So I accepted their love and their friendship and their honesty, but sitting there on my bed surrounded by them, I had never felt more alone in my entire life. All I wanted was to know that my father was down the hall, and if I couldn’t have that, I wanted Jess sitting next to me. But now that I’m rehumanized, I’ll never see her again either.
When his casket was lowered into the ground, I do remember being blinded by sunshine, so I’d like to think Jess was nearby, saying her final good-byes.
The Bergeron house is surprisingly big. Louis and his pals converted the attic into a bedroom for Barnaby and bought him his very own flat-screen TV/video game console, and the guest bedroom is now officially mine, separated from Arla’s bedroom by a huge bathroom complete with two sinks. Perfect, now I get to watch Arla apply ointment to her scar while I brush my teeth in the morning. As much as my father tried, it’s impossible to sever all ties with the past, because the past comes equipped with a perfect handle so you can carry it with you while you travel into the future.
No doubt about it, the transition hasn’t been all that smooth, and my father’s death has aroused some suspicion. Especially from the dim-witted ex-deputy who may not be so dim-witted after all.
“Dominy, I hate to ask.”
That’s how Louis began a conversation a few nights ago while it was just the two of us in the living room waiting for Arla and Barnaby to return home from track practice.
“But did your father ever mention that he knew he was going to die?”
He actually orchestrated his own death, Louis. Why do you ask?
“ No. ”
“It’s just . . . well, it’s just that last week he redid his will and increased his insurance policy,” Louis said.
Imitating a shell-shocked, basically orphaned teenager, I nodded my head, keeping one eye glued to the TV. “My dad did like to plan things out.”
“Yes, he did. Very meticulous, your father,” Louis agreed, grasping onto the straw I threw at him. “I was just wondering if he, I don’t know, did he have some kind of . . . premonition?”
No, he was given instructions from a crazy woman.
“From everything he always told me,” I reply, “my mother was the superstitious one.”
At the mention of my mother’s name, Louis nods his head and smiles, his soft green eyes lighting up. “That she was, Dom, that she was,” he says. “You know you don’t have to worry about her, right? Your father made sure that she can stay at The Retreat for as long . . .”
“As long as she wants,” I finish. “I know, he told me once that all that was taken care of.”
I also know that there’s a fund for my mother’s funeral expenses when that time ever comes, and I know that my father has shared this information with Louis, but Louis must’ve felt he’s talked enough about death with me, since he didn’t bring up the subject. He told me we’d have dinner when the track stars got home and left the room, leaving behind any suspicions he might have, taking with him only the knowledge that his former boss and friend was a responsible father who, unfortunately, met an untimely end. Barnaby is proving a lot more difficult to appease.
“This is a great room, Barn,” I say, sitting on his bed next to him, trying to kill his alien spaceship with my star trooper laser beams.
“I got the biggest TV of any kid in my class,” he replies, deftly protecting his spaceship from each and every one of my laser beams.
The kid’s as fast on screen as he is on the track.
“It’s not so bad here, is it?” I ask.
“No,” he says, eyes fixed straight ahead, fingers nimbly navigating the joystick. “The whole thing sucks, like super-sized sucks, but could be lots worse.”
I look up to where Louis has hung the American flag my father was given for being a policeman; it is handsomely showcased behind glass in a triangular wooden display case. It belongs to Barnaby now, rightfully so. Now my brother can wake up every morning and be reminded that his dad was a hero. I don’t need a physical reminder; I experienced it firsthand. What I do need is a crash course on the finer points of Space Odyssey VII or whatever game we’re playing.
My brief distraction proves fatal, and Barnaby’s counterattack is successful. My spaceship is annihilated and bursts into a red cloud that becomes an elaborate fireworks display, ultimately spelling out the phrase You Are A Loser. No wonder these video games are addictive; the only way to bypass negative reinforcement is to master the game and keep winning. In that way, I guess it’s kind of like life, only much easier.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Arla’s announcement puts an end to my losing streak for now. Barnaby makes sure I know it will continue. Just as he’s about to descend the stairs to the main floor, he turns to me. His body is still as scrawny as ever and his nose is just as big, but his eyes look different; they’re clear and bright and focused, like they’re the only part of him that’s grown up.
“Oh, Dom, I don’t know how or why, but I know that somehow you’re responsible for Daddy’s death,” he says casually. “And someday I’m going to figure it all out.”
I watch as Barnaby bounds down the stairs, disappearing out of view. My knees start to shake, not a lot, but just enough for me to need to hold on to the railing to steady myself and just enough to remind me that his words are not an idle threat. They’re words of caution that I’d be a fool to ignore.
But if I want any semblance of normalcy to return to my days, I have to do just that. Take my father’s death, my brother’s threat, my unmentionable past and lock them up in little suitcases that for now don’t have any handles and tuck them away in my closet. I know I’ll have to take them down at some point, but for now, for my sanity’s sake, I’m keeping them hidden.
As a result my days do slowly become normal again. Classes, dates with Caleb, cheerleading practice, confabs around the lunch table. It’s almost like the horror of the past several months has been erased.
