The Thirst Within (19 page)

“You’re putting me on.”

“No, it’s the Harrises,” I insist. “Well, according
to Fiona.”

She smiles. “Well! I guess you learn something
new every day. So Fiona…. Is that your uncle’s wife’s daughter?”

“Yeah. June’s daughter.”

“How are you two getting along?” There is a
little concern in her voice. I can’t tell if it’s concern for Fiona hating me
or for Fiona and me getting along.

“We’re okay. We’re not best friends, but she
already had two best friends, so I couldn’t really fit in there.”

“That’s a pity. But at least you get along. And
the rest of them? The Harrises,” she says, and gives me a loving smile.

“They’re okay,” I say. Two months ago I
would’ve said I hated them, and explained every single nuance that they’ve done
to me to make me feel unwelcome ever since I moved in with them. But after
Thierry’s insight into their feelings, I have begun to grow a little warmer
towards them. Call it reciprocating; love reflecting love. It’s not that I
love
them, and they possibly don’t love
me
, but I don’t hate them, either. They’re
starting to grow on me, even if they don’t know it.

“It must be hard, though, since you didn’t grow
up with them,” Aunt Marie says. “I mean, Lisa’s brother never even laid eyes on
you. Never cared to visit you.”

I don’t see where she’s going with this. It’s
all true; but what does it matter now? It’s not like I had a choice.

“I guess,” I say. “But at least he took me in.
Uncle Roland was the only one I had left. He could’ve said no, I suppose, but
he agreed. That’s gotta count for something.”

She frowns and looks down. A little sob escapes
her. When she looks up again her eyes are wet with tears.

“Aunt Marie! What’s wrong?” I jump to her.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” she dabs tears from her
eyes. “I should’ve kept you. But I was so shocked. I was aggrieved; you don’t
know how… hopeless… I felt.”

Oh. It didn’t even occur to me that she felt repentant
for sending me off to Uncle Roland. Here I thought that by defending Uncle
Roland I’d be doing her a favor; making her think that it was the right
decision to send me away; or at least, not a
cruel
decision like I once
thought it was. But I guess her own conscience yelled at her when I said Uncle
Roland was the only one I had left. Truthfully, I have Uncle Roland and Aunt
Marie. My mom and dad’s siblings. Relatives.

“Aw, Aunt Marie, don’t feel bad. Of course it
was the hardest time for you. You
had
to let me go then; I would’ve only
been a hindrance to you if I stayed,” I try to console her.

“A hindrance! No, you would’ve been just what I
needed. I’ve been so alone, Tori. More so than I can bear…. Losing Mom and then
Tony, and then you. Or rather, knowing that I could have had you, but I sent
you away. It’s killing me,” she says, a little dramatically.

Or is she serious? Oh dear God. I hope she’s
not really dying. And not because she’d be dying, but because I’d have to move
back
here
to take care of her.

“I’ll call you more frequently,” I promise her.
Honestly, it’s an easy promise to keep; I only have to call her
once
,
since I’ve never called her in my life.

She doesn’t answer and is now dabbing at her
eyes frantically.

“… and I’ll visit you more often too,” I add. “Maybe
I’ll spend another week here during the summer.” I hate the promise because I
don’t really have deep-rooted, tender feelings towards my aunt in BFE, Ill. I
have felt some feelings in the last hour, but not enough to overcome the very tender
feelings I do already have for a certain vampire in New Orleans. It’s easy to
see a problem here.

Her eyes light up a little bit. “A week? You
can stay the whole summer!”

My smile freezes in my face as I feel like I’ve
been slapped by gooey aunt love. I’m horrified, but I don’t want to hurt her
feelings. I rack my brain for excuses while she goes on and on about family and
missing me terribly and how Uncle Roland got such a sweet end of the deal.

The only excuse I come up with is a bitter
but
you kicked me out
!

“I’ll see what I can do, Aunt Marie,” I say
vaguely. “I mean, I do want to get a full-time job during the summer so that I
can start saving money for college.”

Responsibility and education; no one can argue
that.

Or so I thought.

