Neither

  “I meant to ask you, did you throw all those flowers away?” Mom says ten minutes later.

  “Yeah. I did. I couldn't stand them anymore.”

  “Thank you. I couldn't stand them either, but I couldn't throw them away for some reason. They were just too much.”

  “Just a bit,” I say as the CD clicks over to another song.

  “So where are we going?” Mom says, batting her eyes at Dad.

  “No way. I want to see the surprise on your face. Nothing is going to stop me from getting that.” He takes her hand and kisses it.

  I settle back against the cooler and close my eyes. Peter is close, so close. I glance out the window, but I can't see him. He's running too fast. We stop at 11:30 so everyone can get out of the car, stretch and pee.

  “I still don't know where we're going,” Mom says, putting her arms over her head and arching her back. She's so thin. I wish she would eat more, but I know food makes her feel sick. She could take drugs that would help her eat more, but they have other side effects that she doesn't want to deal with. It's a lose-lose situation.

  We get back in the car and keep going. It takes another hour, but we finally pass the sign that says we're in Machias.

  “Oh, Sam,” Mom whispers. She knows now. “Thank you. Thank you both.” She reaches her hand to the backseat and I grip it. “I can't believe this,” she whispers.

  I've never been to the house, but I've seen it in pictures enough times. We had a photograph of her sitting on the porch when she was four years old hanging in our living room. I grew up with that picture and I always wanted to see the house.

  “Turn left,” Mom says as we drive through downtown. I'm sure Dad downloaded directions, but he doesn't use them. Mom's way better than the internet. I glance at the cooler I'm slumped on and wish it could magically turn into Peter.

  “Here,” Mom says, pointing to a mailbox with a thirty-eight on it. “I wish we could go see it, but I'm sure someone owns it.”

  “Why don't we see?” Dad says, turning off the car and getting out.

  Mom and I stay in the car. “What is he doing?”

  “Don't know.” I actually don't know about this part. When we discussed it, he said we'd just drive by the house so she could see it from the car. He didn't say anything about getting out. God, we're probably going to get arrested for trespassing. I get out of the car to stop Dad from waltzing onto some stranger's lawn, but I stop when I see the FOR SALE sign. Also, if anyone wants to get us with a shotgun, Peter can block the bullets. My bulletproof boyfriend.

  “Huh. Looks like we can go and see it,” she says. Mom and I walk arm in arm up the driveway. Her breaths are shaky, and I can tell she's on the verge of tears. I finally notice another car in the driveway. A BMW. Dad walks toward it and a woman in a pinstripe jacket with matching pencil skirt gets out, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her flawless clothes.

  “Mr. Sullivan?”

  “Yes, you must be Gretchen.” He shakes the woman's hand.

  What-the-what is going on? I glance at Mom and she raises her eyebrows. I see movement over my shoulder and I can feel Peter lurking in the bushes. Kind of like a stalker. I prefer to think of him as highly involved.

  “This is my wife, Claire, and my daughter, Ava.” Gretchen sticks her hand out, and Mom and I both shake it. Still not sure what she's doing here.

  “Well, are you ready to see the house?” she says, rifling through a leather briefcase, pulling out some papers and giving us her best smile. It's way too fake.

  “Yes, we are very interested in seeing the house,” Dad says in a loud voice, putting his arm around Mom.

  Gretchen looks at him weird but slides a smile back onto her face. The real estate agent smile. Clearly, that's what she is. I can connect the dots here. Dad called the real estate agency and asked about the house. The only way we're getting in to see it with someone who has keys is to pretend that we're interested in buying it. Well played, Dad. Well played indeed. I didn't know he had something like that in him. It's a scheme worthy of Tex.

  “Yes, I saw the pictures online and it's perfect. This is such a good neighborhood, too,” Mom adds, playing along. I feel the need to add something, but settle for looking like a surly teenager. No normal teenage girl wants to look at a house with her lame parents. Ugh, how awful.

