"You mean he was reaching for her brains?"
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"Yes," Colette said, "delicious ...brains." Margi giggled.
"There's a flaw in your thinking, C.B. Even Adam is smart enough to know Pheebes doesn't have any." The Weird Sisters cackled.
"You guys really need to take this act on the road," Phoebe said, but was suddenly serious again. Margi and Colette caught the vibe as well.
"Like Tommy," she continued, leaning her head against Margi's shoulder.
"Aw, Pheebes," Margi said, kissing the top of her head. "He's coming back, right? This is probably just something he needs to get out of his system."
"I don't know." She thought about how solid he'd felt leaning against her. Tommy wasn't one to change his mind easily.
"I think so," Margi said. "I heard him talking to the Hunters. It sounded to me like he was coming back."
"What was he talking to the Hunters for?" Phoebe asked, sitting up.
"I was working a shift in the office and they were talking to him about the Web site, and how important it was for it to continue. They said that the foundation would pay for the site and for the hosting. Tommy said that was cool, but that he wouldn't let Skip Slydell put banner ads for Z on it."
"You're kidding."
"No, really," Margi said, "they said Slydell wanted to do ..." "No," Phoebe said, "I meant about the foundation funding it." "For real. They said that the site was critically important
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for the survival and advancement of zombie rights and culture. I remember because I thought it was weird that they said 'survival.'" She thought for a moment. "They didn't say 'zombie,' though. 'Differently biotic.'"
"That is really weird. What did Tommy say?"
"He said he would still write for the blog, but that he couldn't manage the site anymore. He said if the Hunters could ensure that the people he chose to run the site for him got paid for their work, he would consider letting them fund it."
"Wow," Phoebe said. She had so much going through her head just then it was difficult to focus on one thing. She wasn't so certain it was a great idea to give the foundation or Slydellco access to mysocalledundeath.
"I know," Margi said. "Pretty cool, huh? I guess that would make Tommy the first zombie entrepreneur."
Colette shrugged one shoulder as though to say "imagine that."
"He said he was coming back, though?" Phoebe said.
Margi gave her a quizzical look. "Not exactly. Not in so many words. It was sort of implied."
The bus rolled to a stop at the curb, and the students, some of the living as sluggish as the dead with morning fatigue, began piling out of the bus. Phoebe watched Adam rise from his seat and shoulder his way into the line. He didn't look back. She slipped past Margi with the intention of talking to him before he entered the school. She caught up to him on the second short flight of steps.
"Hi," she said, taking his arm.
"Hell-o," he replied without breaking ponderous stride.
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"I haven't seen you in forever'!" she said. "I missed you." She was pleased to see the corner of his mouth twitch upward. "Phoebe," he said.
"I know," she said, "I'm clingy. I'm hovering. I'm altogether a huge pain in the butt."
"No," he said, almost managing to shake his head. He was walking, talking, and trying to shake his head at the same time. This was good, she thought. This was very very good.
"No?" she said, giving him a gentle nudge. "No? Don't tell me we're going back to the old days where you were afraid your friends were going to see you with me. I don't know if I could take that."
They reached the doors, and she sprang ahead to open them for him.
"No," he said.
"Thank goodness. You just want a little space, is that it?"
He stopped, and Phoebe could see a whole flock of emotions lying below the dead skin of his face. He opened his mouth and she thought he was going to say yes, and then she thought he was going to say no, and then she had no idea what he was going to say at all. He reached out a hand as heavy as a ten-pound weight, and clamped it on her shoulder.
"Phoebe," he said, the effort appearing painful. "Live."
He released her, staring down with glassy, lifeless eyes.
She thought that was his way of pushing her away, but then he held out the same hand for her to take. She walked him to his locker, holding his hand on the dial of the combination lock so he could feel the movement of her fingers.
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
WANTED TO TEACH her, not Joe teach her.
"Let up on the brakes, kid," said the STD not the STD Joe. "You don't want to hit the brakes when you're going into a curve. If anything you want to give it a little gas."
