“Keep reading so I can find out if she lives.”
“You know she does.” My voice cracked, dry from reading, drier still from the thought of never finishing. “That’s why there’s another book.”
Granny tapped the cover, her voice clear, though her eyes were not. “Just like there will be for you.”
And so I read. At times, Granny’s breathing became so shallow I stopped to listen, leaning closer to her frail body, waiting for the next intake of air. I didn’t know if she could hear me or not. I didn’t care. I read in spite of the fear that chased through me. Or rather, because of it. I had to finish the book.
I rushed without rushing, my words even, the cadence lyrical in the air between us. I tried to prolong our time together, all the while terrified of what would happen if I never completed the novel.
At first I gave Granny drinks between each chapter. Then just ice chips to cool her parched lips when swallowing hurt too much. I pushed on. Tears stung my eyes, and I choked on the words. At one point, Granny rubbed my hand, though she never opened her eyes.
The curtain rustled, and I looked up into the darkening room. A small part of me longed for my parents to return to Granny’s bedside where they belonged. A bigger part hated the thought of their intrusion. Before my eyes adjusted enough to see who had arrived, Granny gasped in a breath of air.
Frantically, I turned back to the book. Ten pages left. I read the words with tears streaming down my face. They soaked the pages. Granny’s fingers twined with my own, and I fought to finish what we had started.
With the last words, I closed the book and gathered my grandmother to me. “I love you, Granny. Forever…”
“…and always.” The words came out a dry whisper.
I opened my mouth to say more, but couldn’t. Goodbye was too final. I wasn’t ready for that. I would never be ready.
Granny’s hand pressed against my arm, shattering my world with her ritual four strong taps. Until next time.
There is no next time, I wanted to scream.
I stroked her cheek, brushing the hair from her face, and held her when she released a last rattling breath and the heart monitor sang its steady beep. I buried my head on her shoulder and sobbed my goodbye.
Hands touched my back, pulling me away.
I lashed out, and a deep keening ripped from my throat.
And then Travis was there, carrying me away from the darkness of my loss.
Chapter 3
Morning light streamed in through the kitchen window of the Stone residence. I held a mug of chai tea in my hands, trying to get warm from the outside in. Somewhere between Granny’s hospital room and Trav’s kitchen, I’d lost an entire night. I didn’t even try to retrieve it.
The salty scent of bacon filled the air, a fact I processed with indifference. Even the twinge in my head registered as something simply to be observed, not felt. Somewhere from the bowels of the house, a clock ticked off the minutes.
His house was as foreign to me as he was familiar. Despite our friendship, we’d never hung out in either of our homes. We’d kept our lives compartmentalized. Me for obvious reasons. I couldn’t begin to guess at Trav’s. As I looked around his kitchen, nothing stood out as abnormal. Masculine, yes, but that was to be expected. Travis had lost his mom years ago, leaving him and his dad alone.
At least they had each other. The thought battered against my brain. I had no one. My parents made that clear when they left Granny’s bedside.
Travis manned the pans at the stove, his feet bare even though he’d already ventured to the store to buy me some tea. This small detail, his bare feet, tan against the cream rug, roused something primal from deep within me, and I looked at Travis through Karen Webber’s eyes.
A thick braid hung down his back against his tight-fitting maroon shirt. His bronzed biceps rippled and his jean-clad thighs begged my attention. My body responded, heating up from its core. I forced myself to look away. Granny just died, and all I could think about was Trav’s backside. This utterly inappropriate and purely physical reaction was proof that I hadn’t died along with Granny. I couldn’t decide if this was good or bad.
Travis set a plate of food in front of me and sat down to eat. I scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs, devoured them and my toast, all the while knowing that eating was wrong. I shouldn’t be hungry. I should be crying, yet I felt nothing beyond the gnawing hunger. A hunger that neither sex nor eggs would satisfy.
I set my fork aside and reached for my mug. “Where’s your dad?”