  “It is a good neighborhood,” Gretchen says, touching on one of the good points of the house. I finally take a good look at it.

  “It's just like I remember,” Mom whispers to no one in particular. Dad takes her hand and winks at both of us. Smooth.

  “What did you say?” Gretchen asks, shuffling through her papers.

  “I said it's just like the pictures we saw online,” Mom says as we walk up the front porch.

  The house is older, and a little run-down. The white paint is peeling in spots, and the grass hasn't been mowed in a while. Other than that, it's exactly what I thought it would be.

  A white farmhouse, with a porch that wraps around the front and left side, a peaked roof and a small shed that might have held a tractor in the days when a farmer lived here. I even see a tree with a tire swing across the yard.

  The steps creak and bend under our feet. Gretchen goes into full selling mode, drawing our attention away from the peeling wallpaper and uneven floor to the high ceilings and amazing light that somehow flows from room to room, making it feel like it's bathed in sunlight.

  Mom's eyes go wide and she smiles, going from room to room, brushing her fingers on the wallpaper, the windowsills.

  While Gretchen blathers on, Mom whispers to me some of her memories. Like the corner where she used to read, or the place where she fell and got the scar under her chin. In the kitchen she tells me about my grandmother making pies and Christmas, and I can almost smell the delicious cooking. I try to imagine what it was like. The wooden furniture, lots of flowers, lots of painted teacups on the wall.

  Gretchen takes us upstairs, and Mom clutches my arm when we go into her old room. It looks almost exactly like mine, only it's tucked into the eaves, so one of the walls slants until it meets the floor.

  “That's where the bed was. My desk was over there.” Mom recreates the room for me, and I can almost see it.

  “So, what do you think?” Gretchen says when we get to the other bedroom. She's been selling this house like her life depends on it, poor thing.

  “It's just what we're looking for. Do you mind giving us a little time?”

  “Absolutely!” she chirps like a bird. Anything to make us happy. God, if we ask her to make us pancakes, she probably would find a frying pan.

  She clomps back down the stairs in her ridiculous heels.

  “Ava, you want to come see the backyard with me?” Dad says, nodding to the stairs. He wants to give her some time alone. Message received.

  “Sure. You okay?” I ask Mom.

  She's staring out the window at memories I can't touch.

  “Yes, I'm fine. I'll be right down.”

  I follow Dad down the stairs. Gretchen's out by her car talking vigorously on her cell phone.

  “Let's sneak around the back,” Dad says in my ear. I nod and we tiptoe out the back by the kitchen. Luckily, there is a back door with steps that lead down into the grass. I take the bottom step and Dad takes the top.

  “I wish I could buy it for her. I know that seems silly, but I'd love for her to own this house.”

  “I know. How much are they asking?”

  “Way too much in this economy. We're going to be strapped enough as it is.” He wipes his face with his hands.

  “You know you can talk to me about that stuff. I know I'm young and your daughter and you want to protect me and all, but I don't want you to have to do this alone.” He looks up from his hands. He stares at me for a couple seconds before he says anything. “You are growing up so fast.” I move backward up the steps until I'm next to him. He puts his arm around me and I lay my head on his shoulder. “Thank you. Sometimes I forget you're not a
child anymore. You're almost a woman.” Almost. Not quite.

  “What are you doing out here?” Mom's voice drifts out of the open doorway. I move down a step so she can take my place next to Dad. “You two are the best family ever. How did I get so lucky?” She kisses Dad and throws her arms around my neck. The grass in the overgrown backyard sways in the breeze and we stay like that for a few minutes.

  “Come on, I want to go see if the tire swing is still good.” Mom steps around me.

  “Claire, are you sure? The tree's probably dead and rotting.” Mom skips head, and if I squint, I can see her as a little girl.

  I dash behind her, racing to the swing. It hangs from a huge oak tree that has stood here for a very long time.

  “See? It's still alive.” The rope on the tire is gray, but I give it a test and it seems okay. I hop on and do a few practice swings.

