Uncle Vampire by Cynthia D. Grant Page A

and he’s the handsomest quarterback, and the football team has won every game!
    The crowd applauds and roars its approval. Honey stands in the warmth of the spotlight, smiling and waving, smiling and waving.

8
    I liked Thanksgiving when Maggie was around. When we were little we drew turkeys and pilgrims. She’d let me use her big box of crayons. Their points were always crisp, like her.
    She called to wish us a happy Thanksgiving.
    I took the call on the phone in the kitchen. I could hear people laughing and talking in the background.
    â€œCarrie, how are you?”
    â€œFine. How are you?”
    â€œGreat! Will you get that thing away from me? They’re torturing me with a frozen turkey! You guys know I’m a vegetarian! Now it’s flying around the room.” She was talking to her friends and roommates. When had Maggie become a vegetarian?
    Uncle Toddy took the phone. “How’s it going, kiddo? Had any snow yet?” After him, Mama took the call on the phone in her bedroom.
    We had company coming in the afternoon, Papa’s sister Marion and her family. They live a few hours away. We hardly ever see them. Papa and Aunt Marion don’t like each other, so they get together only on special occasions. Which seems odd, since they wouldn’t take each other out for lunch.
    There was a lot to do before the guests arrived. Papa built a big fire in the living room. Then he started vacuuming. Richie raked leaves in the front yard. It was cold, but he wouldn’t wear a jacket.
    He pushed the leaves into a pile and tried to burn them. Papa rapped on the window and shook his head. “No!” he kept shouting. “They won’t burn! They’re too wet!” Richie pretended not to hear him. He doused the leaves with lighter fluid and got them going, but they smoldered. Thick gray smoke rolled toward the house.
    â€œSee? What did I tell you!” Papa shouted, vindicated.
    Mama was in the kitchen, whipping cream to top the pumpkin pies she’d bought at the supermarket. She’d washed her hair. It was curly and wet. She used to be beautiful. I’ve seen her pictures. She looked a lot like Honey.
    Now there’s a jagged line between her eyebrows that looks like a tiny lightning bolt. Her hair has gone dark and ordinary. But she’s not fat like a lot of parents. She could look really good if she tried.
    â€œYou look nice, Mama. I like that dress.” It was a soft knit, the color of raspberry sherbet.
    â€œThank you, sweetie. Aren’t you going to get dressed?”
    â€œI will.” I was wearing the gray sweats I’d slept in. “I want to get some work done first.”
    I washed celery and stuffed it with cream cheese. I filled crystal bowls with olives and nuts. Honey helped Uncle Toddy get the turkey ready for the oven, plunging handfuls of stuffing into its hollow belly. She loves it when company comes to the house, because we all make a special effort to act normal.
    Mama was in a jolly mood. She hummed while she peeled the squash. Uncle Toddy went upstairs to get dressed. It was a perfect opportunity for me and Mama to talk. We seldom do. Uncle Toddy is always listening. He could be a spy for the FBI. He’s probably outside the kitchen right now, waiting to hear what I’m going to tell her.
    I could say: “Mama, why don’t we ever talk?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” she’d reply.
    â€œWe never talk.”
    â€œTalk about what?” She’d still be smiling, hoping I was being silly.
    â€œStuff that matters,” I’d say.
    â€œStuff like what?” The smile would be fading; she’d get really busy.
    â€œMama, I have good news and bad news.”
    â€œDon’t tell me the bad news,” she’d whisper.
    â€œThe bad news is, Uncle Toddy’s a vampire. The good news is, I may be imagining it. In which case, I’m completely nuts.”
    Mama could feel me getting ready to