Her face and nose looked as puffy and red as mine felt, reminding me again of last night's horrors.
I shouldn't have let Tristan get to me last night. Yes, he shouldn't have yelled or said I was dumb. But he never talked to me like that, and he'd just lost his mother and killed his childhood friend who he believed had helped murder his mother. The least I could have done was accept Tristan's apology instead of letting his anger trigger my own so badly.
The next time we made a pit stop somewhere, I would go and talk to him.
I slipped out of the bedroom, easing the sliding door shut behind me. Mom was standing in the kitchen, her feet braced to compensate for the rocking of the trailer, while she washed dishes by hand in the sink.
"Hey, Mom," I said as I sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder. As always, the scent of her Wind Song perfume rose up to fill my nose. This time, though, I had to wrinkle my nose and fight a sneeze. Either Mom had poured the entire bottle over herself, or my sense of smell had gotten way stronger since the last time I'd seen her.
"Hey, sweetie." She tilted her head sideways to rest her cheek against the top of my head. "I'm glad to get to see you again, but this sure is a crappy way to have to do it."
"Yeah."
She hesitated then said, "I couldn't help but overhear some of what Tristan said to you in the bunk room. Did you two have a fight on top of everything else?"
I nodded. "He yelled at me and said I was dumb because I said he shouldn't have killed Dylan." My tongue stumbled over the word killed.
"Oh, my God. Not Jim Williams's kid? I thought they were friends."
"They used to be till..." Until Tristan and I had started dating. Guilt rose up to swamp me, making it hard to breathe. "Tristan thought Dylan killed his mom, so he threw him across the room. I think he broke his neck."
I couldn't talk about this anymore. I turned away, took two steps and sank down onto the edge of the U-shaped dinette bench, then propped my elbows on the table and my head in my hands.
I couldn't believe it had really happened. The whole thing seemed like a nightmare of a dream instead of something I'd really been a part of just a couple of days ago.
Could I have done something to stop Tristan? If I hadn't been in so much shock over his mother's death, if I had realized what Tristan might do...
I should have stepped in between them, or pushed Tristan away from Dylan before he ever grabbed him.
I should have done something. But instead I had stood there and watched as Tristan ended his ex-best friend's life.
Had I secretly wanted Dylan to pay for all those years of calling me names and picking on me at school?
Suddenly the trailer lurched forward a bit. I grabbed the edge of the table as the whole trailer rocked hard from side to side, then the vibration in the f loor faded away.
"Must be time for more gas," Mom said as she dried her hands on a towel that hung from the oven door's handle. "That truck is such a gas guzzler when it's hauling this big rig behind it. I'd better go give your dad his card back. He can use mine instead now."
"Uh, Mom, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to cover the gas for us." I knew from past discussions with him that Dad used his mind-reading abilities to help him make a fortune. I hadn't had to worry about money since moving in with him last year.
She threw me a dark scowl. "Don't think I don't know how he gets his money. I didn't like it back when we were together, and I don't like it now. And I am not having my truck filled with gas paid for by his illegal activities. I work hard the legal way and make enough to pay for my own gas, thank you very much."
I started to argue that Dad wasn't exactly a mobster or getting his money from killing people as a paid hit man. He just read a few key minds to pick up insider trading secrets, then played the stock market accordingly.
Then I remembered how upset I used to be about Dad's insider trading methods when I first found out about them. When had I gotten so used to the idea that it no longer bothered me?
It was just like Tristan and his need for revenge. It was a slippery slope. You started off not liking something, knowing it was wrong, but trying to either rationalize it or ignore it. And then the next thing you knew, you were almost ready to defend it to someone else, and maybe even do it yourself, in Tristan's case.
Mom stepped out of the trailer while I was still following that particularly twisty line of thought. I didn't realize she was gone until the trailer door banged shut.
I sighed and rubbed my pounding forehead. Tristan was probably still in the truck dealing with the blood memories from feeding last night. At least, I assumed he was the one who'd grabbed something from the fridge before leaving the trailer for the truck. I would have to wait awhile longer before speaking with him.
"Do not be ridiculous," Dad said outside the trailer, its thin metal walls doing little to muff le his voice. "I will of course cover all costs."
"Excuse me, but have you forgotten we're divorced?" Mom said. "I've paid for my own gas and snacks for years now."
"Joan, your pride is misplaced here. The Clann may be tracking your credit cards since I am sure they will assume you would want to come to your child's rescue."
"Oh, and yet they wouldn't be watching your cards?"
"Not these. They are under several aliases I keep for emergencies."
Silence as Mom absorbed that news. She sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"
A half minute later she came stomping back inside. "Unbelievable. Your father refuses to let me pay for anything!" She threw her hands up then looked around as if she didn't know what to do with herself.
"I'm sure he's just trying to play it safe."
"He could have at least asked me if I minded, instead of telling me this is how it's going to be. He treats me like an incompetent child."
Oh, boy. I cleared my throat. "Well, he is a vamp, and he's kind of used to making a decision and then following through on it. I'm not sure he's used to having to deal with a team other than the council."
Mom rolled her eyes and propped her hands on her hips. "Yeah, right. He can be diplomatic with his precious vamp council, but not with his wife?"
"Ex," I muttered, wondering how to get out of this conversation.