Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon Hunting Soccer Mom

Chapter Fifteen

“He's who?”Stuart’s voice, though whispered, seemed to fill the kitchen. I made a frantic pressing motion, as if I were snuffing flames, hoping Eddie hadn’t heard.

No such luck.

“I’m your grandfather, sonny,” Eddie called from the living room. (At least we knew his hearing worked well.) “Mind your manners there, boy.”

As Stuart’s eyes widened, I closed my own, counted to ten, then opened them again with the secret wish that everything would be calm and wonderful, all my problems would be solved, and my family (real and fake) would be living in peaceful harmony.

No go.

“Kate ...” Stuart’s voice was calm, but no-nonsense. I sighed, resigned to telling him some version of the truth.

“He was in a nursing home,” I said. (Truth.) “And they were keeping him all drugged up.” (Also truth.) “Plus, I think he has Alzheimer’s.” (Sorta truth. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with Eddie. All I knew from my brief time with him was that truth and fiction were mixed up in his head, and either one might come spewing out without any warning at all.)

“I sympathize,” Stuart said. “But why is he now in our living room? Both my grandfathers have been dead for years. And the man dropping potato chip crumbs onto our living room carpet is very much not dead. Yet.”

“Right,” I said. “He’s not. Dead, I mean.”

(Pregnant pause.)

“Kate ...”

Another sigh from me. I really should have planned this one better. When I’d returned to Coastal Mists, Eddie had been due for another dose of meds. He’d been coherent (more or less) and when I’d explained that I was taking him home with me, I’d expected a bit of a paperwork nightmare. Instead, the whole process had been smooth as silk, as if I were immune to the red tape that normally tied itself around hospitals and the like.

I helped him pack (though since I had Tim with me, the bulk of my help consisted of rescuing his belongings from the fingers of my toddler). Then we started schlepping toward the front desk.

Melinda stopped us on the way out. “Mr. Lohmann,” she’d gushed. “You’re leaving us?”

He squinted at her, then pointed a wizened finger at me. “She’s training the little one to hunt demons,” he’d said. “I’m helping.”

To which I’d naturally rolled my eyes and—because I’m an idiot—said, “He’s coming to live with us.”

“Your son must be very excited,” Melinda said to Eddie.

“My who?”

Melinda looked at me, clearly confused, which made sense considering I’d earlier given her the long song and dance about how he was related to my husband. In retrospect, I probably should have just let it pass, but since Stuart does have a father, and since he is very much alive and coherent, and since I had no idea if Desmond Connor was a close personal friend of the director of Coastal Mists, I announced that Eddie was my first husband’s grandfather. No relation to Stuart whatsoever. “Of course I have to take him home with me “ I said. “My daughter needs to know her great-grandpa, and I won’t be able to sleep knowing I didn’t do everything in my power to take care of Eric’s grandfather.”

Melinda oohed and aahed about how sweet I was, and while I hung my head and tried to look modest and unmartyrlike, Eddie crouched down to Timmy’s level. “You can call me Gramps,” he said. At which point Tim reached out and yanked Eddie’s eyebrow.

“Caterpillar,” he said. “Fuzzy caterpillar.”

Not being entirely stupid, I figured that was our cue to leave, and we gathered Eddie’s things, signed the necessary papers, and headed out the door.