Read Page 17

THE NEIGHBORS BRING JOHN-JOHN BACK IN TIME TO join us for lunch. His presence brightens the mood at the table considerably. He's full of lively talk about the neighbors (real nice) and their horses (a breed called Arabian) and the ride he and Trish took out into the countryside (through fields of lavender.)

He provides the perfect distraction, drawing Dad and Frey in with his enthusiastic chatter and leaving me alone with my thoughts . . . and my concern for Mom.Advertisement

After lunch, Dad takes John-John out to show him the winepress. Frey and I take glasses of wine to sit at the big table under the shade of a huge oak.

"You were quiet at lunch," Frey says, kneading the back of my neck with the palm of his hand.

I sigh and relax against him. "I wasn't prepared for how hard this would be."

"No one ever is."

I sip my wine, looking out over the vineyards, unsure how to broach the subject. After a while, I say, "I keep thinking about Max."

Frey looks surprised. "Are you thinking of him because he died recently?"

"No." I draw in a breath. "Because I could have saved him."

The glass in Frey's hand stops midway to his lips. "Saved him? You mean 'turned him,' don't you?"

"You don't see it as the same thing?"

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The corners of his mouth turn down in a sharp frown. "You do?" His eyes narrow. "What are you thinking, Anna?"

He doesn't wait for me to respond. "You can't think your mother would want-"

"Want what?" I interject hotly, angry words rising like lava. "To be like me? A monster? A freak?"

He puts his glass down on the table with a sharp crack and gathers me into his arms. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Irrationally I'm angry, so angry I struggle violently to break free. Frey tightens his grip until I can scarcely move. When I stop fighting, he still doesn't loosen his grip. He bends his face close and whispers in my ear, "When you got back from Mexico, you told me that you didn't turn Max because you couldn't be sure that it was what he wanted. That you wouldn't do to someone else what had been done to you. Is that what you're thinking now? That you'll ask your mother if she wants to be turned? Do you realize what that means? Her life-your Dad's life, Trish's life-nothing will ever be the same."

He pushes back now, tilts my chin up so that I'm looking into his eyes. "Think about it, Anna. You have so little time left to spend with her. Once you tell her that you're vampire, regardless of her decision, your relationship with your mother will be changed."

A wave of fatigue overtakes me. Everything Frey says is true. But another truth interjects itself as well. I don't want my mother to die. Trish needs her. My dad needs her. I need her.

I close my eyes and lean my head wearily against Frey's chest. Maybe I'm being selfish, but if I didn't at least offer her the alternative to what she's facing, I will never forgive myself.

Frey glances at his watch. "Listen, Trish won't be home for another hour. Why don't you go upstairs and take a nap. You look exhausted. I'll come and get you when Trish is ready to go to town."

Numbly, I nod and get to my feet. "Are you coming with me?" I ask.

He smiles, slow and sweet. "If I come, how much sleep do you think you'll get? No, I'll go find your dad and John-John. I'd like to see that winepress myself."

He steers me toward the house, then takes off down the path to the outbuildings where the wine is processed. I watch him go, glad that I didn't tell him my decision. First chance I get to be alone with my mother, I'm going to tell her.

About what I am.

About what it could mean to her.

I have to.

I GO UPSTAIRS, PAUSING OUTSIDE MOM'S DOOR. IT'S quiet inside her room, only the sound of her soft breathing. She seems to be resting quietly, no labored gasps, no moans of pain.

I could wake her now.

My heart flutters in my chest.

No. Better she rest.

No rest for me, though. Instead of stretching out on the bed, I sit at the window looking over the countryside and go over the ways I can explain to my mother what I am.

And imagining her responses.

There are only two, really.

She will be horrified and order me out of her house.

She will be horrified and have me committed.

Frey is right. Do I dare risk our last few days together?

On the other hand, does it have to be our last few days?

What if Mom understands what I'm offering and is willing to accept it to stay with her family?

For how long?

Immortality is something I'm wrestling with all the time. Frey and I haven't discussed it, but he knows the reality of our situation. He will age, naturally, gracefully, while I will stay forever the same. I will watch him die, John-John and Trish, too. And I will stay forever the same.

Can Mom cope with that? Watching Dad die-watching Trish and maybe her grandchildren from a self-imposed distance because they can never know the truth?

But she and I can be together, then, right?

Is that selfish?

Yes.

Still . . .

A car is coming down the drive-Trish's ride from school. I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I will talk to Trish this afternoon. See how she's holding up. She's had a rough life and now this. It's so damned unfair. Maybe she will help me decide what to do. Maybe her devastation at Mom's loss will tilt the scales in favor of presenting my case.

Maybe I'm grasping at something, anything, to take the decision out of my hands. pqdm.com