The Single Undead Moms Club (Half Moon Hollow series Book 4) (10 page)

“You will be under close Council surveillance . . . and Dick will be your landlord. But on the upside, moving is much easier when you have superstrength.”

“I can live with that,” I told her. “And I’ve been packing for weeks.”

I was nearly moved into
the Victorian-turned-duplex five days later when my in-laws served me with a very official-looking eviction notice. Kaylee was wringing her hands at the stove when I rose for the night. The white envelope lay on the table with a red “OFFICIAL NOTICE” stamp blaring under the kitchen lights.

It was funny that my brain didn’t immediately hop onto “past due bill” when I saw the red stamp. My second night as a vampire, I’d opened my online banking profile and found that it showed a significantly higher balance than I’d expected before I went underground (so to speak). I’d set up all my bills to pay automatically out of the account while I was “out.” And while my utilities were all paid up, the considerable insurance money I’d promised my sire in exchange for turning me was still there. The check I’d written for “cash” had not been cashed.

What the hell did that mean? Who turns someone just for fun?

In other developments, the move was coming together more quickly than we’d expected. The new apartment needed very few repairs after the departure of the last tenant, a conscientious vampire who’d given up his lease to move closer to his girlfriend’s college campus.

This was the first home I’d have that was my own.
I
paid the rent.
I
controlled the décor. Unless Dick suddenly decided to turn the place into a bed-and-breakfast, we weren’t going to be kicked out. There was a tremendous freedom in that.

So much more about my life had changed, beyond my pulse and my diet. I had friends. I had people I could trust with my feelings. I didn’t have to put on a brave front or pretend not to be hurt or upset when the occasion called for it.

Danny was upstairs, sorting his toys into “keep,” “store,” and “donate” boxes. I was fortunate that he seemed to view the move as an adventure, particularly when I described the old restored house with its turret bedrooms and time-worn wooden stairs. He’d always wanted a house where he could slide down the stairs on his butt. It was a dream come true for him.

Beyond the fact that it was necessary, I hoped the move would be good for my son. Sure, he would start school the day after we moved into the new place, but living in the more rural “farming district” of the Hollow, Danny didn’t have any nearby friends his age. Living closer to the school, he had a better chance of developing playmates. He’d asked several questions about his grandparents and how they felt about the move, but I’d been able to distract him with promises of painting his room whatever color he wanted and spending time with “Mr. Dick.”

The good news was that the move and keeping up with my contracted bookkeeping work kept me distracted from any weird bloodthirst issues I might be having. Being a vampire mom wasn’t that different from being a human mom—it was all about multitasking.

But as I made my way into the kitchen for my evening cup of blood, it seemed that Kaylee didn’t share my semioptimistic view on life. She was slumped over my stove, stirring a pot of spaghetti and wheatballs while she gnawed on her bottom lip. With Kaylee, I knew that this news could be anything from the death of a grandparent to the cancellation of her favorite teen demon-hunter show. I hoped she was just worried about getting into trouble for accepting the eviction notice.

I opened the official envelope and scanned its contents. It was nothing unexpected. I was being notified of my “breach” as a tenant. Since Rob and I had never actually signed a lease or paid rent, I could only assume that my “breach” involved my not breathing anymore. I had thirty days to contest or vacate the premises, something I wasn’t all that concerned about since I would be ready to move within the next twenty-four hours. I supposed this was the first volley in Les and Marge’s suit for custody: prove that I couldn’t provide a stable home for Danny on my own. I couldn’t help but be somehow proud that I’d anticipated this.

“It’s OK, Kaylee, really.” I sighed, downing my breakfast. “I was expecting this.”

“You were expecting my mama to say I can’t babysit for you anymore, Miss Libby?”

“No,” I said, pursing my lips. “I was referring to the eviction notice.”

“That’s what that is?” she cried. “Well, that’s not right. I told my mama, I don’t care if you’re a vampire, you’re a good person. Personally, I think it’s kind of cool. You look better. You feel better. And you’ve never hurt me. I don’t figure you’re going to start now. But Miss Marge’s been calling around, telling people that you’ve gone crazy and started biting people. I tried to tell my mama that just wasn’t true, but she said she didn’t feel safe with me taking care of Danny anymore. I’m really sorry. I talked her into one more night, but I told her it was because you had to go out and buy Danny’s school supplies. She wants me home by nine.”

