Death Takes a Holiday

by Jennifer Harlow

  Nana passes the tiny infant into my cradling arms. God, I love babies. He smells like baby powder with a hint of flowers. He’s so light and fragile in my arms. His eyes open and I see my own staring up at me. His face hasn’t unsmooched from his journey into life, but he’s still cute. A lightness fills me as I run my finger down his soft cheek. I smile. “Hello, Mark. I’m your Aunt Bea.”

  “He really likes you,” Nana says with pride.

  “Good taste in women already, huh?” I say to him. “What’s his full name?”

  “Marcus Stellan Alexander,” Brian says.

  “I like it. A strong name, like a Roman emperor or something.”

  “He looks so much like your mother as a baby,” Nana says.

  “Yeah,” Brian says quietly. He runs his hand over Mark’s hair.

  The baby opens his balled fist and grips my index finger like a champ. I lean down and kiss his forehead. “You are really lucky, Brian.”

  “I know.”

  “No. You don’t,” I say sadly. I look over at my brother. “You really don’t.”

  And for an instant, one instant, my brother’s eyes brim with sympathy and even a little love for me. But only an instant. Renata walks back out with a bottle in hand. “Sorry about that. I had to pump.”

  “TMI, sister-in-law,” I say. “TMI.”

  Renata stops beside me, gazing down at us. “Oh! He likes you!”

  “No accounting for taste, huh?” I ask with a smile.

  She grins and takes her seat next to her husband. “So what about you, Bea? Caught the baby bug yet?”

  What a loaded question. Ever since I was a kid I knew only one thing: I wanted a family. I’d pretend my dolls were my children: feeding them, changing them, telling them stories as I put them in their cradles. I drove April nuts. She wanted to play space warrior princess, and I just wanted to play house. She and I got married about a hundred times with me acting as the mother as she went out to punch aliens and save the world. Odd how real life turns out.

  “My biological clock was wound up in my teens,” I tell Renata. “I want babies more than anything.”

  “Any potential fathers in your orbit?” she asks with a huge grin.

  I hate the blissful. It’s like they’re in a cult or something and want you to join no matter what. They won’t leave you alone until you’re the same as them. As if it’s so easy. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

  “No possibles even?” she asks.

  “Maybe one or two.”

  I have on more than several occasions imagined the life of Mr. and Mrs. Will and Beatrice Price, complete with children. They’d have his eyes, hair, and strength but my sense of humor and patience. Two boys and a girl I think. We’d live near here, maybe Chula Vista, so I can be close to April and Nana. The kids would play together in our back yard as April and I gossiped. Will would call from work every day just to tell us how much he loves us all. Then he’d return home and help with the kid’s homework while I made dinner and watched my family. He’d never get frustrated with them no matter how many times they asked the same question. We’d go to their events like baseball and ballet, watching proudly in the audience as we held hands. At night we’d take turns singing and reading them to sleep, then retire to our bedroom exhausted but blissful. I’d fall asleep in his strong arms with a smile on my face. A simple life. Not too much to ask for, right?

  And when he’s not being an annoying jerk, I have found myself wondering what Oliver would be like as a father and husband. Fun for sure. But also loving and protective. I could see him holding the children for hours as they cry. I know this because he’s done this for me on more than one occasion. Our children would want for nothing, not attention or security or love. He’d tuck them in and tell them tales of all his adventures, though he’d make them G rated. Of course in this fantasy he has a pulse, so I know it’s never to be.

  He’d make a fantastic father though, and it saddens me to the core that he can never be one again. He loves children. When we go out, if there are any there, he’ll wave and smile, even make silly faces. One night when we were watching a father and daughter skate around the roller rink he mentioned—in passing, as if it was nothing—that he had children before he was turned. A boy and girl. I was floored, had a billion questions, but he changed the subject before I could ask even one. I didn’t press, and he hasn’t brought it up since. I’ll get the story out of him someday.

  “Then go for it,” Renata says. “It’s the most fulfilling thing in the world.”

  “Someday,” I say. Please God, someday. The telephone rings inside, and I all but jump up. I have to get out of here before I tear up. “I’ll get it.”

