When it was full dark, I went out to check on Bubba. He was sitting under a pin oak, bottles of blood lined up beside him, empties on one side, fulls on the other.
I had a flashlight, and though I knew Bubba was there, it was still a shock to see him in the beam of light. I shook my head. Something really had gone wrong when Bubba “came over,” no doubt about it. I was sincerely glad I couldn’t read Bubba’s thoughts. His eyes were crazy as hell.
“Hey, sugar,” he said, his Southern accent as thick as syrup. “How you doing? You come to keep me company?”
“I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable,” I said.
“Well, I could think of places I’d be more comfortable, but since you’re Bill’s girl, I ain’t about to talk about them.”
“Good,” I said firmly.
“Any cats around here? I’m getting mighty tired of this bottled stuff.”
“No cats. I’m sure Bill will be back soon, and then you can go home.” I started back toward the house, not feeling comfortable enough in Bubba’s presence to prolong the conversation, if you could call it that. I wondered what thoughts Bubba had during his long watchful nights; I wondered if he remembered his past.
“What about that dog?” he called after me.
“He went home,” I called back over my shoulder.
“Too bad,” Bubba said to himself, so softly I almost didn’t hear him.
I got ready for bed. I watched television. I ate some ice cream, and I even chopped up a Heath Bar for a topping. None of my usual comfort things seemed to work tonight. My brother was in jail, my boyfriend was in New Orleans, my grandmother was dead, and someone had murdered my cat. I felt lonely and sorry for myself all the way around.
Sometimes you just have to roll in it.
Bill didn’t return my call.
That added fuel to the flame of my misery. He’d probably found some accommodating whore in New Orleans, or some fang-banger, like the ones who hung around Blood in the Quarter every night, hoping for a vampire “date.”
If I were a drinking woman, I would have gotten drunk. If I’d been a casual woman, I would have called lovely JB du Rone and had sex with him. But I’m not anything so dramatic or drastic, so I just ate ice cream and watched old movies on TV. By an eerie coincidence, Blue Hawaii was on.
I finally went to bed about midnight.
A shriek outside my bedroom window woke me up. I sat up straight in bed. I heard thumps, and thuds, and finally a voice I was sure was Bubba’s shouting, “Come back here, sucker!”
When I hadn’t heard anything in a couple of minutes, I pulled on a bathrobe and went to the front door. The yard, lit by the security light, was empty. Then I glimpsed movement to the left, and when I stuck my head out the door, I saw Bubba, trudging back to his hideout.
“What happened?” I called softly.
Bubba changed direction and slouched over to the porch.
“Sure enough, some sumbitch, scuse me, was sneaking around the house,” Bubba said. His brown eyes were glowing, and he looked more like his former self. “I heard him minutes before he got here, and I thought I’d catch ahold of him. But he cut through the woods to the road, and he had a truck parked there.”
“Did you get a look?”
“Not enough of one to describe him,” Bubba said shamefacedly. “He was driving a pickup, but I couldn’t even tell what color it was. Dark.”
“You saved me, though,” I said, hoping my very real gratitude showed in my voice. I felt a swell of love for Bill, who had arranged my protection. Even Bubba looked better than he had before. “Thanks, Bubba.”
“Aw, think nothing of it,” he said graciously, and for that moment he stood up straight, kind of tossed his head back, had that sleepy smile on his face. . . it was him, and I’d opened my mouth to say his name, when Bill’s warning came back to shut my mouth.
JASON MADE BAIL the next day.
It cost a fortune. I signed what Sid Matt told me to, though mostly the collateral was Jason’s house and truck and his fishing boat. If Jason had ever been arrested before, even for jaywalking, I don’t think he would have been permitted to post bond.
I was standing on the courthouse steps wearing my horrible, sober, navy blue suit in the heat of the late morning. Sweat trickled down my face and ran between my lips in that nasty way that makes you want to go jump in the shower. Jason stopped in front of me. I hadn’t been sure he would speak. His face was years older. Real trouble had come to sit on his shoulder, real trouble that would not go away or ease up, like grief did.