I tamped down the panic welling in my chest. The next day was Danny’s last official day of summer vacation, and he was going to wake up without supervision, in a house where I was technically dead down the hall. There was no way that could go wrong.

Danny ran into the kitchen and threw himself at my side. Because my feet were planted, he bounced off my hip like a rubber ball. I shot my hands out at vampire speed and caught him by the elbows before his head could smack against the corner of the countertop. His eyes went wide with shock as I lowered him gently into a kitchen chair.

“You OK, sweetie?”

“Wow, Mom, you moved quick,” he whispered.

I gave an uncomfortable, clipped laugh. “Yeah, well . . . Mom’s been taking her vitamins every morning.”

“Like the orange ones that get stuck in my teeth?” he asked with a grimace.

“Yep, and if you want to be super-fast, you better take them, too.”

Danny had on his skeptical face, which made it a perfect time to change the subject from my unprecedented catlike reflexes.

“So why did you come barreling into the kitchen like a cannonball whose mother never taught him good manners or common sense?” I asked.

He had the good grace to look sheepish for a grand total of three seconds. “OK, so, when you buy my new backpack, make sure it’s not a baby backpack. No puppies or construction trucks or anything like that. Transformers or Avengers, and if they don’t have those, maybe
The LEGO Movie
. But that’s it.” Danny tugged on my T-shirt until I dropped to his eye level. “That’s
it
, Mom.”

“OK,” I said. “Any other instructions?”

“No lunch boxes. Nobody brings lunch, Mom. Everybody eats the cafeteria food, even though it can be gross sometimes. And I know you like to get me those little erasers shaped like pizza slices, but Carson ate them last year and started to cry ’cause he thought he was poisoned, so that’s not a good idea,” he said.

“Got it.”

“And no fat crayons. Everybody knows those are little-kid crayons. I need the skinny crayons.”

“OK, Danny.”

“And no—”

“Danny!”

Having finally made me bark at him, which was his goal all along, he burst out laughing and scampered off to his room.

I shook my head and asked Kaylee, “Are you sure you want to give all this up?”

Kaylee promptly burst into tears.

I blew out an unnecessary breath. “Oh, boy.”

While I drove into town,
I mulled over the Danny situation and the fact that I would have no help in less than eight hours when he woke up. My first thought was to call his grandparents. It was an instinct born of years when calling anyone else to watch Danny—because I felt guilty asking for babysitting help every time we talked—caused disagreements with Rob and his parents, because they didn’t like the idea of anyone else watching Danny. Kaylee was only trusted because her mother went to Les and Marge’s church.

Again, it occurred to me how small my friend circle was now that I didn’t have other moms I could call for help. I doubted very much that Casey would be willing to watch Danny, since she seemed to be running some sort of gossip campaign about me.

Relinquishing the problem to my hindbrain for a thorough mulling, I pulled into the Walmart parking lot and brought the three-page school-supplies list out of my enormous mom purse. While I was walking to the entrance, I added several things we would need for the duplex: ice trays, a rug for Danny’s new bathroom, a countertop blood warmer, plus cracker packs Danny could put in his backpack for snack time. It was a far more interesting array of items than any of my preturning shopping lists.

It was nice to know that despite everything that had changed in my life, Walmart remained the same. I turned toward the special-dietary-needs aisle, the “vampire supplies” area where the undead could shop for fang floss, synthetic blood, and specialized sunscreen. I’ll admit I got a little overexcited at the number of new products now available to me. I dropped a tube of White Fang dental whitening gel into the cart, next to Hershey’s Special Blood Additive Chocolate Syrup and ReNu Skin revitalizing crème, because you never knew when you would suffer accidental sun exposure and need to regrow your epidermis. I might have overshopped a little, especially when one considered the metric ton of school supplies I was about to purchase, but so far, Casey’s and Marge’s calls hadn’t affected my bookkeeping business. I was going to consider that a good sign . . . or a sign that my clients were afraid to snatch business out from under a new vampire.

I turned toward the school-supplies section, praying that there was a Transformers or Avengers backpack left on the rack. While I dropped boxes of tissue, hand sanitizer, plastic bags, and paper towels into the cart, I tried to remember when exactly this stuff had become a parent expense. I turned the cart around the corner and
crash
—I ran right into another cart.