Remnants linger, like the day I accidentally walked home to my old house and saw a FOR SALE sign on the front lawn. For a fleeting moment, I thought if I walked inside and ran up to my room the house would magically become mine again. Why can’t my old life return if I wish for it hard enough? Because there are other forces out in the world that more often than not are working against us; they’re not our champions, that’s why. Turning my back on my old house, I realized that I’m very much like my brother. I’ve grown up a lot too.
But I still need my mommy.
I hate going to visit my mother on Mother’s Day; it’s just so pathetic. The doctors and nurses give you that pity look that is completely deserved, but because no one wants to be pitied you smile back as if to say, “Oh that’s all right; it’s okay that my mom’s in an irreversible coma.” It’s a no-win situation. So that’s why I always go visit her on the day before the manufactured holiday. Saves everybody a lot of discomfort.
This visit is very different though. I’ve often visited my mother without my father, but this is the first time I’ve come to see her when I know my father will never tag along again, that never again will my mother feel his presence and hear his voice. Hopefully, mine will do.
“Hey, Mom, how are you?”
My question falls flatter than usual because if she could speak, I know her answer wouldn’t be one I’d want to hear. If she has any idea what recently happened, the pain in her heart must be intolerable. I pray that she understands we did the only thing we could do. And I pray that she believes the right one got to live.
My father didn’t talk about his relationship with my mother very much, but I know they loved each other tremendously. It was one of those whirlwind romances, and against all odds the small-town boy won the heart of the sophisticated European beauty. She gave up everything—her life back in France, the adventures she was planning on having, the outlandish memories she was going to create—all to marry my father and settle down in the middle of nowhere. Theirs was a fairy-tale romance that, I guess, has had a fa
iry-tale ending. She’s Sleeping Beauty, and her Prince Charming was killed by the Big Bad Wolf. When I think of it that way, it almost makes me laugh. Almost.
But any gigglaughs that may erupt are silenced by the sound of squeaking.
“Oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were here.”
Funny how Nadine looks more normal when she’s dressed in her volunteer regalia than when she’s wearing her school uniform or dressed up for a party. She really was meant for this place, and she really was meant to come to the aid of people who are lost or sick or who just need a friend.
“I’ll come back later,” she says, clicking her pen.
“Don’t,” I say. “We could use the company.”
Unlike Jess, Nadine isn’t a chatterbox, and that’s what I need right now, a quiet companion who will understand I only want her to sit close by so I don’t feel like I’m so alone. Nadine gets it and sits in the chair next to the window while I hold my mother’s hand. I could stare at my mother for hours and just breathe in her beauty, but for Nadine the novelty wears off after a few minutes. Her long, slow breaths fill the room, and she must be in a deep sleep, because she doesn’t wake up when her pen falls out of her hand, clicking and bouncing onto the floor.
It might be the residual effects of when I was inhuman, but without turning around I can sense that I’m not the only person in the room who’s still awake.
“Hello, Luba.”
She looks as disgusting and sinister as ever; victory hasn’t improved her looks. Her pale, unnaturally smooth face is framed on both sides by that long, raven-black hair that falls to her waist. Clad only in her hospital gown, she has, I assume, returned to The Retreat to reclaim her room, but I’m wrong; she’s here to reclaim her status as number-one psycho.
“So you think you’ve won,” she hisses.
No, but I’m not going to admit that. “We have,” I shoot back, squeezing my mother’s hand tightly.
Luba raises her two boney arms and presses her fingers to her mouth. The movement is grotesque; it’s something only a little girl should do. Her hands contain all the wrinkles that should live on her face and are dotted with brown spots that look like a galaxy of dirty stars. Some of her fingernails are long, others short, some bitten off, but all are yellowed and stained. Ugly hands on an ugly woman that do nothing to suppress an ugly laugh.
The sound that drips out of her mouth is thick and gravely at first, but then builds into a series of high-pitched notes. Joy created from evil.
I turn around, and Nadine is still sleeping. She’s either the deepest sleeper around, or Luba’s cast a spell on her so our meeting won’t be interrupted. Good, I don’t wish this sight on anyone. I cannot believe Barnaby finds this thing entertaining.
Suddenly her laughter stops, and she extends her left hand toward me. Her thumb holds down her pinky so only three spindly fingers are pointing in my direction, inches from my face. No more laughter, but Luba is still feeling the type of evil joy only she can feel, so her thin lips slowly form a smile.
“Remember, Dominy,” she whispers. “Once cursed, always cursed.”
Chapter 29
“Luba’s right.”
Caleb tries his best to convince me otherwise, but it’s no use. What did Jess tell me? “Just because something is evil, doesn’t mean it can’t speak the truth.”
“After everything that I’ve done,” I say, “I’m still cursed.”
“How can you say that after what your father did for you?” Caleb asks. “He made the ultimate sacrifice just to break Luba’s damn hex.”
“And he failed!” I cry. “When it comes to that psychopath, there’s no way to win! For the rest of my life I’m going to have to live with this, Caleb. Don’t you get it? For the rest of my life I’m going to spend every hour of every day knowing that I took the coward’s way out. I killed my father so I could live!”
