All Together Dead

April.”
    I explained about Caroline Bellefleur’s heart attack. “By the time she was getting over that and they were talking wedding dates again, Miss Caroline fell and broke her hip.”
    “Wow.”
    “And the doctors didn’t think she’d get over that , but she survived that, too. So I think Halleigh and Andy and Portia and Glen are actually going to have the most-anticipated wedding of the Bon Temps year sometime next month. And you’re invited.”
    “I am?”
    We were heading inside by this time, since I wanted to take off my shoes and I also wanted to scout out what my housemate was up to. I was trying to think of some long errand I could send her off on, since I so seldom got to see Quinn, who was kind of my boyfriend, if at my age (twenty-seven), I could use that term.
    That is, I thought he would be my boyfriend if he could ever slow down enough to latch on to me.
    But Quinn’s job, working for a subsidiary of Extreme(ly Elegant) Events, covered a lot of territory, literally and figuratively. Since we’d parted in New Orleans after our rescue from Were abductors, I’d seen Quinn three times. He’d been in Shreveport one weekend as he passed through on his way to somewhere else, and we’d gone out to dinner at Ralph and Kacoo’s, a popular restaurant. It had been a good evening, but he’d taken me home at the end of it since he had to start driving at seven the next morning. The second time, he’d dropped into Merlotte’s while I was at work, and since it was a slow night, I’d taken an hour off to sit and talk to him, and we’d held hands a little. The third time, I’d kept him company while he was loading up his trailer at a U-RENT-SPACE storage shed. It had been in the middle of summer, and we’d both been sweating up a storm. Streaming sweat, lots of dust, storage sheds, the occasional vehicle trolling through the lot…not a romantic ambience.
    And even though Amelia was now obligingly coming down the stairs with her purse over her shoulder and clearly planning to head into town to give us some privacy, it hardly seemed promising that we’d have to grab an instant to consummate a relationship that had had so little face time.
    Amelia said, “Good-bye!” She had a big smile all over her face, and since Amelia has the whitest teeth in the world, she looked like the Cheshire cat. Amelia’s short hair was sticking out all over (she says no one in Bon Temps can cut it right) and her tan face was bare of makeup. Amelia looks like a young suburban mom who has an infant seat strapped into the back of her minivan; the kind of mom who takes time off to run and swim and play tennis. In point of fact, Amelia did run three times a week and practiced tai chi out in my backyard, but she hated getting in the water and she thought tennis was for (and I quote) “mouth-breathing idiots.” I’d always admired tennis players myself, but when Amelia had a point of view, she stuck to it.
    “Going to the mall in Monroe,” she said. “Shopping to do!” And with an I’m-being-a-good-roommate kind of wave, she hopped into her Mustang and vanished…
    …leaving Quinn and me to stare at each other.
    “That Amelia!” I said lamely.
    “She’s…one of a kind,” Quinn said, just as uneasy as I was.
    “The thing is—” I began, just as Quinn said, “Listen, I think we ought—” and we both floundered to a halt. He made a gesture that indicated I should go first.
    “How long are you here for?” I asked.
    “I have to leave tomorrow,” he said. “I could stay in Monroe or Shreveport.”
    We did some more staring. I can’t read Were minds, not like regular humans. I can get the intent, though, and the intent was…intent.
    “So,” he said. He went down on one knee. “Please,” he said.
    I had to smile, but then I looked away. “The only thing is,” I began again. This conversation would come much more easily to Amelia, who was frank to a very extreme point. “You know that we have, uh, a lot of…” I gestured back and forth with my hand.
    “Chemistry,” he said.
    “Right,” I said. “But if we never get to see any more of each other than we have the past three months, I’m not really sure I want to make that next step.” I hated to say it, but I had to. I didn’t need to cause myself pain. “I have big lust,” I said. “Big, big lust. But I’m not a one-night-stand kind of woman.”
    “When the summit is over, I’m taking a long time off,” Quinn said, and I could