"I feel like I'm going too fast, Mr. Garrity," said Phoebe. Phoebe's eyes in the rearview mirror look scared but excited too. "Nah. You're fine."
"Phoebe live," said to Phoebe not sure Phoebe understood. Don't understand. Joe the stepfather formerly known as the STD teaching Phoebe to drive now that's living. Now that's entertainment.
"I can't believe my dad is letting me do this," said Phoebe.
Joe laughed. "I just told him I had plenty of cars, so it wouldn't matter if you crashed one. And if you did I could fix it."
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"He's so uptight when he tries to teach me," she said.
"Stop sign coming up. That's it. Ease on it. Good."
Good. Phoebe driving good, Joe acting good. Franken-Adam moving not good not good but better. Better. Turtle. Turtle not snail.
Dojo ahead. Phoebe parks like FrankenAdam gets into the car; slow, sloppy, and with sixteen-point turn. Gives up, parks at entrance.
"Thank you, Mr. Garrity," said Phoebe, handing keys. "Least I could do," said Joe. Said Joe warmly. Actual warmth. Joe human. Adam not. "Let...me ...out,"
Phoebe laughed. Phoebe laughed like music, Phoebe live. Live.
"Come on, Adam," Phoebe said, "I wasn't that bad." Speak. Speak.
"Yeah, son," said Joe. So weird name son. "She's doing all right." Speak.
"Life ...flashed."
Phoebe laughs hugs FrankenAdam, Phoebe lives. Her black hair perfect shiny black hair underneath my nose lungs breathe breathe breathe maybe flowers. Maybe. Miss flowers.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Adam," said Phoebe, laughing. "That helps."
"See you in forty-five," said Joe, waves. Phoebe waves.
Wave.
Walking. Walking with hitch but walking. Phoebe skips
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ahead, holds door. Hold door, one week. No, one day. Tomorrow at school.
"Adam," said Master Griffin, bowing. Bald head shining, beacon. Bow. Bowing.
"And you are Phoebe Kendall."
"Yes," said Phoebe, looking at walls. Photos of Griffin in chi, in tournament, in Gulf. Had hair. Photos of Griffin kicking ass.
"Would you like to work out today as well, Phoebe?" said Master Griffin. "First trial session is free." Smiles. "I'm not really dressed for it."
Phoebe in black. Boots and all. Phoebe is back in skirts and ruffles and frilly lacey cuffs. Filled with life.
"You can borrow a ghi," Master Griffin said, "no shoes required."
"Maybe next time," said Phoebe. "I'll just watch if that's okay."
Griffin nods, light reflecting off bald dome head. Turns, bows to the dojo. Walk. Bow.
"We will do the basic forms again, Adam," said Master Griffin. "Please do not be shy in front of your audience."
"No."
"Maintain your focus," he said. Nod.
Move. Moving.
See Phoebe, in mirror. Phoebe happy and sad. Both. Moving.
Phoebe loves. Love Phoebe.
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"That's it, Adam," Griffin says, "Focus. Try to feel your body as it moves."
Phoebe loves, but doesn't love. Loves Tommy? "Focus."
Live, Phoebe. Forget. Just forget the dead and live. Forget, Phoebe. Phoebe, forget
. "Again."
Forget Phoebe. Try.
"Ha ...iiiiii."
"Good," said Master Griffin.
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
"YOU'RE DOING really well," Phoebe told Adam. He walked to the refrigerator, opened it, then withdrew the creamer, which he set on the table in front of her. "I can't believe how mobile you're getting. It was so much fun watching you."
He half smiled at her, then slumped into his chair with enough force to bump into the table and spill her coffee, sending beige liquid onto the plastic tablecloth.
"Oops," she said, and he smiled instead of getting frustrated like he would have a few weeks ago.
He'd made the coffee almost entirely himself, needing her help only to spoon enough of the grounds into the filter. He poured the water and added the sugar after getting her a mug from the cabinet.
"It's good," she said after taking a sip. "Master Griffin has really helped you."