“Oh, you’ll have Matt’s share of Mom and Dad’s
estate this year when you turn eighteen.” Matt is my dead father, Matthew
Green. “The house was sold for a good price; they didn’t even have a mortgage
anymore.”

“Nana’s house was sold?” This piece of news
takes me by surprise. The house I grew up in, sold. Nobody told me. I don’t
know why this bothers me. I should’ve seen it coming.

“Well, it’s going to. We have an accepted
offer. The closing is at the end of April.”

“And why am I getting part of the inheritance?”
I know the answer. Duh, I’m officially my father’s successor. But I want her to
admit it. I’m annoyed that if I’m really to inherit, I wasn’t consulted in this
sale.

“Why, you’re getting your father’s share,” she
says, just like I wanted her to, but it doesn’t make me feel any better like I
thought it would. “While you’re underage and I have that power of attorney, you
know, the one that Mom granted me while she was alive, I’ve been making the
decisions for Matt—for you—and me. But you’re as equal as I am in the split.
So, you can use that money to pay for school.”

Money. Wow.

I think of all the times I’ve wanted to buy new
clothes and I haven’t, because I have so little money. I wanted a new lip
gloss, and I didn’t get it, because I convinced myself I didn’t really need it.
An art pen kit, and I didn’t, because it was too expensive. I’m going to
receive half the price of an old house in Iowa…. Whatever that is. Maybe around
fifty Ks. That’s a lot.

Or is it?

My thoughts fall. That’s not a whole lot.
That’ll barely cover my college tuition and other college expenses for little
over a year, if I’m lucky. Great. I’ll still have to take student loans.

But that’s okay
, I tell myself. I guess.
So I have to pay a little bit. Whatever. At least I have
something
. A
lot of students have nothing.

I don’t want to ask my aunt how much the house
sold for. I feel greedy.

She probably can guess that I’m thinking about
money, though. “What about your mother’s side?” she asks me. “Hmm? Your Harris grandparents
had a lot of money.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say. I know so
little about that set of grandparents, and I don’t ever bother to ask my uncle.

“Did you receive your mother’s share of that inheritance
when Mom was alive?” Aunt Marie asks, curious. “Or are you going to get it when
you turn eighteen?”

“No. I don’t think there was any. I would’ve
received it or heard about it by now. They passed away a long time ago.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sure there was. I remember when
Matt proposed to Lisa he always joked about how the Harris had all that money.
They paid for that fancy wedding! Do you remember their wedding pictures? I
wonder where they are now… probably here in a box somewhere in the basement….”

None of this rings a bell. What is she saying? What
does it matter if my grandparents were rich? They’re dead. My mom’s dead.

Oh—I see.

I should have received my dead mother’s share
of their inheritance, and it should have been a large amount.

Well, this is all news to me. Nana Fran and Grandpa
John were not the biggest fans of old man Harris, like they liked to call my
grandpa Sal. So they never talked about him. And me, I don’t know anything
about him or my grandma Rose. I hardly saw them after my parents died, and
before that, when my mom was alive and might have taken me to see them, I
barely remember. So I can’t say I have any recollection of them, where they
lived, or whether they had money.

“Maybe they spent it all before they both
passed away,” I say, defending the living Harrises.

“Or maybe that uncle of yours took his parents’
money while they still lived, so that there was nothing remaining to split when
they died,” she says, spiteful all of a sudden.

I think about that and it hurts. Not only
because it means that I could have had money now, but more because someone
would do that to me. “That would be awful if he did that. What did my other
grandparents do for a living, do you know?”

“I never really knew. I think your grandfather Harris
was in some sort of insurance business, and your grandmother was a housewife. I
only met them at Matt’s wedding. Your parents’ wedding, I mean. Oh, Tori, it
was so extravagant. That was the first time I’d been to New Orleans, you know.
And that house was just…. Well, amazing. How is it maintained these days?”

“What house?”

“Their house. The house where you live.”

“Oh! Uncle Roland—we—we live in his
parents’
house?”

“Well, yes, that house is probably worth a
lot
of money. Your uncle can’t make
that
much money,” she says,
matter-of-factly.

Holy fucking shit.

