Dead in the Family

town where Remy and Hunter lived. It was about an hour and a quarter’s drive southeast from Bon Temps.
    “No, in Homer. So this is kind of on the way. If you run into any problems, just call my cell and I can come pick him up on the way home. Otherwise, I’ll stay the night in Homer, go to the funeral at ten tomorrow, stay for the lunch at my cousin’s home afterward, and pick Hunter up later in the afternoon, if that suits you.”
    “We’ll be fine,” I said, which was sheer bravado on my part. I hadn’t taken care of kids since I’d sat with my friend Arlene’s young ’uns, way back when. I didn’t want to think about that; friendships that end bitterly are always sad. Those kids probably hated me now. “I’ve got videos we can watch, and a puzzle or two, and even some coloring books.”
    “Where?” Hunter asked, looking around like he expected to see a Toys “R” Us.
    “You say good-bye to your daddy, and we’ll go looking for them,” I told him.
    “Bye, Dad,” Hunter said, waving a casual hand at Remy.
    Remy looked nonplussed. “Want to give me a hug, champ?”
    Hunter held up his arms, and Remy picked him up and swung him around.
    Hunter giggled. Remy smiled over the child’s shoulder. “That’s my boy,” he said. “Be good for your aunt Sookie. Don’t forget your manners. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He put Hunter down.
    “Okay,” Hunter said, quite matter-of-factly.
    Remy had been expecting a big fuss, since he’d never been away from the boy for so long. He glanced at me, then shook his head with a smile. He was laughing at himself, which I thought was a good reaction.
    I wondered how long Hunter’s calm acceptance would last. Hunter looked up at me. “I’ll be okay,” he said, and I realized he was reading my mind and interpreting my thought in his own way. Though I’d had this experience before, it had been filtered through an adult’s sensibility, and we’d had the fun of experimenting with combining our telepathy to see what happened. Hunter wasn’t filtering and rearranging my thoughts as someone older would.
    After hugging his son again, Remy left reluctantly. Hunter and I found the coloring books. It turned out that Hunter liked to color more than anything else in the world. I settled him at the table in the kitchen and turned my attention to supper preparation. I could have cooked a meal from scratch, but I figured something that required little attention would be best the first time he stayed with me. You like Hamburger Helper? I asked silently. He looked up, and I showed him the box.
    I like that, Hunter said, recognizing the picture. He seemed to turn all his attention back to the turtle and butterfly scene he was coloring. The turtle was green and brown, approved turtle colors, but Hunter had gone to town on the butterfly. It was magenta, yellow, blue, and emerald green . . . and he hadn’t finished it yet. I noted that staying in the lines was not Hunter’s main goal. Which was okay.
    Kristen used to make Hamburger Helper, he told me. Kristen had been Remy’s girlfriend. Remy had told me he and Kristen had broken up over her inability to accept Hunter’s special gift. Not so surprisingly, Kristen had come to believe Hunter was creepy. Adults had thought I was a weird kid, too. Though I understood that now, at the time it had been painful. She was scared of me, Hunter said, and he looked up for a second. I could understand that look.
    She just didn’t understand, I said. There aren’t many people like us.
    Am I the only other one?
    No. I know one other, a guy. He’s a grown-up. He lives in Texas.
    Is he okay?
    I wasn’t sure what Hunter meant by “okay” until I looked at his thoughts a little longer. The little boy was thinking of his dad and some other men he admired—men who had jobs and wives or girl-friends, men who worked. Regular men.
    Yes, I answered. He found a way to make a living with it. He works for vampires. You can’t hear vampires.
    I never met one. Really?
    The doorbell rang. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I told Hunter, and I walked swiftly to the front door. I used the peephole. My caller was a young vampire female—presumably Heidi, the tracker. My cell phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket.
    “Heidi should be there,” Pam said. “Has she come to the door?”
    “Brown ponytail, blue eyes, tall?”
    “Yes. You can let her in.”
    This was all very timely.
    I had the door open in a second. “Hi. Come in,” I said.