“He’s at the quarries for the week and should roll in next Sunday right before Christmas dinner. He apologized in advance for missing your Granny’s funeral.” Travis rubbed my hand. His rough fingertips grated against my skin like fine sandpaper, a tale-tell sign he’d been carving something recently. I thought, maybe, if he rubbed hard enough, he’d scrub away my shell and unlock something—anything—from inside me.
The clock chimed. With each stroke, my temple pulsed. Against the numbness of my mind, the physical pain taunted me.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Granny and I were supposed to bake Christmas cookies after church today.
I reached for the pan and slid another spatula of eggs onto my plate. The phone rang. Travis got up to answer it. He returned a minute later. “Sorry. That was my Grandpa Clarence. You met him last night.”
A vision of the one-footed man popped into my head. I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the nagging ping just behind my eyes. “Why would your grandfather be in Granny’s room?”
“They’re friends.”
“Were.” My guts contracted, and I spit out the word, those four letters wrapping around my loss. Binding it to me. Granny had never told me about Clarence. In fact, she hadn’t talked about anyone. I knew her church friends from our Sunday morning ritual, but when we were together, it was just the two of us. Until this moment, I’d never considered her life outside of me, even as I couldn’t fathom mine without her. Blindsided by a wave of emotions, I bolted from the table. “I can’t do this.”
Travis followed me to the front door. “Do what?”
“Anything. Everything. I can’t think about her. I can’t talk about her. Not today.” I stomped into my shoes. My chest squeezed, and I struggled to suck in enough air. “Not today, not tomorrow. Never, Travis. My granny isn’t here anymore, and I will never be ready to talk to anyone about her. Not even you.”
He reached for his keys. “I’ll drive you home, then.”
No. The edges of my world darkened, and I trembled against the fear bubbling just under the surface. I didn’t want to talk at all. Just being alive felt like a betrayal. Feeling felt like a betrayal. I craved the cold numbness of denial. If I didn’t talk about her, think about her, remember her, I wouldn’t have to acknowledge that she was gone. Or, that I didn’t know her as well as I thought I did. I jerked open the door. “I’ll walk.”
Travis leaned against the wooden frame, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes hooded. I couldn’t read my best friend and that scared me nearly as much as my jumbled emotions. I’d never felt so lost and alone. He nodded. “Call me when you get home.”
Without answering, I stepped outside. The wind licked the heat from my skin, and wet snow slopped around my tennis shoes, freezing my feet through the mesh. I knew I’d never make the seven-mile trip. Yet there was a peace in that. Part of me wanted to lay down in the cold and embrace the end, because for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what would happen next. But I didn’t stop. Stopping would imply I cared enough to choose. The truth was, I didn’t care at all.
I felt him before I heard him. His presence as familiar as my own. “Leave me alone.”
“Me? I’m just going for a walk.”
I rounded on him, and the retort died on my lips. Travis stood before me, bundled in his down jacket, a fuzzy scarf and the ridiculous turkey hat.
“Pretty hot out here, though.” He slipped my hood off and stuffed the hat on my head. The wings hung
like earflaps, instantly warming me. He tugged my hood back up and wrapped the scarf around my neck. “Hmmmm. Still too hot.”
He stripped out of his jacket, dressed me in it and zipped me up. Next came the mittens. When he finished, he threw an arm over my shoulder and started walking in the direction of my house. “Great day for a stroll. Mind if I join you?”
I walked, unable to face the irrational feelings threatening to tear me apart. Travis was the kindest soul I knew—not all that hard considering how messed up my parents were. He was also more devoted to me than even Granny had been. Yet, something held me back from accepting his affections. Something deeper than my dad’s continuous reminders that I was unlovable. It was a bone-deep fear of being left behind. If I attached my heart to anyone, it would most assuredly get broken.
Travis kept pace with me as I pushed through the snow. He didn’t talk, though his teeth chattered uncontrollably. Guilt slapped me in the face. “Are you trying to make me feel bad?”
“Just making sure you get home okay.” His answer held no accusation. Just pure, selfless Travis. No wonder Granny adored him.
