Diana Rowland - How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back

I held him, deeply grateful that I had such amazing friends. “Thanks for watching out for my dad,” I murmured.

I felt him nod against my neck. He continued to hold me for another couple of seconds then abruptly released me, all but shoving me away, a strangely stricken look on his face. “Yeah. Sure. Wasn’t any trouble.” He wiped his hands on his pants, and I had the weirdest feeling it was to remove any trace of me. “I . . . need to get some water,” he muttered before hurrying out of the kitchen.

I watched him go, then glanced to my dad with a huh? look.

He shrugged. “Never hugged me,” he replied in a low voice, “so I don’t got nothin’ to compare to.”

I bit back a laugh. “C’mon, get your stuff. I’m taking you home.”

“All right. It’ll just take a minute.” He headed off down the hallway, I assumed to the guest room. I heard a strange strangled sound from the direction of the living room and headed that way, shocked to see Nick leaning over the coffee table, hands clenched to white knuckles on the edge, face pale and breath wheezing.

“Shit! Nick, what’s wrong?”

“Inhaler,” he managed. “Bag . . . by door.”

I ran to the door where his brown leather messenger bag lay slouched against the wall. I quickly dug through it to find the inhaler, then hurried back to Nick and shoved it into his hand. Trembling, he gripped the inhaler tightly and gave himself two quick puffs. A few seconds later he seemed to relax a little, and the wheeze faded.

“You need anything else?” I asked, worried. “Should I call someone?”

He gave his head a quick, sharp shake. “No, I’ll be okay.” He gave himself another puff, then straightened without looking at me. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“It’s no biggie,” I told him. Poor dude was obviously self-conscious and embarrassed, but at least his color was back. My continuing to fuss over him would only embarrass him more. “I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Derrel isn’t back until Monday, so I’ll be in and out,” he said, continuing to recover.

“Cool. Let’s grab coffee if we can squeeze out a few minutes.”

He flicked a quick glance at me, smile twitching. “Sure. That’d be great.”

I hesitated, then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow,” I said as my dad came out with a BigShopMart bag in one hand. Reluctantly turning away, I headed to the door, Dad following.

I was in the foyer when I heard Nick clear his throat. “See you, Angel.”

Glancing back, I gave him a smile. Something was going on with him, and as soon as I settled back into my normal routine, I intended to find out what the hell it was.

I got my dad settled back at home, changed clothes and then headed out to return the car to Randy. My car was still broken down by Top Cow Café, or at least I hoped so. Getting that taken care of had been pretty far down on my list of priorities. Worst case scenario was that the city had towed it off, in which case I intended to get the Tribe to cover the tow costs. Least they could do, right?

Either way, I’d wheedle a ride home from Randy, or if that failed I’d call my dad to come get me. Though I’d then have to explain why the heck I was with Randy in the first place, and ugh, all that crap. Maybe I could walk the hell home.

Randy stepped out of the garage as I pulled into the driveway, the crunch of oyster shells beneath the tires announcing my presence better than any alarm. He wiped grease from his hands then pulled a joint out of his pocket, lit it, and headed my way.

I stepped out of the car, closed the door and gave him a smile. “Not a scratch,” I told him. “I even ran her through a car wash.” The pleasant smell of a wood fire hung in the air, and an owl hooted off in the woods beyond the trailer.

Randy gave me a lazy smile. “Looks good. You got everything done you needed to get done with your people?”

“Sure did,” I said. “Or at least enough for now.” Getting our people back from the Dallas lab was next on the agenda, but I doubted the Tribe would need me for that, especially if Andrew cooperated.

“That’s good,” he said. “Win win.” He held the joint out to me. “It’s good stuff. Just in.”

“Aw, man, I wish I could take a hit,” I said with a grimace. “My medical condition, remember?” Except that, in a way, I kind of wanted to take a hit. Not for the high, but to be able to participate in this little social thing. Well, maybe for the high too.

“Oh, right.” He gave a little chuckle. “Sorry. Want me to light a cigarette for you?”

“Yeah, sure.” I’d settle for a fucking cigarette. “Is there any way you could give me a ride home?” I asked. “My car’s still broke down by Top Cow.”

“I could drive you home.” He set the joint on a fence post, then lit a cigarette and passed it to me. “But it’s probably not a good idea.”

Nodding, I took a drag. “Y’mean ’cause my dad hates you?” I said with a grin.

“There’s that.” He chuckled, not seeming at all put out that he wasn’t universally loved. He picked up the joint, took a hit. “I was more thinking ’cause your car’s right over there under the big oak.” He gestured with the joint.

I looked over in shock and gave a surprised laugh. “Aw, you went and picked it up?”

He smiled, leaned against the fence post. “Didn’t fly over here on its own, now did it?”

“I’m guessing you fixed whatever was wrong with it too, huh?”

He let out a soft snort. “Wasn’t hardly anything wrong with it. Just needed a new alternator.”

“Yeah, well, I’m dumb about cars,” I said. “But thanks. That was really cool of you.”

He shrugged off my gratitude and hooked a thumb toward the back of the trailer. “I got a fire going in the pit. Was gonna grill up some deer sausage. Want some? Fire’ll take the chill off, and you always liked hanging out by the pit.”

I started to make a polite excuse, then realized he was right. I used to enjoy kicking back by the fire with nowhere to go, no one to answer to, and nothing but socializing on the agenda. But who had time for that these days? Me , I decided, after a quick mental review of what I needed to do, where I needed to go, and who I needed to see turned up nothing more urgent than wash my uniform for work in the morning. Why the hell did that bother me? I’d been busting my ass for the last week, so I should be happy that things were back to normal and my to-do list didn’t include smashing people’s heads or cutting holes in myself. And I was, I told myself. Happy.

“That’d be cool,” I said.

His smile broadened with pleased surprise. “Allrighty. You grab blankets for the chairs, and I’ll go get the sausage.”

And as easy as that, we slipped back into an old and comfortable routine. I knew where the blankets were, and I took care of getting the chairs unfolded by the pit and the blankets spread over them. Randy’s dad had used a fifty-five gallon drum to burn trash in this spot for a couple of decades, but four years back Randy had moved the trash barrel over behind the garage and put in a brick and cement pit, a yard across, in its place. A wood fire crackled under a rebar grate now, sending up sparks with each pop, and citronella torches burned in a perimeter to keep the mosquitoes at bay—not that they bothered me anymore. The whole setup sure as hell wasn’t anything fancy, but it was . . . comfortable. Casual. The pit was for relaxing, kicking back with friends to enjoy a nice evening. And getting high—though of course that couldn’t be part of it anymore now that I was a zombie.

Randy came around the trailer with the sausage, got it on the grill then settled in with me while the sausage hissed and spat. The aroma of cooking meat filled the air, and pleasant nostalgia helped ease the last bits of stress. The owl hooted again, and frogs chorused from the swamp nearby. I drank Diet Coke while Randy drank beer, and we joked and chatted and caught up on stupid shit. No stress to be badass or smart or clever. Only the stars overhead and the fire in front of us.