If what she says is true, I live in my
own
house. Well, a house that’s
half
mine, and I have the tiniest bedroom
and a hand-me-down bed? What the hell? Is this for real?

I know that my parents owned a house in
Chicago. They had purchased it shortly after they got married, and when they
died the estate went to me; I was four, so my dad’s parents, who became my
legal guardians and property custodians, gave up the house. Whatever small
amount of equity they had was used to pay the mortgage. Then the bank
repossessed it. My grandparents couldn’t afford it, and anyway no one lived in
Chicago at the time. I guess my mom’s parents, who were alive then, didn’t care
for a house in the North…. Especially since they already had the one. That
fancy house where I live.

“Unless Uncle Roland bought the house from my other
grandparents before they died,” I say now, thinking of a new possibility.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t put it past him to do
something like that. But you said you never received a penny from the
inheritance; and they had to have
something
. It’s strange that no one
ever contacted you. At least, none that you or I know. Your uncle probably
covered that up somehow. Say that he took the house and the bank account while his
parents lived. You would’ve still been contacted about it. My guess is he never
did anything, and it’s all half yours, and he’s kept quiet all these years.”

***

Because it’s been a few months since Aunt
Marie’s psycho husband died, she’s moved on. Maybe she finally realized how
much better off she is without him. I wouldn’t know, but the guy was a creep.
Maybe he was a creep with her, too.

But anyway, now she’s lonely and I think she wants
me back. She suddenly loves me so much that it bothers me a little that she’s
so clingy. The day after I arrive we even go to church together. That’s a strange
experience, but I welcome it, because it reminds me of my childhood, even
though this church is obviously not the same one I used to go to. It’s the
going to church part. I haven’t been in a while, since Grandpa John was alive
and well. My grandparents and I used to go together every Sunday.

And it’s also weird in a way because last time
I went, I didn’t date a vampire that kills people. The whole time I’m there,
I’m hoping that the pastor is wrong and God is
not
watching.

After church Aunt Marie insists we go out to a
restaurant for lunch, which turns out to be an all-you-can-eat buffet place,
which I hate, because they’re always full of old, sad, obese people. Nothing
wrong with being old or sad or obese. But when you get all three in one
package, it creeps me out. And this place is full of such people. It depresses
me. And the food isn’t that good anyway.

Aunt Marie loves it here, though, so I can’t
say no. Plus, I saw her cry in church, so I feel guilty about not being able to
genuinely want to stay with her.

It’s not her. I do like her. She’s as close to
a mother as I can get—in fact, she’s the closest motherly figure I’ve had since
Nana Fran passed away. I find myself doing little things to please her.
Agreeing with whatever she wants to do.
Sure, Aunt Marie, we can watch that
movie on Lifetime TV together
. And
No problem, we’ll drive half an hour
to Dubuque, just to eat at the Olive Garden
. I don’t mind. It makes me
oddly happy to see her happy.

But I suspect she wants me to
move
here.
Forever.

It’s too late—I’ve got Thierry embedded in my
skin. I’m not going to move to BFE to be with her. I’ll take June and her evil
step-aunt makeup if it means being close to Thierry.

My week is uneventful and it finally comes to
an end. On Friday morning we leave the house early. Aunt Marie drives me to the
shuttle pick up location. I’m catching the same little van back to the airport;
it leaves at 6:00 AM.

“Thank you for the visit, Tori,” my aunt says
once my bag is inside the van. We stand awkwardly between the van and her car.
Of course I feel I’m pressured to say what I say next.

“No problem, Aunt Marie. We’ll do it again! It
was fun.”

“Please, think about the summer.”

“I will, Aunt Marie,” I say honestly. She just
wouldn’t like my thoughts.

“I love you, Tori,” she says, full of emotion.

“Me too, Aunt Marie,” and I think I mean it.

She kisses me, gives me a bone-crushing hug,
and steps back so that I can climb in the van. I take the very last row of the
shuttle, and as she waves at me I see she’s bawling, tears running down her
cheeks. I smile sadly and blow a kiss at her as we take off.

I sigh. I can’t even enjoy my freedom. I
thought I’d be happy to leave Galena, but my aunt crying is messing with my
bliss thing.