Page 209 of Restless
“Ain’t got nothin’ to fuckin’ do with cultural differences,” Christopher said. “Rebel a lot like me when I was her age.”
“Nature versus nurture, Dad?” Ryder said because every time one of the Davises spoke, everyone listened.
“Mom, you tried,” Ransom said woefully. “But it’s in Rebel’s nature to be a scary bitch.”
Meggie scowled. “Do not call—”
“It’s in my nature to beat your fucking ass too,” Rebel interrupted. “You little fucking dickhead.”
“Hey!” Axel cried. “Don’t talk to my brother like that, heifer. I’ll hog tie you, rub you with honey, and pour ants and bees all over you, then laugh while you cry and scream. Until you die.”
“And I’ll haunt the fuck out of you, remove my eyeballs, and shove them down your miserable little throat until you suffocate.”
“Momma!” Axel cried, bursting into tears. He stood and ran to Meggie. “Rebel’s ghost is going to bite off my ears and shove them up my nostrils,” he said, when she stood and hugged him to her.
“Mort, you writing this shit down?” Digger asked. “They some creative little motherfuckers. Mark JB going to be so mad he missed this.”
“Megan, you been workin’ really hard,” Christopher said. “Sit down. Axel, if you don’t kill Rebel, her ghost can’t fuck you up. Think about that and go back to your seat so your ma can rest.”
“Aunt Meggie, I have a question,” Rory said, once Meggie sat down again.
“Yes, love?”
“How does it feel to be surrounded by giants? Even the children?”
Meggie grinned, happy to hear the laughter. Rory was always so serious around Johnnie. “Not you, too, Rory,” she said, giggling.
“Yes, ma’am. Me, too. I couldn’t resist. Axel is just slightly shorter than you.”
“Soon, only Gunner and Jo will be shorter than Mom,” CJ said.
Jaleena placed a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned back, to hear her. It pleased Meggie that their earlier tension seemed to have disappeared. If that was true, then she’d count the evening as a success.
Blood, blood, blood.
Rebel is good, Rule.
Overlook Mom’s name fixation.
Blood, blood, blood.
We need a sacrifice.
How do I tell Dad?
Tell Dad. Tell Dad. Tell Dad.
Blood, blood, blood.
You were bad, Rule.
PAIN!
Flinching, Rule scraped the last of his bread pudding and rum sauce from his plate and shoved the spoon in his mouth. Voices were bouncing around in his head. Some, he recognized. Others were new and he was trying to make sense of what they wanted.
Blood, blood, blood.
Since Mom’s collapse, those words had been a never-ending refrain and competed with the trail of blood she’d left as Dad ran with her.
