Morelli grinned. “You were different.”
“We were lucky I didn't get pregnant.”
“Maybe,” Morelli said. “Maybe not. If you'd gotten pregnant, we'd be married now. It would all have been much more simple.”
Morelli was gone when I woke up. Bob was in bed with me, and a note was attached to his collar.
Feed Bob and walk him and remember to take a BLUE PLASTIC BAG. Mr. GORVICH (THE GROUCH NEXT DOOR) IS COMPLAINING. LOVE YOU, JOE.
PS -MAKE SURE ZOOK GETS TO SCHOOL.
PPS-THERE'S A NEW HOUSE KEY FOR YOU ON THE KITCHEN TABLE.
I stumbled into the bathroom, took a shower, and dressed for the day as a Rangeman employee. I dragged Bob out of bed, down to the kitchen, and fed him.
Then I dragged him outside to go for a walk. I ignored Morelli's instructions and let Bob poop to his heart's content on everyone's lawns. I know it was irresponsible of me, but I wasn't up to bagging poop first thing in the morning.
I dropped my new house key into my purse and drove the short distance to my parents' house.
My mother's house always smells wonderful. Apple pie, roast turkey with stuffing, chocolate chip cookies, mari-nara sauce. Never air freshener. Air freshener was for sissies and slackards. My mother's house announced the day's menu. This morning, it was bacon and coffee and home fries with onion and green pepper.
Everyone was at the kitchen table when I walked in. My mother was manning the stove, frying the potatoes. My grandmother was at the table with Zook. Zook was dressed for school in his usual Gothic black getup. Grandma was a carbon copy, except for the piercings. Black jeans, black boots, black T-shirt with warrior written in gold-and-red flames across her chest. Big chunky chain belt and a wooden cross on a chain around her neck. She looked like the Grandma from Hell.
“Nice outfit,” I said to her. “What's the occasion?”
“I'm going online as soon as I'm done with breakfast,” she said. “I'm gonna lay waste to the griefer.”
I looked over at my mother and she made a gesture like she was going to hang herself.
“What's a griefer?” I asked. I'd heard Zook use the term, but I didn't actually know what it meant. I als
o knew Moondog was a griefer, but I didn't know what a Moondog was, either.
“A griefer's a snert,” Grandma said. “A cheese player. A twink.”
I nodded. “That makes it all clear.”
“A cyberbully,” Zook said. “I got your grandmother playing Minionjire last night, and Moondog terminated your grandma's PC. That's a player character. Had him take a dirt nap. Man, your grandma was really pissed.”
My mother clanked the fry pan against the burner, and we all jumped.
“Excuse me,” Zook said. “I meant she was... angry. Anyway, she was able to regen, and now she's rolling.”
“Yeah,” Grandma said. “I'm a newbie, so my PC runs at a pretty low level, but I've got some iiberelves camping for me. They're evil, but they're bitchin'.”
“Where'd you get the clothes?” I asked her.
“Harriet Gotler took me shopping after we paid our respects to Warren Kruzi. He had an early viewing. And I'm not Grandma no more,” she said. “I'm Scorch.”
“Scorch?”
“Yep, 'cause I'm hot. Get it? Scorch.”
My mother was eyeing the cabinet alongside the stove where she kept the liquor.
“It's sort of early in the day,” I told her.
She blew out a sigh and shook the potato pan. She brought it to the table and dumped the home fries into a bowl. She had eggs going in another fry pan, and she divided them up on everyone's plates.