Whispering Minds (2 page)

My cheeks heated in embarrassment. Without looking at my parents, I took the proffered hat and ran my fingers through the colorful feathers. A memory stirred, but didn’t solidify. “It’s lovely.”

“It is at that. It was Abi’s first knitting project. She and her little friend made it for my birthday one year. God only knows where she came up with the Great Turkey.”

Granny cleared her throat, as if trying to break the tension with that one noise. I turned back and noticed her eyes on my face. They held a shimmer, and when she spoke, her words belied the pain she tried to hide. “God and the rest of the world. Now, Clarence, did you come here to visit an old woman or woo her only granddaughter?”

“Jesus Christ!” My dad threw his arms into the air and stormed out of the room. Mom followed closely behind. A second later, his voice rang out from down the hall. “What the hell does it take to get some privacy around here?”

Clarence ignored my dad’s outburst and patted my shoulder on his way to Granny’s bedside. He leaned down and gave her kiss on the cheek. “Everything is ready, my dear.”

Granny reached her hand to his wizened face. One tear trickled from the corner of her eye. “I knew it would be.”

“I’ll make the call?”

“In a while.” Granny beckoned me closer. “I believe I have a book to read first.”

Clarence gave a small bow, kissed Granny’s hand and turned away. His pant leg hung limply where a black loafer should have been. Only after he disappeared behind the curtain did I realize Clarence only had one foot. I looked to my grandmother who smiled and nodded ever so slightly. The tear now gone. “What did you bring me, my little gem?”

I held up my hands to show Granny the book. Instead, I held the turkey hat. “Just a minute. I forgot to give this back to Clarence.”

Granny stopped me before I could leave. “He doesn’t need it right now.”

“But his great granddaughter…”

“…is dead.” Granny interrupted in a pained voice. “You can give it to him later. Right now, I need you.”

She patted the bed like she used to when thunderstorms chased me into her room. I pushed Clarence out of my mind, snuggled up beside her and began to read. I didn’t hear my parents return until my dad spoke. “Gemini, get out of there. Your grandmother’s sick.”

I swung my leg off the bed to obey, but Granny held me back with a gentle hand. “That’s enough, Dan. I’m not sick, I’m dying, and I’d like to spend my last day with my granddaughter.”

“But not your son?” He sounded like a little boy being denied an ice cream cone. It stabbed at my heart.

“I never said that.” Granny’s body shuddered against my arm. “You’ve always been welcome by my side.”

“Gemini’s been welcome. Gemi. Not me. Not…” His eyes shot wildly around the room, as if he was literally choking on the words. “When was the last time you saw…you visited?”

I’d never seen this broken side of my dad before. His voice quavered and his face softened. He leaned over Granny like Clarence had, repeating the same half sentences about visiting. The booze-saturated air threatened to suffocate me. I held my breath, waiting for something to happen that would change our future for the better, yet terrified of shattering the moment and pushing us back into the hell we had always known.

Granny shushed him, her voice quiet yet firm. “We went over this yesterday. Now decide if you want to stay or go.”

Like a switch had been flipped, my dad stopped talking. His face turned to granite and his body went rigid. Mom tugged on his sleeve. I waited, frozen. Afraid he would make me go home. He caught my eye, and I thought—hoped—he would break down and stay. But when he spoke, his voice came out tight and cold. “Are you staying?”

“Can I?” My voice cracked, and I hated that I even asked.

He pointed an accusing finger at Granny. “You’ll keep your promise?”

Granny nodded.

He stabbed a finger at me next. “Find your own ride home.”

With that, he was gone. Mom chewed on her lip, eyeing us as the heart monitor kept time. After a long moment, Granny’s fingers brushed against mine. “Keep reading, my gem. I want to find out what happens.”

Ask her to stay.

The thought flittered, found purchase for the merest second, then fled when Mom turned and ran from the room. Her departure fed a flame of discontent deep inside me.

I read aloud, not even pausing for the nurses to check Granny’s vital signs. They quit reporting her stats after she told them she didn’t care that her respirations had slowed and her heart was struggling to keep rhythm. The hours passed. We haggled over the love triangle—both of us taking opposite sides—and her limbs grew cooler under the blankets, her body slowly shutting down.

I knew this day was coming. We had discussed at length the physical implications of Granny’s disease and prepared for it in many ways. But not for this. Not these last hours and minutes. Instead, we had stolen Sundays and acted like the cancer didn’t belong to us.

With every page, I retreated to a different Sunday with a different book. Candlelit readings during fall thunderstorms. A three-day marathon as a blizzard raged outside. Back in time to when I took over the reading from Granny and she made the chai tea instead of me. Reading aloud together was what we did, whether on the front step surrounded by the sweet scent of summer blooms or snuggled around the fireplace with the wood crackling between our words.

But now, the only light came from the glaring fluorescent bulbs and the stench of antiseptic hung heavy in the air. I closed the book. “I can’t do this.”

Granny’s hand found mine. “You must, child. It’s what we both want.”

“Wanted.” The word popped out before I could stop it. I didn’t even try to keep the next ones back. “It’s a trilogy.”

We did that, the two of us. We read trilogies, as if the promise of an incomplete story would be enough to cheat death. That was impossible now.

“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.