Uh-oh.
Chapter Nine
It was after The Vampire Diaries.
Truth was, I didn’t much enjoy the show this week. Sure, Damon looked sexy. Even Stefan had his moments. The others in the cast were electrifying and gory and funny. The plotline was convoluted but ingenious, and all in all, a great addition to the series.
Except, of course, I was having trouble concentrating on it.
Now with my sister mostly sober and gone home, and still giddy that she wasn’t being left out of the cool group, I sat with my daughter in her bedroom.
Anthony had gone home with my sister, as well. I didn’t want him to overhear us. Turned out, his hearing was getting better and better, too. Too good for my comfort. The kid was turning into Captain America.
Or Captain Skidmarks.
“That’s funny, Mom.”
“Don’t try to get on my good side,” I said. “And yes, that was kind of funny.”
She giggled. I was fairly certain the alcohol hadn’t worn off yet. It had, after all, only been an hour or so. “What have I told you about reading my thoughts?”
“I’m not supposed to. But sometimes, I can’t help it.”
I knew the feeling. I said, “I know you can’t help it, honey. And sometimes, I can’t help it either. But I want you to do your best to not listen in on adult conversations.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And don’t listen in on your brother’s thoughts, either.”
“Gross. I learned my lesson about him, Mommy. Do you know that sometimes all he thinks about, for like ten straight minutes, is boobies?”
My son, of course, was eleven going on an apparently early puberty. I said, “I could have gone my whole life without knowing that.”
“Well, now we both know it,” and she giggled some more and, despite myself, I giggled, too. “Why do boys like boobies so much, Mommy?”
I opened my mouth to answer. “Honestly? I haven’t the faintest idea.”
She found that funny, too, and laughed harder...until she saw the serious look on my face.
“Uh-oh,” she said.
“Uh-oh is right, young lady.”
“You’re mad, aren’t you?”
“Says the girl who can read my mind.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you know darn well that I’m mad.”
“It was just a little wine,” she said. “And it was so good. No wonder you and Auntie love it so much!”
Uh-oh.
“Honey, wine is for adults. You know that.”
“Well, I’m thirteen. I’m a teenager. I’m in middle school. Half the kids in my school drink beer.”
“Half?”
“Well, some. And Angie Harmon’s mom lets her drink at home, on special occasions.”
I rubbed my face. I might have moaned.
“And I figured tonight was a special occasion!”
Now, I was massaging my temples.
“And it’s not like I’m out drinking with friends on some street corner.”
Now I definitely moaned.
“I drank responsibly, Mom.”
I hugged my knees and started rocking on her bed. Rocking and moaning and wishing my sweet, innocent little girl wasn’t saying words like “drinking responsibly.”
“It’s not that bad, Mom. Just a little wine. Sheesh, get over it—”
That’s when I’d had enough. I quit playing the victim and took in a lot of unnecessary air, mostly to clear my mind and to calm myself down, and said, “I will not get over it, young lady. I will get right on top of it. In fact, I will get right inside it.”
“Gross.”
“If I ever see or hear of you drinking again, you are going to be in a lot of trouble.”
“I’m a teenager—”
“You are thirteen and far too young to be drinking.”
“But Angie and almost everyone at school—”
“I don’t care about Angie and almost everyone at your school. I care about you. My daughter. Who’s far too young to handle alcohol—”
“But I drank responsibly!”
“If I hear you say, ‘I drank responsibly’ again, I’m going to homeschool you for the rest of your life.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can do anything I want.”
“Then I will tell everyone you’re a vampire! And a killer!”
My mouth fell open. It stayed open for a long, long time.
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I would never do that. Ever.”
“You think I’m a killer?” I finally asked.
Tammy looked away, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “I...I don’t know, Mommy.”
“You’ve seen me kill,” I thought. “In my memory.”
“Yes. You’ve done it a few times.”
“You shouldn’t be in there, baby. Ever.”
She nodded, which shook free the tears.
I said, “Mommy had to...do what she had to do.”
She kept on shaking her head.
“Baby, I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“It’s okay, Mommy. They were bad men.”
I mentally ran through the horrors of the past few years. Jesus, I thought.
I took in some air. “You need to stay out of Mommy’s thoughts, baby. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Do you promise?”
“I’ll try.” She paused, and what she said next had me laughing harder than it should have. “Now do you see why I was driven to drink?”
When I was done laughing into my hands, tears streaming down my cheeks—and I wasn’t entirely sure if some of those tears weren’t real tears—I grabbed her feet and proceeded to tickle them until she promised to never drink again.
Ever.
Chapter Ten
The Occult Reading Room wasn’t empty.
A man was doing just that: reading in a chair in the far corner, very near the darkest, creepiest of the books. The books that seemed to possess a dark intelligence. The books that seemed, in fact, to be alive.
I heard their whisperings now as the man read. The whisperings sounded more excited than usual. In fact, they hardly seemed to notice me at all. They were, in fact, focused on the man reading.
“You hear them, too, right? The books?” I asked the Librarian, whose real name was Archibald Maximus. He was Max to me sometimes. Or even Archie. Other than my daughter, Max was the only other entity alive who seemed capable of reading my thoughts. He also seemed to have all the answers, which is why I came around. That he was easy on the eyes had nothing to do with it at all. I swear.