“Oh, I’m so—you!” I growled, my eyes narrowing at the tattooed arm in front of me. Grumpy Janitor was no less attractive in Walmart’s harsh fluorescent lighting. He smelled of iron and citrus, the earthy scents of the garage clinging to his clothes. Those two things should
not
have smelled good together, but God help me, they did. His dark gold hair was slicked back, revealing those devastating blue eyes. The less shaggy appearance made his face open up . . . and his face was openly hostile.

He was wearing worn jeans and black work boots with a T-shirt that read “HMH Custom Cycle Parts.” And a sneer. “
You
.”

And, of course, he appeared to be holding the last Avengers backpack in the store.

“So, what, now you’re runnin’ people down in the grocery store?” he demanded, throwing the backpack into his cart. “Seems like you’re always standin’ in my way somehow. What’s your problem?”

“
My
problem?” I exclaimed. “You ran into
me.
Just like you ran into me at school the other night. Do you have any manners at all?”

“I’ve got plenty of manners for people that deserve ’em. What the hell are you even doin’ here?” he demanded. “Who waits till two days before school starts to buy their kid’s school supplies? I thought your type updated your school-supplies shoppin’ list progress on Pinterest and shit.”

“
You’re
shopping for school supplies two days before school starts!” I cried, looking pointedly at his ill-gotten backpack. His cheeks flushed pink, and I tried really hard not to find that adorable. I had to actively command my nerve endings in naughty places
not
to tingle. Also, why didn’t I know what to do with my hands?

And he wasn’t even my type. While Rob hadn’t been all that considerate, he’d at least put on a show of politeness every once in a while. He didn’t actively disdain people to their faces.

“Also, I deleted my Pinterest account months ago.”

“And I’m here because I bought the wrong backpack. I guess it’s against some sort of kid law to carry a Minion backpack after kindergarten,” he grumbled, pointing to a bright yellow backpack featuring one of the small yellow underlings from
Despicable Me
. I grimaced. Danny had been rabid about Gru and the Minions when he was in kindergarten but declared the cartoon was for “babies” just after his fifth birthday. There was no greater insult. But I would not commiserate with the Hot Cranky Janitor, no matter how acutely I felt his pain.

I wondered how old his kids were and how old they would be when they got their first tattoos. Also, I wondered how his rough hands would feel against my skin. And where was the kids’ mom that he ended up shopping for a replacement backpack at nine o’clock on a Tuesday? Was he a single parent like me?

I glanced down at his hands. He wore silver rings on several fingers. One depicting a motorcycle running along the band, another showing an elaborately carved sugar skull, another made to look like heavy chain link. But none of the pieces screamed,
My baby’s mama put a ring on it.

While I was staring at his manual accessories, his eyes flicked down to my cart and suddenly went wide. I followed his line of sight to the fang-whitening kits.

He smirked at me. “Ohhh, so you’re
that
mom.”

“
That
mom?” I asked, cocking my fist on my hip.

“The woman who went nuts and got herself turned into a vampire because she was tryin’ to avoid gray hair and crow’s-feet,” he said, smirking. “Just so ya know, hair dye is cheaper.”

My jaw dropped.
That’s
what the other moms at school were saying about me? Had they not seen me struggle through the last year with their own eyes? And they thought it was OK to tell one another that my reasons for being turned were cosmetic? I suddenly felt no guilt at all for skipping the room-mom meeting the night before. Let some living mom without a reputation for insane vanity take care of the class parties this year.

And this guy—it wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate his lack of preconceived notions.

The Hollow’s gossip circuits ran in concentric socioeconomic circles that never touched. The beauty-parlor circuit ran on a totally different level from the trailer-park-kitchen circuit and even further from the country-club circuit. (Yes, Half-Moon Hollow had a country club. It doubled as a catfish farm, but we had a country club.) Without a sensationalist story in the local paper about a murder trial or some county commissioner getting caught with his pants down, the stories rarely reached all levels. It was sort of refreshing meeting someone who didn’t feel sorry for me. He wasn’t afraid of me. He was annoyed with me based on personal experience alone. And I had to respect that. But still, screw him and his comments about crow’s-feet.