  “Be careful,” Dad says, standing close to us as if he's going to stop the swing from breaking. Honestly, if this thing is going to break, first, I'm not going that far. Second, Peter will swoop in if my life was really in danger. He'd have some major explaining to do, but at least I'd be safe. Peter will never let anything happen to me. Well, he'll never let me be injured by a rogue tire swing.

  “I used to come out here and Daddy would push me.” Mom never talks about her father. He died when she was ten, so she doesn't remember much about him. Her mother never remarried, so it was just the two of them for the rest of her life.

  “I can't believe it's still here,” she says, pushing the swing and staring at the house.

  “I wanted to hand you the keys, but it's not really in the budget right now.”

  “Sam, don't be silly. What would I do with a house? We have a house.”

  He shrugs and leans against the tree. “I know. I still thought about it.”

  “It's enough just seeing it one last time. This is all I need.” The tire spins drunkenly and she pushes me harder. I wish Peter was here so he could twist the rope around and then let it go so I could spin into oblivion. I could use a little oblivion.

  “I wish you could have known her better, Ava-Claire. You're so much like her.”

  “Did she have caustic wit as well?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  I don't remember much about my grandmother. Most of the memories are of her in a nursing home. She never remembered my name.

  We stay in the backyard for as long as we can without Gretchen getting suspicious. We take one last walk through the house, and I get out my phone to take some pictures when Gretchen's back is turned.

  For someone who's supposed to be observant, she's really not. Nearly anyone else would be able to see that we aren’t going to buy the house, but she starts talking to Dad about paperwork, loan rates and other bank-related things. Little does she know, she's talking to a loan officer. He pretends to be interested, but when push comes to shove, he says we have to think about it.

  “Mom,” I say, as we're walking down the steps to leave, “sit down.” She does, exactly in the same spot as where she was in the picture we have in our house. I sit next to her and Dad takes pictures of the two of us.

  “You look just like your mother,” Gretchen says. What an ass kisser, I think.

  “She does, doesn't she?” Mom says, winking at me. “My girl.”

  Twenty

  Brooke

  I spent every moment I could with Jamie. We hung out in his room, talked, kissed, and watched movies on his computer. We skipped rocks and I flew around him with my wings. I wanted him and I wanted his blood. Sometimes it was hard to decide what I wanted more. It wasn't like when I was with Ivan. That had been fast, hard and relentless. Jamie was soft, warm and sweet. He melted slowly on my tongue and left an aftertaste that I never wanted to forget.

  Sunday afternoon we were lying on the giant stump in the middle of our little clearing. I'd come to think of it as our place. I was on my stomach and he was tracing shapes on my back.

  “I still can't get over the fact that you don't have fangs.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you're not really a vampire without them.”

  “I've told you already, that's a myth.”

  “Well, for someone who is obsessed with blood, you haven't tied me to a tree and taken mine.”

  “I'd want to tie you to a tree for different reasons.” I turned my face to see his reaction.

  He grinned. “Well, you could. I just don't know why you don't. Why I'm so special?”

  “You get me, Jamie. I don't know how, but we're the same. Even though you're human and I'm not.” He turned over and scooted off the stump.

  “I should get home. Cassie's working on the baby's room today and I said I'd help.”

  That was the one thing about Jamie that separated him from me, in addition to the human, nonhuman thing. His heart was made of pure gold. Mine wasn’t.

  He started walking with me beside him. He bumped me with his hip, trying to throw me off balance. I laughed and bumped him back, causing him to take a dive into the ground. Sometimes I forget how strong I was.

  “Ouch,” he said, picking himself up. I gave him a hand, but stopped when I saw that a branch had ripped through his palm and blood was dripping on the ground.

  Precious, precious blood. Jamie's blood.

  The smell hit me, and the next thing I knew, I grabbed his hand and stuck it in my mouth.

  “Ow, Brooke, let go.” I sunk my teeth into his flesh, biting until I almost hit bone. I sucked hard, the blood filling my mouth and streaming down my throat, hot and wet and wonderful. I sucked harder, and something started hitting me in the head. A voice said my name over and over.

