Throat (53 page)

“
Enkelin!
”

My heart swelled. Papi was sitting up, and for a little while I fell apart completely; he looked so much better. It was easier to hug him, and for a long time that’s all I did. I told him some things and didn’t tell him others. I had Sagan smuggle in a jamocha milk shake for him. Other than my grandmother’s strudel, jamocha shakes were Papi’s favorite sweet thing in the world.

I sat the milk shake on the little rollaway table in his room. Water condensed on the side of the cup. The water began to form little beads. When the beads got heavy enough, they ran down and collected around the base. By the time I left, the water was spilling onto the floor in a tiny trickle and the shake was past drinking. Neither of us cared.

The parking lot hadn’t changed a bit. Our building was just as seedy. All except for one window that looked brand new. We sat in Sagan’s Jeep staring at the steps that led up to my door.

“Just tell them … that you will tell them … someday,” Sagan said.

I blew out a heavy sigh. “You don’t know my mom. She will kill me, then raise me from the dead again for an explanation. She might not even let me through the door.”

“She’ll let you in.”

“She’ll never let me see you.” I started to cry, and he dried my tears with his shirt.

“I’ll see you. I’ll never stop seeing you.”

We kissed, and I realized it was the first time since Wirtz … well.

“You want to go in with me?” I said. That felt safer.

“No. That’s too much,” Sagan said. “Hi, Mom, I’m a vampire! Some other vampires tried to kill me! And oh, hey, here’s my new boyfriend.”

“I see what you mean.”

He kissed my hand. “It’ll be okay, Emma. I know how my mom would be if I disappeared and then came back.”

“Okay. Now?”

“Yeah. But come here.”

I leaned across the seat and fell into his arms. I pulled away and looked at the stairs. The door. The kitchen window.

“Just think, tonight you’ll get to read to Manda.”

I took a long breath. He always said the right thing.

I couldn’t stop crying, even after I shut the door to the Jeep. My sleeves were soaked. I walked toward the steps. Turned and looked at the blurry image of Sagan, his yellow hair blowing. He had lost part of an eyebrow when the gasoline had exploded. There was a long slashing cut across his cheek that was probably going to leave a scar. I told him it made him look like Josey Wales.

I swallowed and slowly climbed the steps. Stopped in front of the door. My door. I stood there facing it, hands at my sides. Wondering just exactly how a girl who was half vampire was supposed to get by in this world. Wondering if I should knock.

Then it came to me. A family is like a hologram. It doesn’t matter if there is only one other person. Or two. Or six, like Sagan’s. No matter how you divide it up, when they love you, you’re never half anything. Each part is always a whole. Your family is your
Feld
.

I raised the little knocker and rapped several times. Listened. I didn’t hear anything. Then I heard running.

A book like
Throat
would not be a reality without the encouragement, faith, and support of special people. I would like to thank my editor, Joan Slattery, along with Nancy Siscoe and Nancy Hinkel, Allison Wortche, Meg O’Brien, Kate Gartner, Artie Bennett, and all the other folks at Alfred A. Knopf; Cecile Goyette; my agent, Rosemary Stimola, and her colleagues in the agenting world, Stephen Moore and Bastian Schleuck; Ann Marie Martin of the
Huntsville Times;
my German translator, Katarina Ganslandt; my sister, Rikki Lynn Halavonich; and Kathleen O’Dell. Special thanks to my family for bearing with me all the times I had to disappear into my study, and to my wife, Deborah, who has read this book nearly as many times as I have and always sees the forest as well as the trees.

R. A. NELSON
is the acclaimed author of
Days of Little Texas
, winner of a
Parents’ Choice
Recommended Award;
Breathe My Name
(“Incandescent”—
Kirkus Reviews);
and
Teach Me
(“Hypnotic”—
The Horn Book Magazine
).

He lives in north Alabama with his wife and four sons and works at NASA’s Marshall Space Flight Center. Visit him on the Web at
ranelsonbooks.com
.