Undead and Unpopular

Chapter 9

“Aw,” Laura the Devil's Daughter was saying, chucking BabyJon under the chin. “Ooo's a wittle it-​tie cutie-​pie? Is it ooo? Is it?”

“Stop that,” Sinclair ordered from his breakfast nook bar stool, “or I will kill you right now.”

Laura ignored him. “It is ooo! So key-​yute!” She shifted him to her left hip and looked at me. “I ran into Mrs. Taylor on the way in. She invited me to a fund-​raiser she's chairing.”

“She did?” She didn't inviteme . Not that I would have gone. But still. She wasn't dumping BabyJon on Laura every two days, but who got the invite? Hmmm? That's right, the devil's daughter. “I don't know why she even bothered to stop by. I mean, she had him at her house for, what? Six hours?”

“And now,” Tina said, “he's baaaaaack.” She snickered at Sinclair, who ignored her.

“Laura, it is quite remarkable.” It was the next evening, and he was paging through theWall Street Journal . “You appear to have the capacity to melt the iciest, most unfeeling exteriors.”

“You shouldn't be so hard on yourself,” I teased.

“I was referring to Mrs. Taylor.”

“Did you work things out with Sophie?” Laura hastily interjected. She slung BabyJon over a shoulder and patted him. The smell of burped-​up baby formula mingled with the aroma of fresh-​squeezed orange juice—Laura's favorite drink.

“Uh, no. No word from Sophie.”

“I'm sure it's just a matter of time,” she said unhelpfully.

“Right. Actually, it's super tricky because the guy she's so pissed at, he's a big European mucky-​muck and super-​charming, too. I mean, he's sorry. He says he'll apologize. What am I supposed to be, be alloff with his head !”

“Technically, you're allowed,” Tina pointed out.

“Well, the new boss isnot the same as the old boss. Which is my whole new, you know. What's the word?”

“Platform,” Sinclair said.

“Right. Sympathetic understanding, in. Beheadings, out.”

“I'm glad it's your problem and not mine,” my sister said cheerfully, because she'd taken Unhelpful Pills this week.

“Actually, Laura, I am glad you stopped by,” Sinclair said, glancing at his watch. “We need to have an important, private meeting among the household. I was hoping you could take the infant for an hour or so.”

“His name's BabyJon,” I said, “not 'the infant.' And what are you talking about? What meeting?”

I heard a car door slam outside and, annoyingly, Tina and Sinclair looked completely unsurprised.

“Of course,” Laura was saying. Anybody else so unceremoniously getting the boot would be a little offended, but you had to do a lot worse than that to Laura to irk her. “Glad to help out.” She scooped up the diaper bag and left with BabyJon, just as Jessica walked into the kitchen, still in her coat and rubber boots.

“Good evening,” Sinclair said.

“Hey,” I said, as Jessica dropped her purse on the table and went immediately to the teakettle on the stove.

“Hey,” she replied.

“Jessica, we're glad you're here.” Tina glanced at me, then continued. “We've been wanting to talk to you. For some time.”

We had? Right. We had . I'd been meaning to get her alone and ask why she'd been so bitchy lately. Looked like Tina and Sinclair had noticed, too.

“Super,” she replied with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.

“Dear, is there anything you want to tell us?” Sinclair asked, folding his paper and then folding his hands in front of him.

“Your rent's due?” she suggested, adding a hefty dollop of cream to her tea.

“The check is on your desk. Something else.”

“What is this,” she joked, “an intervention?”

I didn't knowwhat it was. But I could see the white Walgreens prescription bag peeking out of her purse. All of a sudden, I didn't want to be in this meeting.

“In a manner of speaking,” Sinclair replied, “yes.”

“Jess, you've been a little, uh, touchy lately.” I coughed. “Is anything up?”

“No.”

“Perhaps,” Sinclair said gently, “we can tell you.”

She sat. Shrugged out of her coat. Looked at him. For the first time, I noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well.

What else hadn't I noticed?

“Why don't you?” she replied. “Tell me, I mean.”

“As you wish. At first, the change in your scent appeared to be the product of stress. But after consulting with each other, Tina and I quickly recalled the last time we sensed this—condition—in a living human.”

“You quickly recalled?” Jessica teased, except she didn't sound much like she was teasing. “Or did you slowly recall?”

He ignored her and continued. “It was shortly after we arrived upon the West Coast, and found temporary shelter in the basement of a nursing home. There was a woman there who suffered for a long time—”

“Can we get to the point?” I hissed, squashing the urge to pull all the hair out of my head. There was no way this story was going to end well.

Jessica shifted on her bar stool and looked at me. I could tell she really, really wanted to say it. But she couldn't.

Sinclair let his hand slide across the marble counter and rest on top of hers. “You have myeloma.”

“What?” I said.

Jessica didn't take her eyes off me. “Blood cancer.”

“What?” I screamed.