I took Jack out back for privacy. Plus, Baby Jude was nearly four now and was going through a "why?" phase. I didn’t want to introduce him to his supposed uncle until I knew I could trust Jack. Wait. What? Was I actually beginning to accept I had a brother?
"Please tell me you have dragons," Jack said. He was staring at the fire blackened grass.
"They do make great pets," I said.
His eyes bulged. "You've got to be kidding."
"Of course, I'm kidding." I rolled my eyes. "There's no such things as dragons."
"Until about half an hour ago, I didn't think there was any such things as shifters and werewolves."
"Fair point." I gestured toward some bench seating Babe and I had set up under a large silver maple. Unfortunately, this late in the year, the leaves that were left on the tree had already gone from vibrant orange to a dead brown. Babe had spent the day before raking up scads of the fallen leaves. "Let's sit over there."
Jack was wearing his jacket, but he gave his arms a quick rub then put on his gloves after we sat down.
It was fifty degrees out, but I felt comfortable enough in my sweater. Since December, I had been changed. A wedding gift for Chav from Brother Wolf. He'd told her that he wanted to make her happy, and he knew that having me in her life was a good start. He didn't turn me into a therianthrope. That was a gene you had to be born with. However, he granted me the long life of one, which meant that my body adapted to cold and heat better than an average human, I was more resistant to colds and flus, and my aging process had slowed way down. Thank heavens. I was already a decade older than my husband, and I had worried more than once about what our lives would be like forty years from now. His second gift to her was the gorgeously cheerful Rory. Though, if he'd only been doling out one gift that day, I would have gladly given up a long life so that she could have her baby.
I pivoted on the bench to face Jack. "This is the last time I'm going to ask. Why are you here? You said you had a warning, so give it to me."
"Mom was diagnosed with cancer."
"I'm sorry," I said. I had to admit, if only to myself, that a part of me hurt hearing the news. "How bad is it?"
"She has something called multiple myeloma in her right thigh bone," Jack said. "She's been fighting it with chemo, steroids, and blood transfusions for almost a year now."
"Is it working?"
"The cancer has started to spread into her hip."
"Is there any way to stop it?"
"The doctors are looking for a bone marrow match. Unfortunately, I was only a thirty-eight percent match, and they need at least fifty percent for a transplant." He sighed. "If they can't find one, they will have to amputate. Even then, there is no guarantees they can get all the cells."
I frowned, more sad than angry. Rhonda had found a way to try and use me again. "Is that why you came here, Jack? Rhonda wants my bone marrow, so she sent you to guilt me into it?"
"I told you, she doesn't know I'm here. When I brought up trying to find you, she said no."
I don't know which was worse, feeling used or feeling as if I didn't matter. "She is still the selfish Rhonda I remember."
"You know how I found your picture?" He shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. "She was in so much pain that I was searching for her pain pills in her bedside stand. Your picture was in there. She never forgot you. I think she doesn't want to reach out because she's...."
"Stubborn, prideful, a terrible mom," I supplied.
"Ashamed," Jack said. "I think she's really ashamed. When I asked her about you, I'd never seen her look so miserable, and she's on some really strong chemo, so that's saying a lot." He took his hands out of his pockets and took off the glove on his right hand. "Look, you strike me as the kind of person who would go to great lengths to help someone in their time of need. If it helps, think of Mom as a stranger."
"I don't have to think of her as a stranger. She is a stranger. I don't know this person you keep talking about. She isn't the same Rhonda who let me raise myself because she couldn't be bothered."
Jack's eyes crested with tears. "Can I show you my mother? I know you hate her, but I love her. I don't want her to lose her leg." He took a steadying breath. "Or worse. Die."
"Fine. But just because I'm looking doesn't mean I'm saying yes to anything."
"Agreed," Jack said. He held out his hand.
I took it.
* * *
"Jack!" a woman yelled. "Can you come down and help me?"
Jack and I were sitting on the edge of a full-sized bed in a clean bedroom. There were inspirational quotes on the walls, like "Be the best you and you will always be the best."
Jack looked at me. "Mom loves inspirational quotes."
