Whispering Minds (12 page)

I needed to call Travis, even though the thought of talking to him filled me with dread.

But first, I needed to prepare. After getting dressed, I emptied a few cardboard boxes of junk from the attic and used them to store my books. Next, I packed a suitcase with clothes I would need right away and shoved the others into plastic trash bags. That left my treasure boxes. They had always been sealed with brown packing tape. Trinkets of my past went in. Nothing ever came out. I gently nestled them in a plastic lawn bag with the homemade comforter from my bed.

I peeked out my window into the dark outside. Not evening dark—it was only noon—so much as cloud heavy. It would snow again. And before that happened, I had a lot to do.

One by one, I carted my boxes downstairs to the detached garage. The filthy windows let in just enough light to see through the shadows. A pile of junk Mom collected from flea markets nestled behind the bikes, the broken-down lawnmower and the wrecked Sunbird. I pushed aside the wrought-iron yard decorations and worn-out antiques that made up her resurrection pile.

Under it all, I found an old toy box resting on its back. I pulled it upright, tugged open the lid and set my treasure boxes inside. I stuffed the quilt on top. My books wouldn’t fit, so I stacked them beside the toy chest and carefully covered them with accumulated junk.

On my way back to the house, I swept my tracks, filling them in with snow to be more even with the drifts. I needed the forecasted fresh snow and gusty wind to hide all traces of my trip to the garage. I also needed a phone, which posed a new problem. My parents had never made peace with either set of farmers closest to us. Instead, they had kept to themselves and refused all social niceties. After assessing each farmer’s relationship with my parents, I decided on Old Man Parson. At least if he turned me down it’d be a shorter walk home, although there was nothing to come home to.

As far as I knew, my parents hadn’t filled the propane tank since fall. If it gave out, I’d have to haul wood in from behind the barn just to keep from freezing. My battered body wouldn’t be able to handle the labor, and I worried what would happen if Travis refused my call.

I followed the soft glow coming from Old Man Parson’s yard lights. Before I made it to the step of his farmhouse, his bent form pushed open the front door. “What are you doing out on a day like this?”

I let my bangs fall across my eye to hide the bruising and prayed he wouldn’t notice the swelling. “I need to use your phone, if possible.”

“Where’s yer folks?”

“My dad’s mom passed away.”

“Heard that, but the funeral’s done and gone already.”

At the sharp edge in his voice, I considered my answer carefully. “They had some things to take care of.”

“Today?” His tone sounded incredulous.

I had no answer but a shrug. “So, can I use your phone? Ours seems to be out at the moment with the weather and all.”

“Shouldn’t be. Mine works just fine.”

“We have the dish. Our television isn’t working now either.” He didn’t need to know nonpayment had shut off our services.

“Satellite. I knew your father shouldn’ta put that in when he did. Who needs that much television? Lazy is what it is. Probably the reason your driveway’s not cleared out yet.”

“Mr. Parson, remember? My dad’s not home. That’s why I need to use your phone.”

He pointed to a wall unit and stood over me while I dialed. I ran the bunchy cord between my fingers, winding the coils around my pinky and prayed voice mail wouldn’t pick up. Travis did.

I turned my back on Mr. Parson and spoke into the receiver. “Travis, hey.”

“I don’t want to talk to you, Gemini.”

Travis never called me by real name. My cheeks heated up at the thought of Old Man Parson getting an earful of gossip over this call. “I need you.”

I sucked in a breath, waited for the disconnect. When it didn’t come, I spoke again. “Can you come to my house? I’ll explain everything then.”

“I’m kind of busy right now.”

“I understand that, and I would never ask if I didn’t absolutely need you.”

Travis let out a long sigh.

“I wouldn’t have called otherwise.”

Silence. The kind that’s painful to more than your ears. Not wanting to give the neighbor more ammunition, I blurted out a half-assed apology. “I’m sorry.”

“Fine. I’ll be there at three.” The line went dead.

I turned back to Mr. Parson and the smug look on his face. “Thanks for letting me use your phone.”

“Havin’ your boyfriend out, huh?”

