26

The Big Thaw

Lottica wondered what the bad blood between them would mean now, as she stood with Nick and her freshly undead parents in the dim light of her grandparents’ living room.

Grandfather and Grandmother Breima eyed the four of them, not in awe or wonder or joy or fright or suspicion, but in patient expectation. Glacially patient, as if they'd been expecting this moment for a thousand years, Grandfather and Grandmother Breima inscrutably surveyed them without a word.

It was Nick that broke the icy stalemate. "Grandfather and Grandmother, I'm very sorry that I created such a mess. I shouldn't have lied to you and got Lottica to run away with me."

"Nick, this ‘mess’ is none of your doing,” Deilune broke in. “I'm responsible for this. Aren't I, father?" He met his father's steely eyes, and slowly Grandfather Breima turned his head away.

Deilune placed his good hand on his father's shoulder. Grandfather Breima moved to take his son’s hand. It was unclear if he were going to clasp it or throw it from his shoulder.

"Trajeime," Grandfather Breima said sharply.

The moment intensified for Lottica, as if she’d upped the magnification on her telescope. Sucking in her breath, she fixed her eyes on her father and waited.

And waited.

Finally, Deilune responded. "Yes, Father, I've been a stubborn jackass."

Grandfather Breima took in the full measure of his son's sorry appearance. "Trajeime," he repeated shaking his head. Though Grandfather Breima did not smile, Lottica sensed a slight warmth in his tone.

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As if cued by her husband’s new tenor, Grandmother Breima moved quickly into action, ushering them into the dining room and then disappeared into the kitchen. Grandfather Breima bade them sit at the table while continuing to study his son.

Shortly, Grandmother Breima returned from the kitchen with tea and hot chocolate and, of all things, a wry smile on her face.

Lottica was so taken off guard that a surprised "Grandmother!" slipped from her lips.

As Grandmother Breima handed Lottica a cup of hot chocolate, she said softly, "I pleased to see my son." She paused and then made very deliberate eye contact with Linda. "And his wife."

She made it sound as if they’d been off on a three-month Caribbean cruise. Was she forgetting they'd been dead? Flustered, Lottica fumbled her cup of hot chocolate which spilled alarmingly across the lace tablecloth.

Lottica watched as the runnels of chocolate crept across the table to where her parents sat. She saw their momentary surprise, but most of all she saw their tired, beat-up bodies. The wave of loss and terror and disbelief that she’d been dodging all evening caught her in its crest and swept her away in tears.

Her head dropped, her shoulders rose and fell with each deep sob. Her parents hurried to her side, and even Grandmother Breima stepped near with a rare expression of concern.

Linda knelt and wrapped her arms, such as she could, around her daughter. She held tight. "Lottica," her mother whispered in her ear, "Lottica, it's okay, honey, it's okay. I'm here. We're all here."

"But how? How can you be here?" Lottica wiped away her tears, lifting her head to look at her entire family. "This isn't possible, but everyone is acting like people returning from the dead happens all the time. I'm a normal," she eyed her zombie parents, "somewhat normal, twelve-year-old living in the 21st century. These things don't happen. Even in the dead-parent stories I've read, these things don't happen. Can someone please explain what’s going on?"

She turned to her mother. Tears were streaking her sad, swollen and discolored face. She was as lost as Lottica, so Lottica hugged her mother, providing a sense of peace she’d forgotten the last few months. Her mother smelled musty and old, like a pungent pile of dry autumn leaves. Pungent but not repulsive. Lottica tenderly smoothed her mother's frazzled hair.

"Thanks, Lottie," her mom whispered. Then Linda rose on her unsteady feet. "Lottica is right. We need to try to understand all this. Dale, we're ready for your explanation."

Linda Breima had tried to avoid referring to her husband as Dale in the presence of her in-laws since the first day they had met. But her emphatic use of his nickname now, her term of endearment for him, was a signal to her husband and her children that there were many ways to be reborn.