I don’t care how loud my voice is. No one’s around; the only one who can hear me other than Caleb is The Weeping Lady, and I’m sure she’s heard thousands of secrets in her lifetime that she’s never repeated. I can’t run from the guilt and the shame and the self-hatred that’s festering in my mind. Becoming a werewolf was only part of Luba’s curse; her real intention was much larger than that. She wanted to destroy my father’s family the same way he accidentally destroyed hers, and she has succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.
“No matter how I try to ignore it and gloss over it, the truth of what I did is still right here,” I say, both my hands pounding against my head. “And it’s never, ever going to leave me!”
Either the world is spinning around me or I’m going to faint. The trees, The Weeping Lady, the buildings in the distance, they’re all whipping around me, making my vision blur. I can’t feel the grass underneath my feet. I feel like the plastic bag is back around my head, but this time I don’t want it to be ripped off; I want it to squeeze tighter and tighter around my neck so I can’t breathe anymore. I want this all to be over!
“Dominy!”
I think that was Caleb’s voice, but I’m not sure, because everything is black.
Remember, Dominy, you are blessed.
I know the words, but the voice has changed. It’s not my mother’s poetic sound; it’s my father. His voice is much flatter, much more matter-of-fact, but, undeniably, it’s just as compassionate.
How can it be over when it’s just beginning?
When I open my eyes, I’m blinded by the sun, and I gasp out loud because I think that Jess is at the opposite end of yet another miracle and has found a way to reconnect with me, but I’m wrong. It’s just Caleb. The moment my brain recognizes this fact I hate him, and I love him for being exactly who he is. He’s just my boyfriend, nothing more. Despite how much he loves me right now and how much he’s already done for me, I know instinctively that someday he’ll be out of my life, having moved on to someone else, someone he prefers over me. He’s never going to love me the way my father and Jess did. Thankfully, my disorientation covers my disappointment.
But within that disappointment lies hope, because I realize for the first time since my father’s death I’ve truly accepted the fact that I have a future.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I got you.”
No, you don’t, I want to say; you only have me for right now. But maybe that’s the lesson I need to learn, the lesson my father wanted me to understand, that all we have is right now, so we owe it to ourselves to make the best of it. If we don’t, how can we expect tomorrow and the next day to be any better? He accepted the fact that his time on earth was over because he wanted to make the rest of my days better, unmarred by worry and fear. If I continue to wallow in self-pity, as justified as I think that self-pity might be, then his sacrifice was in vain; it was all for nothing, and evil truly wins out.
Looking up into Caleb’s face, made even more beautiful by the sunshine I will forever attribute to Jess, I decide I will never let that happen.
Caleb’s lips and tongue taste as soft and sweet as they always do. It takes the muscles underneath his T-shirt a few seconds to relax and let go of the surprise my actions have caused, but soon he’s kissing me back, gently, as if each kiss is a reminder of life, a reminder that, thanks to my father, I can still live. Which is exactly what I plan to do.
When Archie first mentioned the idea of having a Full Moon Party in my honor, it was greeted by silence. I could tell by everyone’s shocked expressions that they thought it was in the poorest of taste and that Archie had finally crossed a line from which he couldn’t return. There was no way he could sweet-talk himself back into our good graces and especially mine after making such a foolish suggestion. That’s what everyone thought. Until I agreed that it was a brilliant idea.
I think the word for it is serendipity, when all the stars align. The next full moon falls on a Saturday night, the same night Melinda Jaffe has to fly back to Connecticut with her mother to attend the funeral of a distant relative. The price of airfare being what it i
s today, Mrs. Jaffe made the reluctant decision to leave her twins home alone. Add it all up, and the Jaffe basement becomes the perfect place to have a party for the Wolf Pack plus one. Since it’s Napoleon’s house we had no choice, but to allow him to be on the guest list.
“Your dip’s not as good as your mother’s, Nay,” Archie declares, chomping on a huge mouthful of the stuff.
“I can see it’s preventing you from eating half the bowl,” Nadine good-naturedly shoots back.
“I am a growing boy!” he yells.
Caleb slaps Archie’s stomach. “Keep growing, Angevene, and the boys are gonna start to look elsewhere.”
“Oh really?” Archie asks, smiling mischievously despite a mouthful of artichoke dip. “And you think they’re gonna start looking at you?”
“Well . . . the six-pack does speak for itself,” Caleb replies, lifting up his shirt to reveal perfect abs.
Not to be outdone, Archie lifts up his own shirt. “Like this wasn’t carved from pure white marble!”
“Oh my God!” Arla shouts. “Will you two just make out and get over it?”
“What do you think we do when we’re in a huddle on the field?” Archie deadpans.
“I knew it!” Arla shouts even louder. “All that butt slapping is bound to lead to experimentation.”
I can’t believe how resilient Arla is. After the attack no one would have thought less of her if she had announced her need for a little private time, or more specifically, time away from me. But her reaction was exactly the opposite. She never blamed me for the assault or for scarring her; in fact, as unbelievable as it sounds, she actually thanked me.
“You’re thanking me for almost blinding you?” I asked, my voice not accurately conveying how shocked I felt.
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