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Adam nodded. "More ...focused ...already"
"He's an interesting guy," she said, taking another sip. The coffee was actually a little weak because Adam's hand shook when he poured the water. She set her cup down and got up. "How long was he in the military?"
"Five ...years," Adam said. She went over and stood behind him. "He was ...wounded."
She started kneading his shoulders, which felt like tractor tires beneath her hands. "I didn't know that."
"Just...told me," he said. "Shot... in the ...leg."
"You'd never know," she said. His shoulders weren't budging, so she ran her fingers through his hair. It was dry and crackled under her fingertips. She scratched the back of his neck with her fingernails.
"He told ...me ...because ...thought ...would help ...rehabilitation."
She leaned in close, so close that her mouth was near his ear.
"Something's helping," she whispered.
There was no reaction. She hadn't really expected one, but she'd been hoping.
Time to test Tommy's theory, she thought, and kissed Adam on the neck, just below and behind his ear, where a pulse would beat if he were alive.
It was like kissing a rock, she thought. Then she thought about how much Adam loved her. He loved her so much that he suffered in silence while she was dating Tommy.
He loved her so much that he died for her.
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She kissed him again, lower on the neck, stifling a giggle as she thought about how she could help him with his "rehabilitation." Her hand rubbed his broad shoulders and she turned and slid into his lap, kissing him on the cheek. She felt his arm and it was like steel.
He turned toward her and she looked up at him, smiling, then kissing his cheek. It would be so much easier if he could just grab her and hold her and plant his mouth on hers. Maybe he couldn't now, she thought, but perhaps with proper encouragement, he would, soon.
"Phoebe ..." he said, his voice a husky rumble.
He died for you, she reminded herself, lifting her lips to his open mouth. First kiss.
"Stop!" he said, his voice loud enough to rattle the dishes in their cabinets. His arm uncoiled like a spring as he tried to stand up, shrugging Phoebe out of his lap. She fell on the floor with a loud bump.
"Stop," he repeated, looking away.
Phoebe was stunned. She sat there on the floor in the Garritys' kitchen, looking at Adam, not knowing what to say.
"I thought," she said. "I thought you ..."
Adam shook his head, unable to meet her eyes.
She stood up, got her bag from the corner of the kitchen, and went home, her cheeks burning.
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CHAPTER TWENTY
"Y OU WANT ME to go in with you?" Margi asked as she parked.
Phoebe shook her head and opened the car door. She still wasn't entirely comfortable with her friend's relative lack of driving experience.
"No thanks, Margi. I really appreciate this."
"No worries," she said, "I need the practice. Buzz my cell when you want me to get you, I'm only fifteen minutes away."
"Okay. Thanks."
She waved good-bye, wondering if she'd even be here if Adam hadn't dumped her. Literally.
Phoebe's heart was in her throat as she walked up the narrow steps, too afraid to knock on the door. She knocked anyway.
Faith answered a moment later. "Oh hello, Phoebe," she said, somehow managing to look and sound happy and sad at the same time. "Please come in."
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"I wanted to talk to Tommy," Phoebe said, stepping into the mobile home. She was annoyed at the hint of apology in her voice. She had nothing to feel sorry for.
"Certainly," Faith said. Then she hugged her.
When Faith released her she stood back and Phoebe thought that she was on the verge of tears. Her sudden show of emotion made Phoebe feel like crying too.
Faith brushed at the corner of an eye. "He's in his room. Karen's already there."
"Karen?" she said, an unexpected jealous flash bringing warmth to her skin.
Faith nodded. "Trying to talk my son out of his quest, or something," she said. Her next smile brought real warmth to her worry-lined face. "But you know Tommy's mind can't be changed once it's made up about something."
Phoebe smiled. She knew. His singularity of purpose was one of the things she most admired about him.
"Sometimes I think what makes these kids come back from the dead is just plain stubbornness," Faith said, laughing. "Do you want something to drink?"
"No thanks." She could hear Karen's voice from down the hall.
