Dead and Gone Page 0,71

minute.

Plus, there was the issue of Eric and our undefined but intimate relationship.

"Keep the possibility on the back burner. He's really cute, and by cute, I mean hotter than a steam iron."

After Amelia had tromped up the stairs, I poured myself a glass of tea. I tried to read, but I found I couldn't concentrate on the book. Finally, I slid my paper bookmark in and stared into space, thinking about a lot of things.

I wondered where Arlene's children were now. With Arlene's old aunt, who lived over in Clarice? Or still with Helen Ellis? Did Helen like Arlene enough to keep Coby and Lisa?

I couldn't rid myself of a nagging feeling of responsibility for the kids' sad situation, but it was going to have to be one of those things I simply suffered. The person really responsible was Arlene. There was nothing I could do for them.

As if thinking of children had triggered a nerve in the universe, the phone rang. I got up and went to the wall-mounted unit in the kitchen. "Hello," I said without enthusiasm.

"Ms. Stackhouse? Sookie?"

"Yes, this is she," I said properly.

"This is Remy Savoy."

My dead cousin Hadley's ex, father of her child. "I'm glad you called. How's Hunter?" Hunter was a "gifted" child, God bless him. He'd been "gifted" the same way I had been.

"He's fine. Uh, about that thing."

"Sure." We were going to talk telepathy.

"He's going to need some guidance soon. He'll be starting kindergarten. They're going to notice. I mean, it'll take a while, but sooner or later ..."

"Yeah, they'll notice all right." I opened my mouth to suggest that Remy bring Hunter over on my next day off or that I could drive to Red Ditch. But then I remembered that I was the target of a group of homicidal fairies. Not a good time for a young 'un to come visiting, and who's to say they couldn't follow me to Remy's little house? So far none of them knew about Hunter. I hadn't even told my great-grandfather about Hunter's special talent. If Niall himself didn't know, maybe none of the hostiles had uncovered the information.

On the whole, better to take no risks.

"I really want to meet with him and get to know him. I promise I'll help him as much as I can," I said. "Right now, it just isn't possible. But since we have a little time to spare before kindergarten ... maybe in a month or so?"

"Oh," Remy said in a nonplussed way. "I was hoping to bring him over on my day off."

"I have a little situation here that I have to resolve." If I was alive after it was resolved ... but I wasn't going to imagine that. I tried to think of a palatable excuse, and of course, I did have one. "My sister-in-law just died," I told Remy. "Can I call you when I'm not so busy with the details of ..." I couldn't think of a way to wrap up that sentence. "I promise it'll be soon. If you don't have a day off, maybe Kristen could bring him?" Kristen was Remy's girlfriend.

"Well, that's part of the problem," Remy said, and he sounded tired but also a little amused. "Hunter told Kristen that he knew she didn't really like him, and that she should stop thinking about his daddy without any clothes on."

I drew a deep breath, tried not to laugh, didn't manage it. "I am sorry," I said. "How did Kristen handle that?"

"She started crying. Then she told me she loved me but my kid was a freak, and she left."

"Worst possible scenario," I said. "Ah ... do you think she'll tell other people?"

"Don't see why she wouldn't."

This sounded depressingly familiar: shades of my painful childhood. "Remy, I'm sorry," I said. Remy had seemed like a nice guy on our brief acquaintance, and I had been able to see he was devoted to his son. "If it makes you feel any better, I survived that somehow."

"But did your parents?" There was a trace of a smile in his voice, to his credit.

"No," I said. "However, it didn't have anything to do with me. They got caught by a flash flood when they were driving home one night. It was pouring rain, visibility was terrible, the water was black like the road, and they just drove down onto the bridge and got swept away." Something buzzed in my brain, some kind of signal that this thought was significant.

"I'm sorry, I was just joking,"