Vampire Moon

A moment later, I heard Tammy say, "Give me that, jerk," followed by Anthony bursting into tears. Sounds of running feet and crying faded quickly into the distance, followed by a door slamming. He was probably crying now into his pillow.

"Hi, mommy," she said.

I was too broken up to speak at first. "Is Anthony okay?" I asked, controlling my tears.

"He’s just being a baby."

"No, he’s just being a little boy."

"Whatever," she said.

"Don’t ‘whatever’ me, young lady."

She said nothing. I heard the pop of chewing gum. I also heard Danny making tiny shuffling movements on his end of the line. No doubt looking at his stopwatch. Yes, stopwatch.

"What did you guys do today?" I asked.

"Nothing," she said.

"How was school?"

"Boring."

"Did you do your homework?"

"Maybe."

"Is that a yes or a no, young lady?"

"It’s a maybe."

I knew Danny was on the other phone, listening, hearing his daughter disrespect her mother, and not giving a damn. I let the homework go. She was right, after all. I presently had no say in whether or not the homework got done, nor did I have any way of enforcing any house rules. I knew it. She knew it. I also suspected she was deliberately hurting me, since my unexplained absence was hurting her.

"I miss you," I said. "More than you know."

"You have a funny way of showing it, mom."

"I’ll figure out a way of seeing you guys more soon. I promise."

"Whoopee."

"That was rude," I said.

"So?"

"Don’t be rude to your mother."

"Whatever."

I took a deep breath. I knew my time was running out fast. I suspected Danny sometimes cut our conversations short. Either that, or time disappeared when I spoke to my kids. Even when they were being impossible.

I said, "I promise, I’ll see you as soon as I can."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, and I heard the faint hope in her voice. She was still trying for badass pissy, but the little girl who missed her mother was still in there.

"Not tomorrow, angel," I said, my voice breaking up. "But soon."

She was about to say something, probably something mean or rude or both. But something else came out entirely. A small, hiccuppy gasp. She was crying.

"I love you," I said. "I love you more than you could possibly know."

"I love you, too, mommy," and then she really started crying, and I was crying, and Danny stepped in.

"Time," he said.

"Goodbye, angel," I said quickly. "I love you!"

She was about to say something when the line went dead.

Chapter Thirty-four

Monica and I were sitting in my minivan down the street from my house. Very far down the street. In fact, we were at the opposite end of the street. Still, from here I could see my house – yes, my house. In particular, I could see anyone coming or going, especially Danny and his lame new Mustang.

Mustang? Weren’t those for college girls?

Also from here, I could see the Pep Boys’ sign rising above the house. Looming, might be a better word. The lights in the sign were currently out. The boys were asleep. Allegedly.

The night was young and some in the neighborhood were still out and about: pushing baby strollers, walking dogs, jogging, or, in one case, power walking.

My windows were heavily tinted for two reasons: The first was because I happened to be fairly sensitive to the sun. Go figure. The second was because I often used my nondescript minivan for surveillance. And when I was doing a lengthy surveillance, I would actually pull down a dark curtain from behind the front seat and hunker down in the back of the van, looking out through the many blackened windows. I even had a port-a-potty for long surveillances.

Tonight I didn’t expect to need my port-a-potty. Tonight I expected the action to begin fairly quick. Call it a hunch.

"So is this a real stakeout?" asked Monica. She was sitting cross-legged in the passenger seat. She could have been a teenager sitting there next to me.

"Real enough," I said.

"And that’s your old house up there?"

"Yes."

"So are we stalking your ex-husband?"

"I’m a licensed private investigator," I said. "I’m licensed to stalk."

"Really?"

"In most cases."

"What about this case?"

"In this case," I said. "We’re stalking the hell out of him."

She giggled. If Danny spotted me following him, he could report me to the California Bureau of Investigative Services, where I would probably be heavily fined and face jail time, probably a year. The CBIS frowned upon investigators abusing their privileges.

Which was why I was parked way down the street. Back when I had first caught Danny cheating on me, I had been reckless and he had spotted me.

This time, I intended to play it safe.

"So what’s it like having kids?" asked Monica. She was chewing some gum, occasionally popping bubbles inside her mouth, the way kids used to do it back when I was in high school. I never did figure out how they did that, or how she was doing it now, and with that thought, something fairly exciting occurred to me.

Hey, I can chew gum!

At least gum that had no sugars in it at all. I asked Monica for a piece and she reached into her little purse and produced a rectangular square. It was cinnamon and sugar free. I had no clue what it would do to me, but I was eager to find out.

God, I’m pathetic.

I unwrapped the gum hastily and tossed the discarded paper in my ash tray. Saliva filled my mouth as the sharp bite of cinnamon tore through even my dulled taste buds. Cautiously, I swallowed my own saliva, now filled with cinnamon flavor.

I kept an eye on my dashboard clock. I would know in less than two minutes if my body would reject even this small amount of flavoring.

And while I waited, I chewed and chewed, savoring the flavor, savoring the smooth texture of the gum on my tongue and in my mouth. And, like riding a bike, I produced my first bubble in six years. It popped loudly and Monica giggled. And just as I was scraping the gum off my nose and chin, something in my stomach lurched.

But that’s all it did.

Lurched.

Nothing came up. No extreme pain. Nothing more than that initial, slightly painful gurgle. I grinned and continued happily chewing the gum.

So there you have it. Vampires can chew gum. Wrigley should consider a new slogan: "So good, even a vampire won’t projectile vomit."