  “Brooke! You have to stop. Look at me!” Something punched the side of my head and I went to glare at whatever it was that was interrupting my enjoyment of the best blood I'd ever had.

  It was Jamie. The moment I met his blue eyes I choked, my jaw letting go of his hand.

  “Oh, shit. Oh shitshitshit.” I stepped away from him, wiping the blood that dripped down my chin. I didn't want to waste it, but I couldn't have it. I wiped the rest of it on a wide leaf.

  “Oh my God,” Jamie said, looking at his hand. It was pretty mangled, with a clear imprint of my teeth.

  “I'm so sorry.”

  “No, it was my fault,” he said in a shaky voice. He had lost enough blood that he was probably lightheaded. He stared at his hand as if it didn't belong to him. I saw him start to go over, and I caught him before he fell again.

  He didn't regain consciousness until we were in the truck. I searched his glove box and found a small first aid kit. As fast and as gently as I could, I bandaged his arm, holding it above his head to stop the bleeding.

  “Brooke?” His voice was weak and his eyelids fluttered.

  “It's okay. It'll be okay.”

  Twenty-One

  Peter

  I watch Ava and her family go through the house. She asked me if I think she is a burden. What she sees as a burden, I see as a gift. I am allowed to share in her most intimate moments. I adore watching her throw her head back in laughter when her mother pushes her on the swing. I adore seeing her take the house in, committing it to her memory and taking pictures when she thinks no one is watching. I adore her most when she thinks no one is watching. I run around the property, so as to give her some privacy. I do owe her that.

  The land is newer here; it has been logged and the trees are younger. Not as closely packed. I climb a few, looking out over the land. I can nearly see Canada. I've always wanted to take Ava to Canada. Maybe in a few nights I can take her.

  Ava's laugh pulls me back to the ground, and I drop from the tree.

  We will have to deal with Brooke soon, and Di. Ava is impatient, but I am more cautious. Whatever we do cannot be undone. The key to Di's undoing is Helena. The source of Di's pain, of her anger, of all that she has done lies with Helena and the love that Di thought she lost.

  Helena looks, acts and talks like a human girl, bu
t she is not. Her years are many, and the things that she knows could fill hundreds upon hundreds of volumes. My years are only a drop in a bucket in comparison.

  I am surprised Di has not used Cal to contact me. To talk some sense into me, as she sees it. I need to unravel more of Di's story, and to do that I need to talk to Helena, perhaps while Ava is asleep again. Humans waste so much time in sleep. Although, they do not have to find things to fill that time. Many times I have wished I could close my eyes and lose myself to exhaustion with her. So we could be the same, even in sleep.

  Ava and her family get back in the car. She glances to the woods, looking for me. I move so she can see me.

  “I love you,” she says, making a heart with her hands before getting in the car.

  I feel so strongly about her, it is hard not to give in to it. To lose myself in that overwhelming feeling of her and only her.

  It is an interesting conundrum. The one moment I want is the one that will end me. You can't always get what you want.

  Ava

  Mom falls asleep on the ride home. Dad turns down the road trip mix and puts his hand on Mom's arm.

  “Do you think she liked it?”

  “I don't think she would have been happier than if you bought it for her. How did you plan that out? It was very sneaky.”

  “Well, back in the day I used to plan surprises all the time for her. Your mother is not an easy person to surprise, as you well know.” Yes, I do. She has eyes in the back of her head.

  “You should do it more. She loves surprises.”

  “I know. I've got a few more in the works.”

  “You gonna tell me?”

  “No way.”

  “What, because I can't keep a secret?” Oh, if only he knew.

  “No, because I know she'd read it on your face.” God, can everyone read my face? “I'm not as good at it as she is.”

  “Neither am I.” I pull out a blanket I brought in case it got cold and spread it on top of the cooler. It's not as nice as a Peter chest, but it's more comfortable than leaning against the car window.