Broken Heart 03 Because Your Vampire Said So by Michele Bardsley Page A

back, your wife back, your beer back… .”
    I laughed at the memory. It had been a long time since we’d been that easy with each other. My gaze returned to the posters.
    I supposed that pretty much summed up our relationship. He was rock’n’roll and I was country.
    Restless and worried, I wandered into the living room and plopped onto the couch. I remembered how many times Sean sat on this very sofa, weeping like a man wanting to repent. Yeah, he wept like a baby and my heart broke for him. For us. For Wilson.
    I won’t do it anymore. I’ll go to the meetings, Patsy. I love you. You and Willie are my family. I can’t do this alone. I need you, honey. I need your support. Please.
    Tears. Promises. Lies.
    Alcoholics were penitent. They meant what they said; at least they did when they said it. They just didn’t have the follow-through. The alcohol was stronger than their willpower, their ability to love themselves or their families, their need to be decent human beings. They forgot important family events, they spent money meant for bills, and they drove cars while intoxicated. They passed out in ditches, in lawn chairs, in recliners. They got put in jail. In out-reach programs. In facilities with doctors and psychiatrists.
    I went to meetings, too. I learned that alcoholism was a disease and that Sean didn’t choose to be an alcoholic.
    But Sean sure as hell didn’t choose to be sober, either. I learned to focus on myself and my kid. To stop worrying about Sean, to stop pouring alcohol down the sink, to stop putting a pillow under his head when he passed out on the floor.
    Sean was always in pain. He always felt sad and guilty and needy. I love you. Give me another chance.
    Then the day came when I was all out of second chances. I hoped to God I wouldn’t have to make the same decision with my son. Wilson had already started on the same path as his daddy.
    I picked up the remote and turned on the television. Nothing on the TV interested me, but I kept flipping through the channels.
    “Hey, I like that Alton Brown,” said Nonna.
    I screamed and dropped the remote. My grandmother was sitting right next to me, staring at the Food Network. I wanted to throttle her.
    “People are constantly sneaking up on you,” said Dottie, who sat in the chair to the right. “You kinda suck as a vampire.” She cackled at her own joke.
    “Wilson’s missing,” I announced.
    This news didn’t much ping on their radars. Nonna was mesmerized by Mr. Brown’s take on making homemade ice cream. “Just where the hell have you two been?”
    “Around,” said Nonna. “Don’t worry about your boy, Patsy. He’s all right.”
    I wanted to believe her, but why should I? Ghosts didn’t necessarily mark the difference between alive and dead. “You two could be more useful. You’re ghosts. You can go anywhere. It’d be easy for you to track him down.”
    “Leave it be, child,” chided my grandmother. Her eyes never left the TV. “Now, ssshhh!”
    “I can’t stand this,” I said. “I’m going to open up the shop and … and … clean it.”
    “There’s no point to doing that,” said Nonna.
    Oh, here we go. Nonna had let it be known even before she died that she didn’t appreciate my hairstyling techniques or my business sense.
    “Why not?” I scooped up the TV remote, but stopped just short of whapping her ghostly skull. “Because I don’t have many clients? Because I’m not good at my job? Because I shouldn’t touch people’s scalps now that I’m undead?”
    “Nope,” said my grandmother, unperturbed by my sarcasm. “You can’t go to the shop because it’s on fire.”
    Hua Mu Lan
    Translated from the Memoirs of Ruadan
    Hua Mu Lan translates loosely to “Magnolia Blossom.”
    But Lia was no delicate flower. A skilled warrior with the supernatural ability to wield fire, she was always ready for a fight. In the early days, I found her temperament sexy enough to do a hundred-year binding with her—twice. Over