Teeth_ Vampire Tales - Ellen Datlow [68]
The old man squinted and shook his head to each.
“Are you Gypsies?” asked Luke.
“I wish,” said Sfortunado.
“I give up. Where then?”
“Another country.”
“Which one?”
“The old country, up in the hills,” he yelled, and shook his head in annoyance.
As the shower water fell and the steam rose, Luke closed his eyes. I’m gonna have to get blazed for this, he thought.
Darene pulled up in her old Jeep Cherokee at exactly eleven thirty. Luke had never known her to be on time. He got in. She was dressed all in black—T-shirt, jacket, jeans; and he knew, even though he couldn’t see her feet, that she’d be wearing black socks and sneakers. She gave him a quick kiss before he could slide across the seat and put his arms around her. Just as he reached, she turned, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.
“Put your seatbelt on,” she said.
“Where are we going?” he asked, and lightly touched a ringlet of her hair.
“The church over on Gebble Street.”
“That’s a crappy area.”
“That’s our church,” she said, and made a stern face.
“How about we make a detour to the lake and you can test my manhood?” he said, and laughed.
“Are you high?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m tired. I was asleep when you called.”
She sighed, and from that point on it was silence until they pulled into the church parking lot.
“I can’t go in with you,” she said. She opened her door. He also got out and met her at the front of the car. She put her arms around his waist, and he leaned back against the hood.
“I know this is beat,” she said, “but it means a lot to me.” She looked up and he smiled. She put the side of her face against his chest.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said. “I’ll sit the dead like my father sits the bowl.”
“Seriously,” she said.
“I’m all about it.”
The next thing he knew, she was closing the front door of the church behind him. He stepped into a dark alcove, and a sudden smell of incense and old wood made his spine twitch. Luke looked through the open doors and down the aisle before him, past the rows of darkened pews, to the altar—white marble, crowded with statues, and holding the candlelit coffin of Gracie. He took a deep breath and moved toward the light.
Between the first pew and the altar, there was an empty folding chair set up next to Uncle Sfortunado’s.
“Hello,” Luke said too loud, sending echoes everywhere.
The old man turned and stared through thick glasses. He wore a gray cardigan dotted with cigarette burns. His beard was a week old and white as snow; his hair, crazy. “Gaduche,” he said, raised a trembling hand, and farted.
“Good to see you again,” said Luke.
“This is who I get to sit the dead?” said Sfortunado, shouting into the dark. He grimaced. “The cat makes the owl bleed. . . .”
“Darene’s father told me to come.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The old man waved a trembling hand in front of his face.
“My condolences about Gracie,” said Luke.
Sfortunado laughed and pointed at the altar. “Go tell her you’re sorry,” he said.
Luke got up and slowly ascended the three steps to the coffin. Gracie came into view, a deflated balloon made of dough. She wore a white dress, a giant version of a little girl’s party rig, pale green lipstick, and her blond hair helmet was slightly askew. A hand grabbed the side of the coffin. Luke started and then saw it belonged to Uncle Sfortunado, who stood beside him.
“Looks like shit,” said the old man. “What do you think?”
Luke stalled by rubbing the back of his neck. Finally he said, “Well . . . she’s dead.”
Sfortunado shrugged and nodded. “This is true.”
“What happened to her?”
“Something bad.”
Luke went back to his chair. Sfortunado