  I hand Mark to Brian, rushing inside. Thank God, I can breathe again. Talking about that stuff always makes me near suicidal. I think there’s a huge part of me that believes it’ll never happen. I can and have killed people with a thought. If I can even find a well-adjusted male who can accept that, do I want to pass this trait onto some innocent person? I’m not normal, so what makes me think I can have a normal life? Especially now. My life is steeped in violence and death, and my only potential mates are a living dead guy who can’t have children and a werewolf. Even if a miracle happened and Will and I found a way to be together, our children would be psychokinetic werewolves. How would we even begin to deal with that? Their teenage years would be unbearable. Even more so than normal.

  I pick up the phone. “Hello?” I ask.

  “Bea? It’s Steven.”

  Steven. Nice, boring, reliable Steven, who provided me with the closest thing to an ordinary relationship I’ve ever and probably will ever have. If I hadn’t broken up with him we could have been married by now, maybe with a baby of our own on the way. I think for the first time ever, I regret breaking up with him. Didn’t think that would ever happen.

  “Hi, Steven. How are you?”

  “Fine. Great,” he says, sounding surprised for some reason. “You?”

  “Brian’s here with his new wife and son.”

  “How’s that going?” Steven knows about the strain but not the cause.

  “Better than expected.”

  “Oh,” he says, the cheer draining from his voice. “Then I guess you don’t want to go bowling.”

  “Bowling?”

  “Yeah, some of us are getting together and meeting down at the lanes. I thought you might like to come. Maybe get dinner after.”

  If I didn’t know better I’d swear I was just asked out on a date. That hasn’t happened in months. The last guy who asked me out I met on a case. Joe West, former quarterback with a great smile and even better mother who helped me on the Dallas case. If all heck hadn’t broken loose I would have accepted, but things like that never work out for me. At least I got an e-mail buddy in Anna West.

  As for Steven’s proposal, it’s not as if I have anything better to do. God knows I don’t want to stick around here much longer. It’s only a matter of time before the truce is broken and we’re attacking each other like pit bulls. And I doubt Steven would make a move on me, that is unless I gave him permission. Of course that opens up a whole other can of worms.

  A nice, boring, normal date with a nice, boring, normal man. “You know what? I would love to.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. But just so you know, I’ve gotten a lot better since we last played together. I might just beat you for once.”

  “Bea, if you can break a hundred, I’ll buy all your drinks for the night,” he chuckles.

  “Then bring lots of cash.”

  “We’re meeting at six. Remember the place?”

  “Considering a quarter of all our dates were there, yeah, I remember where it is.”

  “Can’t wait to see you,” he says casually.

  “Bye.” I hang up. Huh. For the first time in over a year, I have a date. Kind of. Sort of. Sure, it’s with my ex at a bowling alley with other people, but my ego will take it.

  I meander back outsi
de, plastering a huge grin on my face. I have to sell this if I want out of here with minimal guilt and fuss. Nana holds the baby with the adoring parents watching in awe as the baby suckles his pacifier. You’d think he was splitting the atom or some-

  thing.

  “Who was on the phone?” Nana asks.

  “Guys, I am so sorry, but I forgot I was supposed to meet Steven in half an hour.”

  “Your ex-boyfriend?” Brian asks.

  “Yeah. We made plans a few days ago, and it completely slipped my mind. This is the only day he has off all this week.”

  Brian and Renata exchange a look that screams, “What a flake,” but I don’t care. If I have to spend another minute with The Blissfuls I’ll either cry, scream, or puke. Nana doesn’t hide her disappointment, her brow furrowing. “Bea, you knew Brian was coming over this evening.”

  “I know but … ” I smile to myself and look down like a demure virgin faced with a naked man, “I really want to see him again.”

  Okay, I know I’m laying it on a bit thick, but lying is the only way to get out of here without a huge lecture or looks of disapproval for the next few days. She loves Steven, and I’m gambling on the fact she’d like to see us together again.

  I believe I’m right because the folds in her forehead disappear. “Fine.”

