Joseph? He is gone already, that man I married.” She brushed an impatient hand over her face, and Anna realized Maggie was crying.
“No,” Charles said, but he said it gently. “Joseph does not want to be a werewolf. He has no need to live forever. And whatever the rest of us feel like we need, that is, it must be,
his
choice.”
She grabbed his arm, swift and sudden. Anna instinctively moved to intercept her but caught herself before Maggie noticed.
“I don’t want him to die, Charles,” Maggie told him intensely.
“Neither do I,” he said in the same gentle tone. “But everyone dies, Maggie. This is not the worst death I have seen. He is not afraid, not of death, anyway.”
She let go of him and took two steps backward. “Joseph has never been afraid of death,” she agreed. “I think it surprises him that he has lived this long.”
The intense intimacy of their conversation faded, caused by some trick of Maggie’s body language: she was once again the gracious hostess.
“Food is ready downstairs,” she said. “Kage said that after dinner, he’d take you to see some horses.” She smiled suddenly, “He is grateful for Chelsea, and my son can see no greater reward than to take you to see his horses.” She started down the hallway. “In that way, he and his father are just alike. Horse-mad idiots.”
“You, too,” Charles said, his hand on the small of Anna’s back as he followed. “Remember that poor skinny pinto you saved from that pair of cowboys, Maggie?” He looked at Anna, his eyes smiling. “One woman against two armed men, and she took after them with a broom for the way they’d half starved a mare. Only it turns out, when the dust settled, that they’d just bought that mare from another guy because they didn’t like the way he wasn’t feeding her.”
“I apologized and fed them my burritos,” Maggie said. “They didn’t care about a few bruises after that.”
“Won’t it be too dark to ride?” asked Anna.
“The main barn has lights,” Maggie said shortly. “You won’t have any trouble seeing.”
They ate in the big dining room because there were too many to fit around the kitchen table. Ernestine had roasted a huge beef brisket and topped the meal off with corn bread and a green salad. She ate with the family, deliberately sitting next to the kids and helping Max and Maggie keep a normal conversation going.
Anna sat next to Charles and watched everyone (except for her husband) try not to stare at Chelsea.
Chelsea, when she was not dying on a bathroom floor, was a strikingly attractive, if not beautiful, woman. She was tall, half a head taller than Kage, and built like an athlete. Her hair was a Nordic blond that complemented her icy-gray eyes and was cut very expensively to frame her expressive and rather bony face.
Max had given Anna a picture of a charming and funny woman. But Chelsea didn’t engage with anyone, not even when someone spoke to her directly. She would eat a few bites quickly, then set her utensils down as if they were puzzle pieces she had to fit into place. Then she would take a gulp of water, stare at the wall or the table or her hands—and then suddenly grab her silverware and eat another two or three mouthfuls with ravenous intensity. Every once in a while she’d try to eat something besides the meat, and Anna could see her fight to get the food down.
It was probably something from the Change, Anna thought. She didn’t like to think about the weeks shortly after she had been Changed. There were large gaps in her memory—
She curled around herself shivering, cold and hot by turns. The bars of the cage burned her skin, but without something against her back she felt vulnerable to attack. She smelled grease from a fast-food box …
Okay, so some things she remembered just fine, but she could choose not to dwell upon them. There was no cage here, no one to throw a cardboard box of fried chicken at Chelsea. To this day, Anna couldn’t
“No,” Charles said, but he said it gently. “Joseph does not want to be a werewolf. He has no need to live forever. And whatever the rest of us feel like we need, that is, it must be,
his
choice.”
She grabbed his arm, swift and sudden. Anna instinctively moved to intercept her but caught herself before Maggie noticed.
“I don’t want him to die, Charles,” Maggie told him intensely.
“Neither do I,” he said in the same gentle tone. “But everyone dies, Maggie. This is not the worst death I have seen. He is not afraid, not of death, anyway.”
She let go of him and took two steps backward. “Joseph has never been afraid of death,” she agreed. “I think it surprises him that he has lived this long.”
The intense intimacy of their conversation faded, caused by some trick of Maggie’s body language: she was once again the gracious hostess.
“Food is ready downstairs,” she said. “Kage said that after dinner, he’d take you to see some horses.” She smiled suddenly, “He is grateful for Chelsea, and my son can see no greater reward than to take you to see his horses.” She started down the hallway. “In that way, he and his father are just alike. Horse-mad idiots.”
“You, too,” Charles said, his hand on the small of Anna’s back as he followed. “Remember that poor skinny pinto you saved from that pair of cowboys, Maggie?” He looked at Anna, his eyes smiling. “One woman against two armed men, and she took after them with a broom for the way they’d half starved a mare. Only it turns out, when the dust settled, that they’d just bought that mare from another guy because they didn’t like the way he wasn’t feeding her.”
“I apologized and fed them my burritos,” Maggie said. “They didn’t care about a few bruises after that.”
“Won’t it be too dark to ride?” asked Anna.
“The main barn has lights,” Maggie said shortly. “You won’t have any trouble seeing.”
They ate in the big dining room because there were too many to fit around the kitchen table. Ernestine had roasted a huge beef brisket and topped the meal off with corn bread and a green salad. She ate with the family, deliberately sitting next to the kids and helping Max and Maggie keep a normal conversation going.
Anna sat next to Charles and watched everyone (except for her husband) try not to stare at Chelsea.
Chelsea, when she was not dying on a bathroom floor, was a strikingly attractive, if not beautiful, woman. She was tall, half a head taller than Kage, and built like an athlete. Her hair was a Nordic blond that complemented her icy-gray eyes and was cut very expensively to frame her expressive and rather bony face.
Max had given Anna a picture of a charming and funny woman. But Chelsea didn’t engage with anyone, not even when someone spoke to her directly. She would eat a few bites quickly, then set her utensils down as if they were puzzle pieces she had to fit into place. Then she would take a gulp of water, stare at the wall or the table or her hands—and then suddenly grab her silverware and eat another two or three mouthfuls with ravenous intensity. Every once in a while she’d try to eat something besides the meat, and Anna could see her fight to get the food down.
It was probably something from the Change, Anna thought. She didn’t like to think about the weeks shortly after she had been Changed. There were large gaps in her memory—
She curled around herself shivering, cold and hot by turns. The bars of the cage burned her skin, but without something against her back she felt vulnerable to attack. She smelled grease from a fast-food box …
Okay, so some things she remembered just fine, but she could choose not to dwell upon them. There was no cage here, no one to throw a cardboard box of fried chicken at Chelsea. To this day, Anna couldn’t
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