Page 220 of American Hellhound
Michael, though…
“He’s weird,” Ghost said, after, when they were standing at the kitchen sink. She washed and he dried. “I mean –weird. Possibly Hannibal Lector weird.”
“He can’t be any weirder than the rest of you,” she said briskly, though he saw the corner of her mouth quirk down as she scrubbed at the roasting pan.
Ghost sighed. “So long as he doesn’t kill us all in our sleep one night.”
~*~
Now
April. One of those half-clear days with tumbling gray clouds along the horizon, a distant promise of thunder that wouldn’t come any closer. Wind raced through the parking lot, tumbling errant bits of paper, tugging at the clothes of patients and staff alike.
Ghost paused at the window, his ghostly reflection staring back at him, to glance across the greening treetops, toward the shadow of the mountains, cradling the small warm bundle in his arms. Just a moment to gather himself before he introduced the next Lean Dog to the rest of his huge, insane family.
Maggie had been asleep when he slipped out of the room, snoring softly, beautiful. She’d worked so hard, gritting her teeth instead of screaming, squeezing his hand until he’d thought she would break it. She was perfect, and she deserved her nap.
“Alright,” he said, only partly to himself, and continued on down the hall, through the swinging door into the waiting room.
It was a sea of black and white out there, cuts and jeans, the glint of silver rings and wallet chains. Ava spotted him first, popping up out of her chair, eyes going straight to the baby. Then the rest of them, murmuring excitedly.
“Guys.” Ghost was surprised by the rusty croak of his voice, wrung-out and tired. Brothers and sisters crowded in close, but slowly, carefully, all peering down at the tiny pink face inside the white blanket. “This is Asher. We’re gonna call him Ash.”
And the club kept growing.
Thirty-Four
“I feel like we’re turning into the kind of family they write about in sitcoms,” Maggie said as they ambled down the sidewalk, Ava steering the stroller. “Us with our three generations.”
“Baby, hold onto the side,” Ava said to Cal, reaching to guide his hand back to the stroller. To Maggie, she said, “Forget sitcom. This is Pulitzer-winning novel territory we’re getting into.”
Maggie snorted and glanced at their reflections in the shop window as they passed. Millie was in the front seat of the double stroller, smiling and waving at strangers who seemed delighted to wave back, charmed by her sweet grin. Ash was in the back, in the shade, and when Maggie peeked in on him, he stared up with wide, grave dark eyes.
He was going to be another Teague: black curly hair, brown eyes, the propensity for frowning. Her man had some dominant DNA.
There were three generations of them out together. Millie was delighted by Ash, always calling him “my baby.” She had no concept that he was her uncle.
It was a strange déjà vu having a baby in the house again – one that was hers. Mercy and Ava stayed over plenty, and vice versa, but the hungry, wet-diaper cries that echoed through the house in the wee hours were always followed by the soft thump of feet as Ava or Mercy went to answer the call. Now, Maggie and Ghost rolled toward one another in bed, groggy and grumbling, and then jerked at the same time.
“Shit, that’s ours,” Ghost said that first night home from the hospital. The stricken look on his face in the dark – Maggie had laughed so hard it had distressed Ash further, and it had taken twice as long to shush him back to sleep.
Maggie felt so much older than she had the last time she’d done all this. Looked in the mirror these days and saw a grandmother, rather than a new mother. Cupped Ash’s fragile, smooth head in her hand and saw the sun freckles on her knuckles. Imagined she felt the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. She wasn’t old, she knew that, but she felt a little stretched and tired.
Cal, little chatterbox, kept up a steady stream of observations as they walked down the storefronts and turned the corner to head toward Stella’s. He was currently obsessed with comic books, and Maggie didn’t pretend to take note of any of the names, just nodded and said “uh-huh” where applicable.
Stella’s was full of its usual bustling lunch crowd, and they had to wait until a table opened up that would accommodate a high chair for Millie. When they were settled, Julian came hurrying over, all smiles to take their drink order, and to coo over Ash.
“He’s beautiful,” he told Maggie, smile absorbed as he stared down at him.
“Especially when he’s sleeping,” Maggie joked.
“Looks just like his papa.”
“None of his apples fell far from the tree, did they?”
Ava made a face across the table that Cal then mimicked.
“Oh,” Julian said, as if he’d just remembered something, looking up at her face, growing concerned. “I saw the prison break on the news in back. What does Ghost say?”