  My smile widens. “Thanks.” I glance at Brian, raising an eyebrow to let him in on what’s really happening. Hope he realizes this is his Christmas present. “You don’t mind, right?”

  “Of course not,” he says. “It was good to see you again, however briefly.”

  “Lovely to see you again, Renata. See you guys at Christmas!” I say, practically leaping through the open door back inside. My smile doesn’t fade until I shut my bedroom door and a wave of desolation rolls through me strong enough I ball my hands into fists.

  I don’t belong out there. That’s my family, my people, and I’m an interloper. A stranger. I should stay. I should want to stay, and they should want me to. That’s my nephew and sister-in-law, both of whom I barely know. New family to learn about and share stories with. But they don’t care, and I guess I shouldn’t either. And it’s not even that I moved away, that I’ve missed months of inside jokes and stories. Even if I had stayed, things wouldn’t have been different. Brian still wouldn’t want me around, Nana would still be worried about me. Little more than an annoyance, me. They’re a puzzle, and I’m just a stray piece that ended up in the wrong box. I’ll either be thrown out or left alone. Incomplete.

  April was right. I have changed. I don’t fit anymore, if I ever did.

  Don’t fit in here, don’t really fit in there. Where do I?

  SIX

  THE NOT-A-DATE DATE

  THE PREMIERE LANES IN Chula Vista is not the sort of place you expect to be packed all the time, what with the dingy walls, cracked Day-Glo benches, computers from the dark ages, and smoky odor that will never leave even after years of anti-smoking laws in California, but it is. The shoes are revolting, the lanes scuffed, and the food so greasy you can barely hold onto it. This is where I spent countless hours watching my boyfriend toss a ball down a wooden plank. What can I say? I was quite desperate to get out of the house tonight.

  The first familiar face I spot is Leslie Erdman, all six feet of her. The woman is huge in every way: height, weight, face, even laugh. She’s not fat, just thick. Her brown hair barely reaches her shoulders and per usual she wears no makeup. She doesn’t notice me as she walks out of the bar with two Bud Lites. I follow a short distance behind her toward the group.

  All the regulars are there already decked out in their bowling shoes. Jawan Epps, former front tackle at USC, current Narcotics detective at Chula Vista PD, takes up two chairs. He has more muscles than I remember bulging out of his white shirt. He makes room as Leslie takes a seat. She hands him a beer, and he kisses her cheek. Guess they’re together now. Mel Daly sits next to Steven across from the couple. He’s about thirty with a shiny bald head and nondescript face. Though he’s Leslie’s partner, they never seem to talk at these gatherings. Sick of each other, I suppose. Steven’s dressed up tonight, at least for him, with a white Izod golf shirt that I’m pretty sure I bought him and blue jeans. He says something to Mel after taking a long sip of his Corona.

  Leaning over the top of the chairs on the other side, Kristen Winger eavesdrops on their conversation. I was kind of hoping she wouldn’t be here tonight. She has never liked me, not one whit. I hooked up with Steven a week after he went on one date with her. He chose me, and she’s never forgiven me for it. Why he picked me over her is a mystery. She’s far prettier with a slender body, lustrous long brown hair, and big blue eyes. He said something about no chemistry. She’s on patrol too, but sometimes works for Vice if they need a decoy hooker. That’s how Detective Nick McEwan of Vice joined the group. Skinny, handsome with black Irish looks and cocky smile. The only remnant of his Navy days is the military haircut. Him I know the least. I had a tiny crush on him, so I barely spoke to him.

  Finally, rounding out the crew, is Artie Rupp, who stands at the ball rack polishing his custom black ball with swirling flames. He looks—in fact, they all look—fantastic. He’s lost his spare tire and some change and even his usually yellowish pallor is vibrant with life. Nick too. The flecks of gray in his hair have vanished. Kristen appears as if she’s had work done in the face and boob area. That or they’re pumping water from the Fountain of Youth into the Chula Vista water supply.

  Artie is the first to notice me. “Holy fucking shit! Look what the cat dragged in. A hot piece of ass if there ever was one!”

