managed to get one decent picture of him with her NetMini before he started making silly faces. When their laugher died down and they remembered the food, Kirsten reached out and put a hand on his arm.
“Ev, if you don’t want me seeing Konstantin… If you feel like I’m not giving you enough attention…”
He stared at the mixed vegetables. “I guess it would be cool having a dad, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He looked at me mean. He’s probably a rich weenie that hates little kids.” Evan frowned. “And he’s old.”
Kirsten stared into space for a moment. “He’s a sweet man, Evan. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Konstantin is…”
“Mom?”
She blinked. Her arm lowered to the table, drawing her gaze to the gold serpent bracelet, Konstantin’s gift. The sight reminded her of how much money he had already spent on her, and brought a twinge of embarrassment at the thought. The amount was trivial to him, but felt on the verge of crazy to her. She saw his face in her mind again, that roguish smile, that well-weathered skin, that Turkish coffee.
“You okay? You look strange.”
She fanned herself. “I’m fine, hon. I think I just put too much pepper on this chicken.”
Evan shook his head. “No such thing as too much black pepper.”
“I agree,” said Theodore, as he phased through the wall. “The boy’s got good taste.”
Kirsten sat upright. “Hi, Theo.”
The ghost circled the table, long olive-drab coat open and drenched. Scraggly black hair framed a pallid face, still wearing the same wry grin he usually sported when sneaking up on her in the shower. For once, his pants were not blood-soaked and his fatal bullet wounds not apparent. The puddled boot prints he left on the kitchen floor faded away in seconds; however, he did bring the scent of wet dog with him. Evan shifted in his seat, making a face as if he were in deep thought. His eyes lit up with a faint light as he turned on his ability to see ghosts. The gesture was casual, taking him only a second or two. He spotted Theodore and paused chewing long enough to attempt to mumble a greeting through a closed, full mouth.
“It won’t be too long before you can see them all the time,” said Kirsten. “It took me till twelve to get there…”
Of course, I spent a few years trying to ignore them.
He grinned.
“Sorry to barge in on ya while you’re eatin’.” Theodore wandered around to the empty side of the table, acting the part of leaning on the back of an unused chair. “We may need your hel―what happened to that pork?”
“It’s chicken.” Kirsten frowned.
Theodore looked at the array of cooking materials around the stove area and cracked up. “Oh, damn.” He cringed.
Kirsten’s gaze darkened, attempting to bore through the table. She pouted at the plate while the sense of failure crawled up her spine in search of tear ducts from which to escape.
When, exactly, was I supposed to learn how to cook, Theodore? When I was locked in a closet or living on the street?
“He forgot what it’s supposed to look like. Theo hasn’t touched food in, like, forever.” Evan showed no sign of slowing down, shoveling another large hunk in his mouth. “Ifm goomf.” He rushed to swallow. “It’s good!”
She could have pulled him over the table to hug him.
“Yeah, well, I guess you gotta start somewhere. Maybe I can ask around The Kind. I think there’s a chef or two in there somewhere. Might be able to talk them into giving you some lessons.”
Kirsten leaned back in the chair, smirking at Theodore. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Evan adding more black pepper. She shook with muted laughter. “I guess. Now I know why everyone just uses reassemblers. Why go to all that trouble when you can just hit a button.”
“Better to have options,” muttered Evan with a sly wink.
She laughed. “What did you need help with?”
“There’s this guy, Hank.
“Ev, if you don’t want me seeing Konstantin… If you feel like I’m not giving you enough attention…”
He stared at the mixed vegetables. “I guess it would be cool having a dad, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“Why do you think that?”
“He looked at me mean. He’s probably a rich weenie that hates little kids.” Evan frowned. “And he’s old.”
Kirsten stared into space for a moment. “He’s a sweet man, Evan. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. Konstantin is…”
“Mom?”
She blinked. Her arm lowered to the table, drawing her gaze to the gold serpent bracelet, Konstantin’s gift. The sight reminded her of how much money he had already spent on her, and brought a twinge of embarrassment at the thought. The amount was trivial to him, but felt on the verge of crazy to her. She saw his face in her mind again, that roguish smile, that well-weathered skin, that Turkish coffee.
“You okay? You look strange.”
She fanned herself. “I’m fine, hon. I think I just put too much pepper on this chicken.”
Evan shook his head. “No such thing as too much black pepper.”
“I agree,” said Theodore, as he phased through the wall. “The boy’s got good taste.”
Kirsten sat upright. “Hi, Theo.”
The ghost circled the table, long olive-drab coat open and drenched. Scraggly black hair framed a pallid face, still wearing the same wry grin he usually sported when sneaking up on her in the shower. For once, his pants were not blood-soaked and his fatal bullet wounds not apparent. The puddled boot prints he left on the kitchen floor faded away in seconds; however, he did bring the scent of wet dog with him. Evan shifted in his seat, making a face as if he were in deep thought. His eyes lit up with a faint light as he turned on his ability to see ghosts. The gesture was casual, taking him only a second or two. He spotted Theodore and paused chewing long enough to attempt to mumble a greeting through a closed, full mouth.
“It won’t be too long before you can see them all the time,” said Kirsten. “It took me till twelve to get there…”
Of course, I spent a few years trying to ignore them.
He grinned.
“Sorry to barge in on ya while you’re eatin’.” Theodore wandered around to the empty side of the table, acting the part of leaning on the back of an unused chair. “We may need your hel―what happened to that pork?”
“It’s chicken.” Kirsten frowned.
Theodore looked at the array of cooking materials around the stove area and cracked up. “Oh, damn.” He cringed.
Kirsten’s gaze darkened, attempting to bore through the table. She pouted at the plate while the sense of failure crawled up her spine in search of tear ducts from which to escape.
When, exactly, was I supposed to learn how to cook, Theodore? When I was locked in a closet or living on the street?
“He forgot what it’s supposed to look like. Theo hasn’t touched food in, like, forever.” Evan showed no sign of slowing down, shoveling another large hunk in his mouth. “Ifm goomf.” He rushed to swallow. “It’s good!”
She could have pulled him over the table to hug him.
“Yeah, well, I guess you gotta start somewhere. Maybe I can ask around The Kind. I think there’s a chef or two in there somewhere. Might be able to talk them into giving you some lessons.”
Kirsten leaned back in the chair, smirking at Theodore. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Evan adding more black pepper. She shook with muted laughter. “I guess. Now I know why everyone just uses reassemblers. Why go to all that trouble when you can just hit a button.”
“Better to have options,” muttered Evan with a sly wink.
She laughed. “What did you need help with?”
“There’s this guy, Hank.
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