Page 73 of Now or Never

“I could come over and help,” she said. “Your parents are going to a pancake supper at your dad’s lodge. They could drop me off.”

“Yes! That would be amazing.”

Hooray. I had Grandma coming for dinner. I cleared my laptop and notes from the dining room table and set out placemats and place settings. I didn’t have napkins, so I folded some paper towels. I thought it looked pretty good. I used to have candles, but they melted in the fire.

Grandma showed up a half hour later.

“Look at this,” she said. “You’ve got new carpet and new paint and some new furniture. It looks real nice.” She stepped into the kitchen and fixed on the fruit basket. “You got another one of those baskets.”

“It’s from Jug.”

“Other men give out candy to get their way with little girls. Jug gives woven fruit baskets.”

“This is a good one. No pears and it’s got packets of caramel- and chocolate-covered popcorn.”

“Did you bring him in?”

“Almost.”

“That’s better than not nearly,” Grandma said, going to the refrigerator and finding the wine. “This is the most important ingredient when you make meatloaf.”

“You put wine in meatloaf?”

“No, you drink it.”

She poured herself a glass of wine and pulled a bunch of stuff out of the fridge.

“We need a big bowl,” Grandma said. “And a big wooden spoon.”

“I don’t have a big wooden spoon,” I told her. “I only have a big plastic spoon.”

“Not a problem.”

I gave her a bowl and she dumped the meat in it. She added eggs, ketchup, breadcrumbs, a bunch of seasoning, some milk, and some minced onion.

“Do you have parsley?” she asked me.

“No.”

“Not a problem.”

We got the meatloaf mixed and packed into a loaf pan. Grandma slid it into the oven and topped off her wine. I peeled potatoes, cut them into chunks, and dropped them into a pot of water.

“You’ve got a lot of potatoes and broccoli,” Grandma said. “That’s good. You’ll have leftovers for tomorrow.”

There was a knock on the door, and I froze, terrified that it might be the vampire. No, I told myself. That’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t come to my apartment and knock on the door. He would slip out of a shadow and take me by surprise. Still, wouldn’t hurt to be careful.

I went to the door and looked out through the peephole. It was Herbert. This wasn’t as horrible as having a vampire on my doorstep, but it wasn’t wonderful either.

“It’s Herbert,” I said to Grandma.

“Who’s Herbert?”

“Herbert Slovinski. I went to school with him. He’s sort of attached himself to me.”

“I know him,” Grandma said. “Everybody knows Herbert. He’s a regular at Stiva’s. He’s studying to be a funeral director. Everyone likes him. He’s such a polite young man.”

Grandma came to the door, opened it, and looked out at Herbert.

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