroked Jenny's bangs away from her forehead. "No, honey. Yule is a real holiday and it's a very old tradition. And it wasn't started by the vampires."

At least I didn't think so. The vampires had been around a long damned time. I pulled the covers up to her chin and kissed her cheek. "G'night, baby girl."

" 'Night, Mommy."

With an hour or so left before sunrise, I sat at the kitchen table, finishing a letter to my husband.

Charlene's confession had turned my world upside down. I don't know why she'd admit something that would put her in a bad light unless she thought making me feel like shit was worth it.

At any time during the last year, she could've told me about Rich leaving her, about Rich loving me and our kids more than her. But she'd waited. She'd held on to that knowledge like a miser hoarding gold.

Why had she told me now?

The timing bothered me a lot. We were both vampires. We were both building a new community in an old town. We were both Turned by the same Master.

As I folded the letter and tucked it into my pocket, I wondered if Charlene had issued a challenge that related not to Rich, but to Patrick.
I didn't get your first man, but I'll get your second
.

I turned over that possibility in my mind. Would she be that stupid? Why would she care about my love life? Rich… well, I could understand her need for him. She worked in his office, observed our lives together.

Had she told the truth? Or had she lied?

I supposed it didn't matter. What mattered is that I had to forgive Rich. I had to forgive myself. And I needed closure to the situation. Life wasn't neat. You couldn't take sections, fold 'em, and put 'em into sealed boxes labeled "finished." Life was messy. Chaotic. Senseless. But you lived it. Every day you lived it. And every day you tried to make it mean something.

I checked the digital clock on the microwave, gauged how much time I had. Yeah, I could do it. Hmmm.

I wondered if Patrick was inside my head right now. Sometimes, I felt him in my mind, just a whisper.

Mostly, though, I didn't know if he was there or not. I hadn't tried to get inside his head. Handling my own thoughts was hard enough. Besides, I wasn't sure I wanted to run into information that… well, I didn't want to know.

Leaving the house, I waved to the security guard pacing my lawn, then rose into the air and headed toward theBrokenHeartCemetery .

Two months ago, on the one-year anniversary of Rich's passing, my children and I brought flowers to his
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grave. It was a sad day. The tombstone with his name on it was just a reminder that their father was gone forever. And that was why I didn't make them go every week or every month to show their respects. No matter what choices he'd made for our marriage, he loved his children. I knew he wouldn't want our kids to be in pain. I hired a service to maintain Rich's grave and paid extra to make sure fresh flowers were placed in the concrete vases on either side of the granite tombstone.

We didn't need regular trips to the cemetery to remember Rich. I made sure our family scrapbooks were accessible to my kids, that Rich's pictures were in their bedrooms, that keepsakes of vacations and trips were maintained throughout the house. Rich wasn't forgotten. And the love harbored for him and what he'd meant to them… and to me… still existed. It was still nurtured.

I settled in front of Rich's gravestone. I felt so nervous. My last words to him hadn't been kind. And since his passing, I hadn't tried to talk to him. I mean, he was gone. What was the point?

Grieving was for the living. And, so too, was closure. Here I was, still able to emotionally gnaw on the problems of my life, while Rich had no recourse at all. He couldn't ever reconsider his thoughts or words or actions.

I withdrew the letter and unfolded it. I stared at the words I'd written.

"Crap. What good will this do? It's stupid!" I clenched the paper so hard, it ripped.

It's not stupid.

I blinked away the tears in my eyes.
Patrick
?

Read the letter, Jessica. Your words will carry to the Universe and somewhere in it, resides the one you knew as Rich. He will hear you.

I felt comforted by his understanding and justified in my attempt to deal with my emotions for Rich. Had Patrick felt the same, done the same for his family when they were taken from him?

Releasing grief is necessary, Jessica. And perpetuating love is vital. Do you what you must, love, then come home. The sun will rise soon.

I felt him slip out of my mind. Once again, I looked at the letter. Then I read it aloud.

Dearest Rich,

This is really hard to write. The thing is, I'm not sure now about you and Charlene. It's uncomfortable to think that she was a mistake, that she made you miserable, that things weren't as they seemed.

I was so mad at you! And I was justified! You screwed Charlene. Rich, Jr. is proof of that. But…
to be
honest, honey, even if we tried to pick up the pieces, everything about us, about what we had,
would've been changed. How do you rebuild trust? How do you fix love? If our love was strong
and we were happy… well, Charlene wouldn't have tempted you
—
no matter who chased who
first
.

Maybe you died thinking that if I could forgive you, we could re-create our lives. Or maybe you were thinking about building a new life with Charlene and your son.