Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“There isn’t enough frikadelle in the world for me to forgive you,” Amara announced. “But I’ll take an apology anyway.”
Her mother. Freyja Brunhilde Gondul. Goddess of sex, love, gold, and fertility. Currently scrubbing the shit out of one of her ovens.
She looked up, stood, and tossed the blackened washcloth over her shoulder into the sink. “You shall have one, darling.”
“Yes, well. That’s not an apology.”
“I’m very sorry.” Hilly’s undereye shadows were beginning to match her husband’s. “Truly.”
She never apologizes this quickly. Go for the kill! She is entirely at your mercy, FINISH HER.
“I deserve all your vitriol and more,” Hilly continued.
“Worse: How can I face your father after this? I failed him. That’s if I’m even allowed to face him.
” A lone tear trickled, fell off Hilly’s cheek, and hit the counter.
She snatched a clean washcloth out of her apron and scrubbed it away like it had personally wronged her. “What if he never returns to us?”
FINISH H— Aww, nuts. No fun at all.
“You have to assume things will work out, Mom. The way you always have.”
“So ironic that this is all happening now. Your sweetheart is the perfect mate for someone whose duty is to meet people at the point of their death, several times, each and every day.”
Appalled, Amara replied, “I’d never ask Gray to shackle himself to the family business.
Bad enough I have to do it.” Though she had to admit her mother had a point.
“It’s moot, anyway. For a couple of reasons.
This isn’t like you, Mom. Where’s that ‘the flagon isn’t half empty, it’s half full’ attitude that drives me absolutely bugfuck? ”
“Gone. Possibly forever. Like your father.”
“Oh, come on! You can’t give up, he’s only been in a coma for a couple of days.”
“My darling, do you hear yourself? Death has ‘only’ been comatose for two days. That’s a bit like the cancer ‘only’ spread to your lungs and lymph nodes.”
“There’s an off-putting analogy. And it’s too soon to be so pessimistic. Like when my siblings died; you were determined to be a mother and hung in there and voilà! Here I am! You know . . . eventually.”
Several more tears joined the first. “Odd that you should mention your poor doomed brothers and sisters.” Hilly dashed away more tears and glared at the washcloth. “The last time I did something this shameful, your sister died.”
“Oh.” Idun. The girl Amara would never, could never, know.
She’d looked like Amara, apparently, except she had white-blond hair, almost silver, and topped out at four feet eleven.
Small enough to escape notice and seek all sorts of mischief.
“Mom, I can’t imagine it was your fault she died.
You would have done everything you could and then some.
On your laziest day, you make mama bears look indifferent. ”
Hilly was already shaking her head. “I failed her, as I failed your father.”
“Idun’s the one who got caught in a blizzard, right? Froze to d— Uh, succumbed to hypothermia?” A painless death, Amara thought but didn’t say. And maybe it was, but Amara bet it was lonely and scary, too. Especially for a kid.
“Yes, during her coming-of-age ritual. She was so confident—from the moment of her birth!—but I should have followed her.”
“But wouldn’t that have been against the rules?”
“She died alone. And I don’t doubt she called for me, in the end.” Hilly sniffled, then blew her nose into the washcloth. “I’d rather have a live disgraced daughter than the alternative. Thank all the gods Skye was there to help me through my grief. What a pity she never had children of her own.”
“Definitely a pity and also, that’s going straight into the wash, right? You won’t use it to wipe down counters on the way to the laundry room?”
“I think you should snatch Gray to your bosom and leave. Now. Tonight.”
Amara blinked. “Okay, first, I’m not snatching Gray anywhere near my bosom. Second, leaving was a bluff. I just wanted to see what everyone would do once they thought I was bugging out. Obviously I’m here for the duration.”
“No.” Hilly threw the repellant washcloth into the sink. “You have to flee, Amara. You must. I will not go down this road again, not for every ounce of gold in the world. Whoever’s trying to steal your father’s job will lose interest in you once you’re gone.”
“How does that follow? Disappearing is no guarantee of safety. No. I’m not fleeing, and no need to point it out; the irony isn’t lost on me.
Besides, you have no way of knowing that.
” She took her mother’s hands in hers. “I promise not to freeze to death, Mom. The Mustang is loaded with blankets and hand warmers, and in the winter I live in Gore-Tex. But to figure the rest of this mess out, not to mention the agenda of the member of the conclave who went rogue, I need more details of your terrible, terrible plot. I’m guessing it was one of those ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’ situations. ”
Hilly reclaimed her hands and resumed scrubbing with (whew!) a new cloth. “Actually, one of those ‘keeping to my oath to obey my husband in all things’ situations.”
“So it was Dad’s idea.”
“Yes.”
Amara drummed her fingers on the counter and thought. “But you didn’t try to talk him out of it.”
“I did try.” Scrub-scrub-scrub. Rinse. “For days and nights.” Scrub-scrub. “Which is why he was eventually compelled to remind me of my oath.”
“Oh. Huh. I . . . hadn’t considered that.”
“The only time he had to do such a thing in three hundred years.”
“Wow. Okay. Lots to ponder here. Still not your fault.” I’m pretty sure. Not entirely her fault, at the least. “It’s a textbook example of a cockamamie scheme, and you should all feel silly, but something bigger is simultaneously happening.”
“Can it be so, darling? Perhaps Death is simply failing because all things end.”
“Maaaaaybe. And it’s not like he doesn’t deserve a break after all these centuries.”
Her mother summoned a faint smile. “Why, Amara. How empathetic.”
“Yes, yes, it’s been a weekend of growth and change.
Dad’s trapped, too, in a job with pretty good health bennies but no retirement plan.
And it’s tempting to think maybe it’s just his time.
But I don’t like all the accompanying shenanigans.
You don’t have anything else to share with the class? No inconvenient details left out?”
“No. On my oath, no.”
“Let’s keep your oath out of it. Look, just . . .” Amara gave her mother a brisk pat on the shoulder, because she was, at times, exceptionally lame. “Keep your chin up. Or whatever. It ain’t over until it’s et cetera. Fear not, your youngest and most screwed-up child is on the case.”
Hilly smacked her with the washcloth, which was fine. Anything was better than tearful breast-beating and a wooden spoon across the knuckles.