“Fine.”
“Okay then.” A shiver wracked his body.
The fight went out of me. I would have enough to deal with at home and couldn’t waste my energy bickering with Travis. Besides, my war wasn’t with him. I turned on my heel, and we ran back through the slush to his house. At his front step, I faced him. “Just for the record, I came back so you wouldn’t freeze.”
“For the record, that hat looks cute on you.” His dimpled grin made my stomach quiver. I couldn’t tell if it was the eggs or something more. Something I shouldn’t be feeling for my best friend, something that made me want to pull him close and kiss him. As if sensing my need, Travis cradled my face in his hands and ran his thumbs along my cheekbones. He lifted the belly of the turkey hat and kissed my forehead, sending a cascade of stars across my vision.
My body vibrated under his touch, and the pounding in my head intensified. If I didn’t move, I’d be ripped apart. I stilled his hands, and the pain lessened.
Travis held my gaze. “It’s okay, Gem. I understand.”
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t understand why wanting him hurt so much.
Chapter 4
I got home to an empty house. Mom’s writing scrawled across the message board inside the door. “Be back after dinner on Sunday.”
Typical. Every time my dad saw his mom, he hit the casino, as if losing money to the blackjack dealer could erase the dysfunction of their relationship. It didn’t matter that Granny had just died. It didn’t matter to anyone but me. And maybe the Dozen—my only real friends besides Travis. Never mind that I’d never met them.
I shoved a pile of trash and dirty dishes off the mouse pad and booted up the computer. After logging on to the Dozen’s private community, I scrolled through the latest messages.
One popped up from Luna: We need to talk.
A quick check showed that nobody was online and available to chat. Not wanting to leave a series of messages outlining my Saturday at the hospital, I opened another window to work on my psych paper. Not that I believed in utopia. Far from it. In B.F. Skinner’s perfect world, Granny wouldn’t have died, my parents would be normal, and I would love Travis like I should.
But I didn’t, and just thinking about him the way Karen Webber did made my head hurt. I closed out of my psych notes and hoped my partner, Collin, would forgive me for slacking on our project.
Rubbing my temple, I typed in a search word. Headaches.
A quick scan through the medical websites diagnosed me as pregnant or a brain tumor victim. Dismissing the first as impossible and the second as unlikely, I followed up with a search for blackouts. According to the symptom checkers, I was an alcoholic with a brain tumor. Or not.
I’d rather die than drink, and I refused to think about tumors.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. The image of Travis in his tight jeans and bare feet wheedled its way into my thoughts. I opened my pictures folder. Travis was the only person I ever photographed, and I had more than a few pics of him posing at the state park where we loved to hike. I ran my finger along his pixelated jaw, mimicking his caress from earlier. My stomach quivered in response. I closed my eyes and imagined his hand on the back of my neck, pulling me closer. His hot breath on my cheek, my eyes, my lips.
My head fell forward and smacked into the computer.
The screen saver bounced around the darkened monitor.
2:47
I’d lost five hours.
Panic swelled. I’d never been out this long before. Not even close.
It was a nap.
Just a nap.
After the last two days, nobody could blame me for an impromptu nap.
I rubbed my forehead, clicked on the screen and checked my messages from the Dozen. I desperately needed a sounding board right now, yet only James was logged on. Disappointment surged through me when I realized some of them had talked while I slumbered. And as much as I loved everyone from my dream study group, James scared me a little with his tendency to fluctuate rapidly between emotions, going from soft and fuzzy one minute to passionate anger the next. Forcing back tears, I logged off and made my way to the kitchen through the maze of junk stacked chest-high.
My house was one giant, unfinished remodeling project. My dad had grand ideas of new floors, new walls, and new woodwork while Mom rescued antiques like some people saved coins, always with the thought of turning our farmhouse into a luxurious home. The problem was that neither she nor my dad could stay sober long enough to actually finish something they started. The kitchen was the only space that had escaped their attention. It was worn out, but whole.
