Spells Trouble (Sisters of Salem #1) - P. C. Cast Page 0,89
He’s better now. And if we have to use him I’ll take full responsibility for prepping him.”
Hunter rolled her eyes and Xena growled again.
Mercy put a hand on her hip. “Do either of you have a better idea?” When neither said anything Mercy continued, “Then it’s settled. Emily is our first choice, but if she can’t do it we’ll use Kirk.”
* * *
“Grandma and Grandpa are like zombies.” Emily’s voice sounded so, so far away as she spoke softly into the phone. “Well, scratch that. Grandpa is like a zombie—if a zombie did nothing but drink whisky and watch ESPN. Grandma is a cooking zombie. She walked in—hugged me—starting crying—ignored Mom—and went straight to the kitchen. She’s been there ever since. Literally the only time she leaves is to refresh Grandpa’s glass, visit the ‘powder room’ as she calls it, and get a new box of Kleenex. She hasn’t stopped crying.”
“Em, I’m so sorry. Is your mom any better?” Mercy balanced the phone on her shoulder while she rinsed the pot she’d used to make the cocoa.
“Absolutely not. Meemaw and Peepaw can’t make it to the funeral, even though it won’t be for four more days. They’re on a Greek island cruise and said something about not being able to get a flight out from any of their ports of call. Mom thinks that’s bullshit, and I have to agree. But, Mag, the truth is they never liked Dad, and they hate his parents. Plus, you know my parents’ marriage hasn’t exactly been good—not that that matters to Mom right now. She’s, like, totally broken, Mag. She keeps talking about everything she should’ve and shouldn’t have said to Dad. And then she cries so hard I swear I think she’s going to puke. It’s awful.” Emily paused to sob softly and then blew her nose. “Sorry.”
“Hey, take your time. I’m totally here for you.”
“Thanks.” Emily sighed deeply. “So, Mom only left her bed when Grandma got here, and when Grandma ignored her and started cooking Mom retreated back to her bedroom and the bottle of pills the doc gave her.”
“Can I please come get you? Even for just an hour or so? I made hot chocolate. I could add some witchy herbs to it to help you relax.” Mercy put the pot in the dishwasher and cringed as it clanked noisily against a plate—though Em didn’t seem to notice.
“Relax?” Emily’s laughter was filled with sarcasm. “I can’t relax. I’m the only one holding it together. I had to answer, like, a zillion funeral questions today—including stuff about Dad’s casket. Jesus.”
“Bloody hell, Em, can’t the adults do that? You have a house full of them.”
“Oh hell no. My house is filled with old people who are barely functioning. I swear if I wasn’t here Dad would be on a slab in the morgue for fucking ever.” She sobbed brokenly into the phone. “Wilson keeps asking me what Dad would want.”
“Wilson? Isn’t he just a first-year apprentice?” Mercy was sure she remembered that he was fresh out of college. Em liked to say he still looked like a very gawky, zitty teenager. “How’s it okay that he’s running the funeral home?”
“Oh, he’s not really. Mr. Burton, from Sunset Funeral Home in Champaign, is really in charge, but Wilson keeps calling me and asking me details about Dad’s service. How do I know what my father, who was murdered when he was thirty-nine years old, wanted when he died? It’s not like he chatted with his sixteen-year-old daughter about his fucking funeral arrangements!”
Mercy wiped her hand on a dish towel and felt sad and sick and angry all at the same time for her friend. “Em, just tell Wilson to figure it out by himself!”
“I c-can’t.” Emily sniffled. “Someone has to at least try to do what Dad would want, and I seem to be the only somebody who cares.” She started sobbing again.
“Oh, Em. I’m so sorry. I love you so much. I wish I could do something—anything.”
“You can.” Emily blew her nose. “Keep texting me. Even if I don’t answer. Just being here for me is everything.”
Mercy heard a woman’s voice calling Emily’s name.
“I gotta go. Grandma wants me to taste something. Again. It’s disgusting, Mag. Everything she cooks has way too much salt in it—like it was made with tears.”
Mercy didn’t know what else to say except, “I love you, Emily Parrott.”
“You, too, Mag.” And the cell went dead.
Mercy walked around the corner from the kitchen. Hunter and Xena raised