  All eyes swivel to me. Thank goodness I changed clothes before I came. I went trendy with skinny black jeans, off the shoulder green and black striped shirt, matching sneakers, green headband, high ponytail, and vest leather jacket. The men, especially Nick, drink me in while the women can’t believe what they see. Kristen’s eyes actually narrow. Yes, you are no longer the pretty one. Ha ha.

  “Nice to see you too, Artie,” I say graciously.

  Steven walks over to me. “I wasn’t sure you were coming.”

  “I know. I’m sorry I’m late. I lost track of time at the bookstore.” I wave at my audience. “Hello, everyone.”

  “Bea,” Leslie says with a nod.

  “Let’s get you some shoes and a beer,” Steven offers. Lightly, he touches my back to herd me away. I don’t shrink away. “Be right back.”

  He lowers his hand as we stroll to the shoe counter where we’re third in line between two groups of teenagers. “I am sorry I’m late,” I say. “You know me and bookstores.”

  “Did you get anything good?”

  “No. I pretty much have everything I want. I just needed someplace to go. I couldn’t stay in that house with Brian around.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing. He was just there with the new wife and baby. I didn’t want to ruin things for Nana.”

  “I never got why he was such an asshole to you,” he says, sipping his beer. “I wanted to kick his ass that one time at Nana Liz’s birthday party. All those little digs at you.”

  “Well, there were no problems today. I don’t know, maybe fatherhood is mellowing him.”

  The first batch of teens walks off with their shoes so we move up. “You look nice tonight,” Steven says. “Not that you didn’t always before.”

  “Thanks. I have a friend who’s big into fashion. He’s made me into something of a project.”

  “Good. I’m glad you have friends there.”

  Now comes an awkward silence lasting three seconds as I stare at the kids in front of us and he drinks.

  “Speaking of friends,” I finally say, “do yours mind that I’m here?”

  “No, not really. Surprised maybe.”

  “Well, thank you for inviting me. Otherwise I’d be suffering though Brian and Renata making goo-goo eyes at each other and the baby.”

  “Glad to be of help.”

  We step up to t
he counter, and I order my shoes. Just as I swing my purse to retrieve my wallet, Steven hands the cashier a twenty. “Steven, you don’t have to—”

  “I invited you,” he says. “My treat.”

  “Then I’m buying the next round of drinks.”

  “I doubt anyone will object to that.”

  Jawan lines up his next shot when we return. Mel scoots to the end of the cracked bench so Steven and I can sit beside one other. Steven drapes his arm across the back of my seat, and once again I don’t object. The others pretend not to notice.

  “So, you’re living in Kansas, huh?” Nick asks.

  “Wichita,” I say.

  “Must be a magical place,” Artie says. “You look hot. And rich.”

  “Artie,” Steven warns.

  I finish tying my shoe and sit up. “Thank you.”

  “How rich are you?” Kristen asks with a quick sneer.

  “Rich enough.”

  “Shit, Steve, don’t let her get away again,” Artie says with a swig of his beer. “Try knocking her up this time.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Artie!” Steven shouts. In all the years I’ve known him he’s never raised his voice like that. “Shut the fuck up! My God!”

  Artie holds up his hands. “Hey, chill partner. I was just kidding. Bea got the joke, didn’t ya babe?”

  “I’m laughing on the inside, Artie,” I say, glaring.

  “See man? Stop being so damn sensitive.” He glances at the scoreboard. “Besides, it’s your turn.”

  Steven, still scowling, hands me his beer before stepping toward Artie, almost looming over him. “Watch what you say tonight, man. I am getting fed up with your shit.” Steven walks toward the ball rack, shaking his head. All eyes once again fall on me, none too friendly.

  “So much for a fun night of bowling,” Kristen mutters.

  I seem to have gained a new gift. I can make people hate me in a minute flat. I left Kansas to avoid exactly this, yet here I am dividing a cohesive unit by simply existing. I should just go live in a cave. No, can’t do that. No Turner Classic Movies. Only one thing to do.

  A waitress walks by, and I wave her over. “Hi, can I get three Coronas, three Bud Lites, a Dos Equis, and what do you like Kristen? I forgot.”