"Well," Faith said, getting out the milk and a bottle of chocolate syrup for herself, "if you change your mind, help yourself."
Phoebe said she would and walked through the living room to Tommy's room. Karen was standing by Tommy's desk, her hands waving, telling Tommy that he was wrong. A hot spike
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of anger bloomed inside her as she watched Karen berating Tommy, who sat in passive stillness on the edge of his bed. Despite the harshness of Karen's delivery, Phoebe felt as if she was intruding on a moment of deep intimacy between them, and almost stepped away. Before she could, Tommy saw her in the doorway and the blue of his eyes seemed to brighten. A moment later he willed himself to smile. Phoebe knocked lightly on the door jamb.
Karen turned. "Phoebe," she said after a pause. "Thank heavens, another sane person in the room. Will you please help me talk some sense into him?"
"I don't think I could do that," Phoebe said. Tommy rose from his seat. He was wearing faded blue jeans, a dark blue T-shirt, and battered white high-tops. His room smelled like Z. Phoebe liked it.
Karen grunted in frustration and turned away.
"I was afraid you'd go without saying good-bye," Phoebe said, holding her left elbow in her right hand. Tommy looked at her, and she was having a difficult time looking back, not because he was dead, or because he could stare without blinking for hours at a time. She had trouble returning his stare because there was something there, something that wasn't longing exactly, but longing and love and sadness and understanding all wrapped together. No one ever looked at her with quite that combination of emotions. It was this look and the feelings it caused in her that first attracted her to him, but now she found herself wilting before the intensity of it.
"I ...will never ...say ...good-bye ... to you," he said.
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Phoebe held out her hand. He took it.
"But I thought...you said ...good-bye ... to me."
Phoebe was aware of Karen taking a seat on the edge of Tommy's computer desk, her arms folded across her chest and a chagrined expression on her flawless face. But Phoebe didn't care.
"I did," she said. "I did, Tommy, but ...but I didn't want it to be forever."
Tommy looked away. "But you ... don't know ...what you ...wanted it to be."
"No. No, I didn't. I don't."
He let her hand slip from his. "I don't know when I'll be back."
He looked su
re of himself again, Phoebe thought. It was something that was missing in the weeks since Adam's death, that sense of purpose.
Phoebe bit her lip.
"I know," she said.
"You know?" Karen said. "You know? What is the ...matter with you, Phoebe? He can't ...leave. He's our ...leader ...for heaven's sake! King ...Zombie. Baron ...Samedi."
She took Tommy's arm, and Phoebe's. Her grip was cold but insistent.
"You can't ... go, Tommy. I'm ...sorry it didn't work out ...between ..."
Tommy raised his hand, cutting her off. "I have to go," he said.
"They all ...look up to you, Tommy. They ... need ... you. They ..."
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Horrible choking sounds came somewhere deep within Karen. Her grip on Phoebe's arm tightened painfully.
"Karen," she said, reaching for her with her free arm as the other went numb in Karen's unbreakable grip. Karen's eyes looked pained and scared--lost, the lights behind the crystals fading. Phoebe ignored her own pain and stroked Karen's cheek.
"Shhhh," she said, and repeated it until Karen focused on her. She began to calm down, finally releasing Phoebe from her death grip.
"You ...can't...go ...Tommy," Karen said, her "breathing" ragged, the sound of a slow fan with a piece of paper caught in the blades. "I ...they ...need you."
Tommy took her face gently in his hands.
"Karen," he said, his voice a calming whisper, "that's why I need to go. Because you need me."
And Phoebe knew, watching him, that that was the truth. If he really was "Baron Samedi, King of the Zombies" as they all suspected, he wasn't going to be able to rule his kingdom from Oakvale, Connecticut. He'd have to go elsewhere-- Washington, probably. Somewhere he could get government recognition for the undead. The guilt lifted from her shoulders. He wasn't leaving because of her.
Faith appeared in the doorway. "Is everything okay in here? Karen, honey, are you--"
Kiss of Life Page 10