A message blinked on the answering machine. The funeral home had called with questions about Granny’s funeral. I searched among the unrinsed dishes lining the counters for a pen and paper to leave a note. In the process, I knocked over a half-eaten pot of stew. Thick, gloppy chunks ran down the cupboard doors and onto the floor. With a sigh, I cleaned it up. By the time my dad’s car sputtered down the driveway, the kitchen sparkled.
I watched through the windows as Mom tumbled from the car, slipping on the ice. My dad pulled their overnight bag from the backseat and helped her to the door, his hand on the back of her neck. My stomach clenched. Their mutual affection appeared sporadically, and only under favorable conditions. Namely, a bottle of booze and a good run at the casino.
They slopped into the kitchen—muddy snow melting off their shoes—and dumped their belongings on the floor. Mom tottered over and landed against me in a bear hug, the stench of whiskey thick on her breath.
I leaned away from her embrace. “Let me guess. You won?”
“Oh, Gemini, it was the best.” Mom’s eyes glowed.
“Five hundred bucks, kiddo.” My dad clumsily planted a wet kiss on my ear. His stubble scraped against my cheek.
My guts twisted, and I stepped away from his reach. “But how much did you lose to win?”
“Just two fifty, honey,” Mom slurred.
Quick math had them breaking even after the hotel stay and a few elaborate meals. Usually they returned from their weekend splurges in the hole, and I had to work twice as hard at the nursing home to help keep the bills current. Welfare checks didn’t go far.
“The funeral home called today.”
My dad stiffened, but didn’t answer. He pawed through the refrigerator until he found a beer. The silence stretched.
I clenched my fists to keep from grabbing the bottle from his hands and smashing it onto the kitchen tile. I fought to keep my tears from falling. “They want to know what plans you have for the…for Granny.”
Mom laid a careful hand on my dad’s shoulder. He shrugged it off, his eyes burning. Mom flinched before turning back to me. “We, uh, thought maybe you would make those decisions. You were so close to her and all.”
Mom, peacekeeping. My dad, dominating and rig
id. Neither of them caring about Granny or me. An ache burned in my chest, making it hard to breathe. The edges of the room darkened and an unfamiliar desire to pound someone, something, nearly overwhelmed me. Words I’d never dared to speak spilled from my mouth. “Is it too much to ask that you would actually take care of something this significant? This important? She’s dead, Dad. Your mom is dead.”
A vein zigzagged across his temple, and his bellow filled the kitchen. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I’m your father.”
“Then act like one.” The challenge broke free on a wave of anger.
He struck out, fast and hard, and smacked the side of my face where he had kissed me moments before. I fell backward, grabbing at the counter, pulling the dish drainer with me. A plate fell to the floor and shattered.
Mom hiccupped. A pathetic sound in response to the explosive pain in my head. Her voice, accusing. “Why, Gemini? Why can’t you just leave him alone?”
A scream ripped from my throat at her familiar words. Why couldn’t she see it wasn’t me? It was him. He was the one who didn’t care. I grabbed a plate and threw it against the wall. The pieces skittered across the floor. I had never done anything like this before, but it felt good. Released something inside me, a part of my genetic code I didn’t know existed.
Even as I staggered to my feet, a voice in my head begged me to stop. To be better than my dad. Ignoring it, I chucked a plate and another, and another.
He ran forward, screaming at me to stop.
But I couldn’t. I wasn’t Gemi. I was someone dark and angry. A puppet on the end of someone’s string. Blackness consumed me, and I watched the events unfold with a mixture of horror and pride.
“Stop it, or what?” I cocked my arm back, aiming for my father. He froze in his tracks.
Mom snatched the phone from the wall and cowered behind the table. “I’ll call the cops.”
“And say what?” I threw the plate in her direction. It smashed into the refrigerator and rained glass down next to her. “That you’re worthless, drunken parents? That you left your kid home alone the night her grandmother died? That this isn’t the first time you’ve abandoned me?”
Whispering Minds Page 2
