Read Online Undead and Unsure by MaryJanice Davidson - Free Book Online
Authors: MaryJanice Davidson
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thought would have given me night terrors if I still dreamed.
“Excuse me, but according to this paperwork you’re dead. The State of Minnesota frowns on dead people for guardians. Also, your status as a corpse brings up a few other questions, so why don’t you have a seat?”
So it had started as an annoying chore, but BabyJon’s pretty irresistible, and after a while she was offering to take him for a day here or an overnight there before I asked. Since I altered the timeline, she liked having BabyJon over for his own sweet self, not to do any favors. I wondered if she felt the way I did—that maybe this was her only chance to be a grandmother, however strange the circumstances, so she went from grudging to resigned to loving.
For the first time in a long time, I thought about my late father and wondered what he’d think about his son by his new wife being essentially raised by his ex.
His new wife. Brrrr. Now was not the time to think about the Ant, she of the pineapple hair (color
and
texture) and utter lack of class. And when someone like me is commenting on someone else’s lack of class, that’s how you know it’s really, really bad.
I gave myself a brisk internal shake. “Listen, we’ll get out of your hair. We’ve got to—”
“You know what?” My mom cut me off. “Could I keep him one more night, as planned? Then I’ll drop him off tomorrow. I’d like to see Jessica for myse—I’d like to visit for a while. If that’s convenient.”
Not only that, but courageous.
I glanced at Sinclair; his thought had come through loud and clear. Once upon a time, I couldn’t read minds. Then I could read Sinclair’s, but only during sex. Then I could read him at other times. Then he could read mine. We chalked it up to being an undead monarch thing. We could nearly always hear each other if one or both of us was thinking really hard. But I’d caught that stray thought with no trouble; it was like a bubble had popped up out of nowhere. You’re surprised it’s there, but you know why it’s there, so it’s okay.
Considering that the last time she visited she was faced with Zombie Marc and Ancient Me, yeah, courageous is the word.
Aloud: “Sure, Mom; like I said, we didn’t mean to mess with your plans or anything. And Jess would love to see you. And we could talk—” I looked at Cliiiiiive. “We can catch up.”
So we agreed and said our good-byes and BabyJon was thrilled to be staying and hardly fussed when we left, and all the time my mom had this strange, distracted smile on her face, a smile that never climbed behind her eyes.
Well. Dating Cliiiiiive would probably distract me, too. The important thing was, I was there for her. And stood ready to beat him to death the minute he, I dunno, did something I didn’t like.
Prob’ly wouldn’t be long.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
“Listen,” my mom said again. “Something is very wrong here. None of you seem to know when Jess got pregnant—”
“Gross,” I commented. “Didn’t ever want or need the details.”
“None of their damned business!” Jess agreed, lightly spraying my mother with toast crumbs.
“—or when she’s due—”
“Next summer, isn’t it?” Marc asked vaguely. He was seated at one of the islands, flipping through the January 2007 ish of
Martha Stewart Living.
He frequently reread the “How to Keep a Sharp Mind” article. Was it ironic that he needed to
re
read an article about staying sharp? “Around the Fourth? Hmm, says here anagrams are a way to go.”
“Is that like a word jumble?”
“No, it’s like when you rearrange all the letters of a word to form new words. Like . . .” He glanced at my mom’s coffee cup and his eyes went milky as he thought. “. . . caribou for cuba rio. Or . . . uh . . . permission. For . . . impression? Yeah, impression.”
“Sounds hard.” I had no gift for puzzles of any kind. No gift, and no love for doing them. If someone whipped out their new crossword
“Excuse me, but according to this paperwork you’re dead. The State of Minnesota frowns on dead people for guardians. Also, your status as a corpse brings up a few other questions, so why don’t you have a seat?”
So it had started as an annoying chore, but BabyJon’s pretty irresistible, and after a while she was offering to take him for a day here or an overnight there before I asked. Since I altered the timeline, she liked having BabyJon over for his own sweet self, not to do any favors. I wondered if she felt the way I did—that maybe this was her only chance to be a grandmother, however strange the circumstances, so she went from grudging to resigned to loving.
For the first time in a long time, I thought about my late father and wondered what he’d think about his son by his new wife being essentially raised by his ex.
His new wife. Brrrr. Now was not the time to think about the Ant, she of the pineapple hair (color
and
texture) and utter lack of class. And when someone like me is commenting on someone else’s lack of class, that’s how you know it’s really, really bad.
I gave myself a brisk internal shake. “Listen, we’ll get out of your hair. We’ve got to—”
“You know what?” My mom cut me off. “Could I keep him one more night, as planned? Then I’ll drop him off tomorrow. I’d like to see Jessica for myse—I’d like to visit for a while. If that’s convenient.”
Not only that, but courageous.
I glanced at Sinclair; his thought had come through loud and clear. Once upon a time, I couldn’t read minds. Then I could read Sinclair’s, but only during sex. Then I could read him at other times. Then he could read mine. We chalked it up to being an undead monarch thing. We could nearly always hear each other if one or both of us was thinking really hard. But I’d caught that stray thought with no trouble; it was like a bubble had popped up out of nowhere. You’re surprised it’s there, but you know why it’s there, so it’s okay.
Considering that the last time she visited she was faced with Zombie Marc and Ancient Me, yeah, courageous is the word.
Aloud: “Sure, Mom; like I said, we didn’t mean to mess with your plans or anything. And Jess would love to see you. And we could talk—” I looked at Cliiiiiive. “We can catch up.”
So we agreed and said our good-byes and BabyJon was thrilled to be staying and hardly fussed when we left, and all the time my mom had this strange, distracted smile on her face, a smile that never climbed behind her eyes.
Well. Dating Cliiiiiive would probably distract me, too. The important thing was, I was there for her. And stood ready to beat him to death the minute he, I dunno, did something I didn’t like.
Prob’ly wouldn’t be long.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
“Listen,” my mom said again. “Something is very wrong here. None of you seem to know when Jess got pregnant—”
“Gross,” I commented. “Didn’t ever want or need the details.”
“None of their damned business!” Jess agreed, lightly spraying my mother with toast crumbs.
“—or when she’s due—”
“Next summer, isn’t it?” Marc asked vaguely. He was seated at one of the islands, flipping through the January 2007 ish of
Martha Stewart Living.
He frequently reread the “How to Keep a Sharp Mind” article. Was it ironic that he needed to
re
read an article about staying sharp? “Around the Fourth? Hmm, says here anagrams are a way to go.”
“Is that like a word jumble?”
“No, it’s like when you rearrange all the letters of a word to form new words. Like . . .” He glanced at my mom’s coffee cup and his eyes went milky as he thought. “. . . caribou for cuba rio. Or . . . uh . . . permission. For . . . impression? Yeah, impression.”
“Sounds hard.” I had no gift for puzzles of any kind. No gift, and no love for doing them. If someone whipped out their new crossword
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