He'd heard it too. The tap tap of footsteps on the walk and the jingling of keys. I was surprised. Usually I'm the one who hears things before anyone else does. I have really good hearing. But maybe it came from him.
The front door swung open and I could hear Mom shedding her overcoat and dropping her shoulder bag full of whatever real estate agents carry around. Listing sheets, mostly. "How was school, Honey?" she called.
Then she reached the kitchen doorway and said, "Shit!"
There was a loud shattering noise. She'd dropped her latest expensive cell phone on the tile floor and broken the glass cover, but she didn't seem to notice as she stared at the leather-skinned older man with the beer bottle in his hand and his boots propped up on a chair. "What the hell are you doing here! You're supposed to be DEAD!!!"
"Ah," he said. "The memorial service." He put the beer bottle down. "But that was years ago, and you didn't come to it."
"My parents went! Did you fake your own death?!?"
"There was a bit of unpleasantness I wanted to leave behind."
"My parents were very upset that your life insurance went to some cousin nobody had heard of in Morocco. A million dollars! I suppose it was actually you?"
He shrugged.
"Figures! And here I am with a deadbeat for an ex-husband and still paying off my college loan debt!" She was really worked up.
"Wait, did you and Dad really divorce?" I demanded.
"Stay out of this, Falcon. What are you doing alive and why are you here! You can't stay here. Have you been talking to her? Has he been talking to you, Falcon? He's dangerously crazy! And he's leaving. Now!"
"Nice to see you too," he said. "Sorry about your ex-husband. Is he suing for support? He was sponging off you all along, I beat."
"Bet," I interjected. Couldn't help myself.
"You're one to talk!" my mom hissed, ignoring me. "And you even drink the same beer as him!" she glared at the bottle in his hand. "I'll call you a taxi. You'll be on a plane in an hour."
"Shall I take care of your ex-husband?" He raised a long, thin eyebrow. "You and I are bound by blood, after all, and it is traditionalized to take care of one's own."
"Take care of...?" My mom looked horrified. "God only knows what that might entail! Give me your suitcase. I'll put it out on the sidewalk along with you. You can wait there until a taxi comes."
"Uber, my dear. All the cab companies have gone out of business in this town. What's for dinner? I've been traveling for days. I'm ravaging."
"Ravenous," I corrected. "Hordes ravage. People who are very hungry feel raven —."
"We're vegetarians," my mother interrupted. "I'm raising the girl on vegetables. No red meat!"
"It might be nice to just try a little meat, Mom," I said.
"Go out and mow the lawn, Falcon. Now!" she shouted.
"What?"
"Or, uh, clean up leaves or something! I need to deal with this unwanted intruder. Run along, dear!"
My mother never talked like that. In fact she rarely spoke to me at all.
"The mower's out of gas," I said. And I didn't move from where I was standing. It was too good a show.
Uncle Wolfgang didn't move either, except to reach over and pull the fridge open and grab another beer. "Cheers," he said as he popped the lid off with his bare hand. Dad likes—liked—old fashioned bottles without a screw top so that's what was still in the fridge. I didn't know where the bottle opener was, but it didn't seem to matter to Uncle Wolfgang.
"You can't stop her from changing just by keeping her away from meat," he added after a swallow.
"Quiet!" My Mom shouted, advancing on him. "I don't want her exposed to any of your crazy ideas, and get your boots off my kitchen chair!"
"Can she drive?" He asked. "We can send her out to acquire some T-bone steaks from the nearest butcher. I'm not going to let you feed her grass clippings."
"You're talking about me like I'm not here," I objected. "And Mom isn't going to eat a steak. No way."
He stood. "Then we shall go to the store, Falcon. You shall drive your mother's car. She needs some time to cool over."
"Down," I corrected. "Or off." But they both ignored me.
"Now wait one damn minute!" My mom said, her voice still raised. "She's not going anywhere with you! Nowhere!!! Do you understand?"
"Calm down," he told her. "I won't tell her anything. Unless she starts to change of course. You wouldn't want her going through that on her own, now, would you?"
"I can handle her! And you can crawl back into whatever grave you crawled out of. I expect you to be on the next flight out!"
He came to my side so quickly I hardly saw him do it. "Come on," he said, tugging my arm. "We're going to the store."
"Tofu!" Mom shouted as we headed for the car, leaving her standing over the bits of broken phone glass. "And don't tell her about culling!"
"Tell me about culling." I was driving down Main Street and he was sitting in the back seat like I was his chauffeur.
"This is a border town," he pointed out.
"Do you want to chase immigrants out of town?" I demanded. "Are you one of those crazies? Because if that's why you came here—"
"Becalm yourself, Falcon. Actually, I'm more concerned with protecting the poor immigrants. We can't have border patrol officers preying on refugees, now, can we? Not that you get very many of either in this little town, but one has to start somewhere. Since I might be staying with you for quite some time, we could start a philanthropic endeavor. Something to write about for your college essays."
I rolled my eyes. It was obvious he was babbling and cared nothing about refugees, which we don't get in this town anyway. Apparently he didn't want to tell me what culling was. I decided to try again later.
I pulled up to Red Owl Groceries and stopped. "You're crazy, aren't you?"
"Who isn't? Now, if you'll just run in and pick up a couple of large, juicy steaks, I'll relax here."
I turned and held out my hand. "Money," I said.
He shrugged. "Doesn't your mother give you money?" But he fished a bill out of a thin leather wallet and handed it to me. It was a hundred.
I raised an eyebrow. "This'll do," I said. I wasn't planning on giving him the change.