The Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires - Grady Hendrix Page 0,24

That was when a roach fell off the ceiling and landed in Miss Mary’s water glass.

“Mom!” Korey screamed, jumping backward out of her seat.

“Roach!” Blue shouted, redundantly, scanning the ceiling for more.

“Got it!” Carter said, spotting another one on the chandelier, and reaching for it with one of Patricia’s good linen napkins.

Patricia’s heart sank. She could already see this becoming a family story about what a terrible house she kept. “Remember?” they would ask each other when they were older. “Remember how Mom’s house was so dirty a roach fell off the ceiling into Granny Mary’s glass? Remember that?”

“Mom, that is disgusting!” Korey said. “Mom! Don’t let her drink it!”

Patricia snapped out of it and saw Miss Mary picking up her water glass, about to take a sip, the roach struggling in the cloudy water. Launching herself out of her seat, she plucked the glass from Miss Mary’s hand and dumped it down the sink. She ran the water and washed the roach and the sludge of disintegrating food fragments down the drain, then turned on the garbage disposal.

That was when the doorbell rang.

She could still hear Korey giving a performance in the dining room and she wanted to make sure she missed that, so she shouted, “I’ll get it,” and walked through the den to the quiet, dark front hall. Even from there she could hear Korey carrying on. She opened the front door and shame flooded her veins: Ann Savage’s nephew stood beneath the porch light.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said. “I’ve come to return your casserole dish.”

She could not believe this was the same man. He was still pale, but his skin looked soft and unlined. His hair was parted on the left and looked thick and full. He wore a khaki work shirt tucked into new blue jeans, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing thick forearms. A faint smile played at the corners of his thin lips, like they shared a private joke. She felt her mouth twitching into a smile in return. In one large hand he held the glass casserole dish. It was spotless.

“I am so sorry for barging into your home,” she said, raising her hand to cover her mouth.

“Patricia Campbell,” he said. “I remembered your name and looked you up in the book. I know how people get about dropping off food and never getting their plates back.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, reaching for the dish. He held onto it.

“I’d like to apologize for my behavior,” he said.

“No, I’m sorry,” Patricia said, wondering how hard she could try to pull the dish out of his hands before she started to seem rude. “You must think I’m a fool, I interrupted your nap, I…I really did think you were…I used to be a nurse. I don’t know how I made such a stupid mistake. I’m so sorry.”

He furrowed his forehead, raised his eyebrows in the middle, and looked sincerely concerned.

“You apologize a lot,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

She instantly realized what she’d done and froze, flustered, not sure where to go next, so she blundered ahead. “The only people who don’t apologize are psychopaths.”

The moment it came out of her mouth she wished she hadn’t said anything. He studied her for a moment, then said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

They stood for a moment, face to face, as she processed what he’d said, and then she burst out laughing. After a second, he did, too. He let go of the casserole dish and she pulled it to her body, holding it across her stomach like a shield.

“I’m not even going to say I’m sorry again,” she told him. “Can we start over?”

He held out one big hand, “James Harris,” he said.

She shook it. It felt cool and strong.

“Patricia Campbell.”

“I am genuinely sorry about that,” he said, indicating his left ear.

Reminded of her mutilated ear, Patricia turned slightly to the left and quickly brushed her hair over her stitches.

“Well,” she said,