“Tell you?” Amanda echoed, her tone not nearly as calm as his. “Tell you? Why? So you could come and take him? Steal him away from me in the middle of the night?”
“You know I’d never do that,” Elliott said, not taking her bait, not yet, anyway. An argument was brewing, but he’d weather the storm. For now.
“How do I know that?” she said, her arms flailing. A splash of Vodka landed on her hand and for a moment he thought she might lick it off, the way he’d seen numerous Vampires collect every drop of blood off of their claws.
“You should’ve told me. I could’ve helped you. I could’ve… been there.”
Amanda set her glass down and took a few steps closer to him. “I didn’t want you there.”
He remembered it hadn’t always been that way. The evening they’d met, the electricity between them had been palpable. Before that, he’d read about people seeing someone across a crowded room and instantly knowing that was the one, but nothing remotely like that had ever happened to him before. He’d seen her on the other side of the dance floor and had instantly been drawn to her. They’d spent the entire evening together, all of the night, and in the morning they’d talked about the rest of their lives. Together.
And then he’d mentioned what he was, and she’d shattered the dream world he’d built for them.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. That was the funny thing. She did. She said she’d always suspected there was something out there, something evil. But she didn’t want to be a part of it. And she couldn’t be with someone who wasn’t human.
He’d said he’d quit. Right then and there, just like that; he was willing to give it all up, to walk away, to be with her.
Amanda Keen had finished pulling on her boots, turned around looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “Pretend you never met me,” and walked out of his life forever.
Until now.
Elliott stood staring into her green eyes, wondering why he would bother to argue with her about a decision she’d made nineteen years ago. There was nothing he could do or say to bring back the time he’d missed with his son, no way to know if he might’ve saved her from herself. He cleared his throat. “What, uh, what are you doing now? Working at a nursing home?”
“Yeah,” she said, taking a step back and grabbing her glass. “It’s great. Just like being a doctor.”
He remembered she’d been planning to start medical school. He’d always imagined she had done so. Not looking for her had been a challenge, but he’d done what she asked. Until Cadence convinced him to contact her a few days before he died. He should’ve done it sooner. Maybe he could’ve prevented this from happening.
He moved around the counter only slightly. “You know, you still could. If you want to. It’s not too late.”
Amanda laughed. “Are you serious? I never even completed my undergraduate. By the time I finished all that, I’d be… fifty.”
“So? In ten years, you’ll be fifty anyway. May as well be a fifty year old doctor.”
She shook her head and took another swig. He could see the tremors had stopped, but there would be other side effects soon. Something told him that Amanda wasn’t a nice drunk, and once again he wished he’d been there for his son when he needed him most. “And how would I pay for that exactly?” she scoffed.
“Well, the way I see it, I owe you a substantial amount of back child support.” He took another step toward her. “Why don’t you let me help you. With this.” He gestured at the glass in her hand. “Get you cleaned up a little bit.” He indicated the mess in the room. “Get this cleaned up a little bit. Get you back on your feet. And then… you can go be whatever the hell you want.” He was standing about a foot in front of her now, hoping she could see that he sincerely wanted to help her, hoping she could see that even through all of this, he still cared about her.
Once again, she was laughing, this time almost uncontrollably. “You can’t be serious, Elliott. You think any medical school would take me? A washed up, single mother whose only ever worked as a cashier, a waitress, or emptying bedpans?”
“Yeah, I’m serious. You know I can make you whoever you wanna be, Amanda.” He had told her all of that, told her what he could do, how he had access to all kinds of badges and official paperwork, how he could make people think whatever he wanted them to think. He’d never done it to her, though, as tempting as it might’ve been.
“Listen, Dr. Sanderson,” she began, “I’m not interested in your charity, okay?” She gave him a shove, making him take a step backward before she stepped around him, and Elliott wondered how many times Brandon had been on the receiving end of that sort of anger. It didn’t hurt him, of course, but it did shock him at how brazen she was. He had at least a foot on her and maybe a hundred pounds. He imagined Brandon’s size hadn’t been a deterrent either.
“I don’t want your help. I don’t want to see you. I raised our son—he’s grown now--so there’s no reason for you to ever show your face around here again, okay?” she was walking toward the living room briskly, and Elliott realized she was seeing him to the door.
Slowly, he followed her to the living room, taking one more look around. “Okay, Amanda. Well, if you change your mind…”
“I won’t change my mind.” She grabbed the door and pulled it open.
Elliott shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black leather jacket as he headed out onto the porch, the sound of the metal screen door slamming behind him. He didn’t look back.