Dead Man's Deal The Asylum Tales - By Jocelynn Drake Page 0,162
to do. I guess I’m surprised. I wasn’t sure how you’d react to seeing me again. I’m sorry about what happened in Vermont. I’m so sorry I screwed up your lives.”
“Jason Stephen Grant,” Dad thundered behind me, causing me to flinch. I hadn’t heard anyone use my entire real name since I was six and in trouble for covering the dog in green food coloring. “I don’t ever want to hear you apologize for that nonsense. You have nothing to be sorry for or ashamed of. Like your mother said, we’re proud of your gift and have no regrets. And the weather is much nicer here than in Vermont.”
I laughed. I couldn’t stop. If my father was anything, he was always practical.
We walked into the living room with its pale yellow walls and thick brown carpet. I sat on the end of the couch while Dad took the chair nearest to me. Mom hovered, offering to get drinks but seeming unable to let go of my hand. I squeezed hers and smiled. “I’ll be here when you get back, I promise.” She gave a jerky nod and then released my hand as she expelled a heavy breath before disappearing back down the hall.
Dad shifted to the edge of his chair, leaning close as he clapped his hand on my shoulder. “We’re happy to see you, son, don’t misunderstand me,” he started softly so Mom couldn’t overhear. “But the last time we saw you, you said you weren’t coming back because it was too dangerous. I’m guessing something has changed.”
I sighed. “Yes and no. There’s some danger, but not like before. If you want, I’ll leave. I can alter your memories. You’ll never know I was here.”
“No! No!” Dad said quickly, sitting back in his chair. “Damn glad you’re here. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He knew there was a lot I wasn’t saying, and he wasn’t going to ask for more information, but he felt that he needed to have a handle on the situation. As I said, Dad was practical. “Regardless of your hocus-pocus, you know you’re not getting out of here before having Sunday dinner. It’s not as fancy as when you were a kid, but your mom still makes a great pot roast.”
Sunday dinner had been a tradition in my family. Throughout the week, all of us were constantly running for school, work, soccer practice, Little League games, and music lessons, but by some odd twist of fate, Sunday dinner seemed to be one time when we all managed to be in the house at the same time. Mom and Dad had taken turns each week making a large meal that we ate while sitting around the formal dining room table. When I had been taken by Simon to the Towers, it was the first thing I missed from my old life.
Mom quickly rejoined us with drinks and then took a seat next to me, her hand slipping back into mine. A part of me wanted to keep the conversation light, filled with silly stories and random incidents, but that wasn’t why I had come to their house. Mom squeezed my hand and smiled at me, trying to look encouraging. She knew there was something, but then that was Mom. Dad was practical and Mom always knew when we were hurting like she had some kind of mystical sixth sense.
Slowly, I told them about Robert. I cleaned up the story as much as I could, but something in Dad’s eyes told me he knew I was leaving bits out. The last thing I told them was that his final thoughts as Robert Grant had been about them. I never mentioned his new name or the direction I sent him in. I also didn’t mention the deal I had made with the Towers to keep him safe.
We sat in silence for several minutes. I kept my eyes fixed on my untouched iced tea, the glass sweating on the coffee table while I listened to my mother cry.
“Is he safe now?” she asked, both her hands tightly gripping mine.
“As safe as I could have possibly made him.”
She nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know what it cost you to do it, but thank you for saving your brother.”
I took a deep breath and launched into a brief and somewhat clean version of my life, trying to distract them as much as possible from the loss of yet another son. I knew they’d think about Robert and cry