Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon Hunting Soccer Mom

Chapter Fifteen

To my relief, Nurse Ratched was nowhere to be seen. I had mental images of her chasing after us, not letting us leave, and hordes of demons descending on us, intent on slaughtering us first, then burying us in the basement. I told myself I was being paranoid, but I knew I really wasn’t. I had no doubt that my geriatric demon had been a Coastal Mists resident, and I fully intended to let Larson in on the problem, so he could relay it up the Forza chain of command. It wasn’t my problem, though. My problem was about five-eight, a hundred seventy pounds, with a stubbly gray beard and eyebrows that vaguely resembled caterpillars.

I got both my problems safely into the car. (For those of you keeping track, Eddie was problem number one. Timmy, as a toddler, automatically qualifies as a problem in any situation that involves moving from point A to point B.)

I’d come up with the Eddie-as-grandfather story solely to ease our departure from Coastal Mists, and, frankly, it hadn’t occurred to me that Eddie would adopt the story as his own, much less believe it. For that matter, I didn’t know if he really did believe it. All I knew was that as soon as I got him to the house, he made himself at home (witness the potato chips), tucked Timmy on his lap (who immediately continued his rapt inspection of the eyebrow insects), and told Allie that she looked just like her mother, and was I training her well?

To Allie’s credit she registered less shock at encountering the old man in the living room than I would have expected, and I deflected his questions by sending her upstairs to do homework before dinner. Eddie and I needed to have a talk, that much was for sure.

Unfortunately, Stuart got home before we could have the talk. (In case you’re wondering, springing elderly inlaws on unsuspecting spouses—particularly where you’re proposing a live-in arrangement of some unknown duration—is not the key to a laid-back evening.)

As usual, Stuart entered through the kitchen, his tie askew and his briefcase weighing heavy in his hand. I could see in his face that all he wanted to do was drop his stuff in his study and change into jeans and a T-shirt. Too bad for him, I wasn’t about to let him pass.

I cornered him near the refrigerator. He shot me a “later, honey” look and pushed past. I counted to five. Sure enough, as soon as he rounded the corner and saw Eddie on the couch with Tim, my husband backtracked. “Okay,” he said. “Who is he?”

And that of course, was when I started to regale him with the long-lost-grandfather-in-law story. Never once did I expect Eddie to announce that he was Stuart’s grandfather, or for me to gently correct him with, “No, Gramps, Eric’s your grandson, remember? Stuart’s my second husband.”

All of which would have been fine (well, relatively speaking) if Allie hadn’t overheard the whole thing. “Daddy’s grandpa?” Her tentative whisper sounded from behind me, and I drew in a breath. As I turned around, she moved toward him, then took his gnarled hand in her own. “You’re my daddy’s grandfather?”

Tears filled my eyes, and as I looked up at Stuart, I saw my own pain reflected there. His parents had been nothing but sweet to Allie, and I know she loved them dearly, but this was blood. A bond with the past that she’d never known existed (in part, of course, because it didn’t exist).

I had to tell her the truth, though. Eric and I had both been orphans. We didn’t know who our parents were, much less our grandparents. But as I started to take a step toward her, I hesitated. Allie’s eyes were bright, her cheeks pink, and when Eddie (who must have been quite the charmer in his day) told her she had her father’s eyes, I swear, she melted a little.

This was a lie, yes. But was it really so bad? Allie craved a heritage, after all, and that wasn’t something I ever thought I could give her. Somehow, though, I’d managed. I’d brought home a family history. So what if it was an illusion?