The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,100

and a friend for Blue, and for so much of everything. It isn’t such a bad trade at all.

CHAPTER 26

Carter picked up Blue from James Harris’s house in the morning.

“It’s all going to be fine, Patty,” he said.

She didn’t argue. Instead she made Toaster Strudel, and told Korey she couldn’t wear a choker to school, and had to listen while Korey told her she was practically a nun, and then her daughter was gone, and Patricia stood in her house, alone.

Even though it was October, the sun warmed the rooms and made her sleepy. Ragtag found a patch of sunlight in the dining room and collapsed onto it, ribs rising and falling, eyes closed.

Patricia had so many projects—finish with the kitchen cabinets, pick up all the newspapers and magazines on the sun porch, do something with the saltwater tank in the laundry room, vacuum the garage room, clean out the closet in the den, change the sheets—she didn’t know where to begin. She had a fifth cup of coffee and the silence in the house pressed down on her, and the sun kept getting hotter and warmer, thickening the air into a sleep-inducing fog.

The phone rang.

“Campbell residence,” she said.

“Did Blue get to school all right?” James Harris asked.

A thin sheen of sweat broke out across Patricia’s upper lip and she felt stupid, like she didn’t know what to say. She took a breath. Carter trusted James Harris. Blue trusted him. She had kept him at arm’s length for three years and what had that achieved? He was important to her son. He was important to her family. She needed to stop pushing him away.

“He did,” she said, and made herself smile so he could hear it in her voice. “Thank you for taking him in last night.”

“He was pretty upset when he showed up,” James Harris said. “I’m not even sure why he chose to come here.”

“I’m glad he thinks of it as a place he can go,” she made herself say. “I’d rather him be there than out wandering the streets. It’s not as safe in the Old Village as it used to be.”

James Harris’s voice took on the relaxed quality of someone who had plenty of time to chat. “He said he was scared you’d gone next door and called the police, so he hid in the bushes behind Alhambra for a while. I didn’t know if he’d eaten, so I heated up some of those French bread pizzas. I hope that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

“Is there something going on at home?” James Harris asked.

The sun coming through the kitchen windows made Patricia’s eyes ache, so she looked into the cool darkness of the den instead.

“He’s just turning into a teenager,” she said.

“Patricia,” James Harris said, and she heard his voice shade earnest. “I know you got a bad impression of me when I moved here, but whatever you think, believe me when I say that I care about your children. They’re good kids. Carter works so much and I worry about you doing this mostly by yourself.”

“Well, his private practice keeps him busy,” Patricia said.

“I’ve told him he doesn’t have to make every dollar in the world,” James Harris said. “What’s the point of working if you miss out on your kids growing up?”

She felt disloyal talking about Carter behind his back, but it was also a relief.

“He puts a lot of pressure on himself,” she said.

“You’re the one with pressure on you,” James Harris said. “Raising two teenagers practically by yourself, it’s too much.”

“It’s hardest on Blue,” she said. “He has such a hard time keeping up at school. Carter thinks it’s attention deficit disorder.”

“His attention is fine when it comes to World War II,” James Harris said.

The familiarity of discussing Blue with someone who understood him relaxed Patricia.

“He spray-painted a dog,” she said.

“What?” James Harris laughed.

After a moment, she laughed, too.

“Poor dog,” she said, feeling guilty. “His name is Rufus and he’s the