"She was always spouting that kind of crap when I was growing up." I rolled my eyes. " What year is this?"
"This is thanksgiving last year, before her cancer diagnosis." He stood up. "Come on."
When we exited his bedroom, I could smell the combined scents of turkey and fresh baked apple pie. "The desserts smell good," I said.
"Mom can't bake to save her life." Jack laughed. "But she knows how to buy really great scented candles."
"That's the Rhonda I remember," I said, smiling despite myself. I felt nervous, and vision me was experiencing sweaty palms. "Is this normal?"
He chuckled. "There's not a damn thing normal about any of this. I'm making it up as I go along. I've never walked my own memory quest. Until a few seconds ago, I wasn't sure it was possible."
"That's so reassuring."
We passed the open door of a hallway bathroom and two closed doors before we walked through a family room with two recliners, a couch, end tables, a coffee table, and a large screen television over a fireplace mantle. Near the mantle was a built-in bookshelf. with framed pictures placed across one shelf. "Can I go look?"
"I don't know," he said. "I went right to the kitchen when she called, but I'm not sure what rules we're following now."
I let go of his hand to make my way across the room.
* * *
"Well, now we know that I can't break from the memory," I told Jack as we sat next to each other on the bench in my back yard. "Let's try again. This time, I won't veer from the memory."
He took my hand again.
* * *
We passed through the living room under an arch into the kitchen. Rhonda, her hair cut shoulder length with natural waves, looking very much like the picture I'd seen on Jack's phone, lit up when her son walked into the room.
"Come here and help me," she said.
"Sure, Mom. What do you need?"
"Can you get the cakes out of the freezer so they can thaw?"
"Cake for Thanksgiving?" I asked.
"Don't judge," Jack said to me. His mother didn't seem to notice. Which meant, he could talk outside the memory, but it didn't have an effect on how things played out. "Pepperidge Farm Fudge cake is really good, and Mom stacks it so it's nice and tall."
"But for Thanksgiving?"
"Mom's not a great cook," he said, pulling the boxed cakes from the freezer side of the refrigerator. He put them on the counter. It was weird, because I could still feel myself holding his hand, but I could also see him acting through the memory.
"You want me to take them out of the boxes?" he asked.
"That would be nice." She leaned over and kissed his offered cheek. "You're a good kid."
He grimaced. "Where's Dad?"
"You know your father," she said. "He's at the rescue mission, serving Thanksgiving dinner." She looked at a clock on the wall. "He said he'd be done by four and it's a little after now, so he should be home any minute."
She stirred some kind of sludge in a pot. It smelled like feet.
"What is that?" I hissed.
"Oyster dressing," he said. "It's gross, but tradition."
I shuddered as Rhonda used a tasting spoon to take a bite. "Some traditions should be retired."
Rhonda began to hum. I blanched, feeling sicker than when she ate the oyster stuffing, when I realized it was "You Are My Sunshine," a song she used to sing when she would put me to bed.
"I can't," I said. I tried to let go of Jack's hand, but he held on.
"Wait, Sunny. Dad will be home soon. In a few minutes, he will walk in the door. Just wait."
"This hurts too much. Don't you understand that Jack? No." I shook my head. "How could you? You've had this ideal childhood with all its bad oyster stuffing and chocolate cake holidays. You don't know the kind of pain they put me through. This isn't the Thanksgiving I remember, and I am sorry, but I can't watch them give you what they could never give me."
"Show me," he said. He took both my hands. "Show me how bad it was. Make me understand."
* * *
The pungent scent of patchouli incense and the slightly skunky aroma of pot filled the space around me. I felt strange and slightly panicked as I looked around. There was a nylon screen around my afghan covered bedroll. Crystals hung down on fishing line, causing a twinkling of lights that mimicked the stars on my makeshift walls.
"Ruth was right. It really is pretty," Jack said. "When are we?"
I looked at him, fighting down the panic and anxiety churning in my gut. "How old do I look to you?"
"Fourteen or fifteen," he said.
I groaned.
"What?" he asked. "What is it?"
"This is the harvest festival when I had my first psychic vision."