“My study partner.” Even as I said it, I knew he could read the lie in my words. I didn’t care. It didn’t matter what he thought of me because I didn’t plan on coming back. I thanked him again and showed myself to the door.

I almost made it outside before he spoke. “You tell your daddy to stop on over when he gets home. I’d like to talk to him about that fire in your yard the other day.”

I put on a fake smile and stepped outside, calling over my shoulder as I went. “Will do, Mr. Parson. It might not be for a couple days. Maybe even into next week. It depends on what they need to take care of.”

You’re in trouble.

Big time.

I couldn’t escape Mr. Parson’s snoopiness fast enough. He’d obviously noticed the fire and my parent’s recent absence. While I was certainly old enough to take care of myself during my parents’ hit-and-miss schedules, his sudden curiosity and pressing need to talk to my dad confirmed my fears. The old man was anything but harmless.

And the last thing I could afford right now was him drawing attention to my crumbling family.

Chapter 16

Angel wandered the attic, sifting through the debris of her parents’ lives.

Her mother was an artist. Scratch that. Ex artist. The remains of her passion lay scattered across the wooden floor. Paint tubes long dried up. Brushes once lovingly handled, now frayed and broken. Angel remembered a time when her bedroom wall had danced with cartoon characters. A testament to her mother’s abilities before the Fall.

That’s what she called it. The Fall.

Her pastor had explained perfectly about good and evil, angels and demons, God and Temptation.

In the fight for their souls, her parents had lost, leaving Angel stranded between loyalty to her flesh or the blood of her Ultimate Savior.

Her Father had won, as He must, and so she prayed.

She knelt next to a half-painted canvas of two faceless children sitting in a field of dandelions. Sexless and ageless. But in her mind, Angel had painted her own story behind the sea of yellow.

A boy and a girl, rubbing dandelion smudges under chins and on wrists.

Do you like butter?

No.

Uh huh. Your chin is yellow.

Sweet giggles and innocence.

Sucking the nectar from the clover.

A gift from God.

And then the Fall.

Angel prayed, begging first for her mother and then her father, but finally, for herself.

Please let me forgive them.

Please let me forgive.

Oh, God, why can’t I forgive?

The light shifted in the attic window. An hour had passed, maybe two.

No longer did the sun’s winter rays illuminate the canvas. Rather, they settled on a stack of baseball equipment. Brand new shoes, still in boxes, ranging from tiny size nines to adult twelves. Gloves with the price tags still on. Metal bats and wooden bats, even a faded red plastic one. The equipment progressing in size as if to mark the passage of time.

Angel picked up a glove and held it to her nose. She breathed deeply and took in the pungent odor of dust and fine leather. And, faintly, the scent of tears.

It satisfied her soul that her father felt some pain.

He should. After all, the Fall was his fault.

Angel dropped the glove onto the pile of unused equipment, dusted off her clothes and crossed herself as if at an altar. Another quick prayer. A nod and bow.

She backed away through her parents’ past and to the stairs that would take her to the present.

* * *

An insistent knock pulled me out of my thoughts. I considered not letting Travis in, but one look at his stormy eyes through the window told me he was in no mood for games.

He didn’t mince words. “You look like crap.”

The makeup had obviously failed to fool him. “Thanks.”

“What’s this about?” he asked, his voice rough. He fiddled with his tie, paying it more attention than he gave me.

“I’m moving into Granny’s house.”

His head snapped up. “You dragged me out here for this? To tell me you wanted to move? Why today? Why now?”

His jaw tightened, and he paced the tiny entry. His hands clenched and unclenched. He slid them into his dress pants. I tried to remember our fight—the reason Travis looked mad enough to strangle me—but came up blank.

“Are you trying to make me hate you?” Instead of shouting, his voice came out deadly calm. Scared speechless, I shrunk back against the wall, away from the impending explosion. I’d seen it once, when some boy smacked a stray cat with a baseball bat. Travis had nearly ripped off the kid’s head. His temper was another reason I kept my family problems so tightly under wraps around him.

Travis grabbed me by the shoulders. “It’s Christmas frickin’ Eve, Gemi, so make this quick.”

“No it’s not.” I ran through the days in my head—Granny died five days ago. Today was Thursday, not Saturday—and felt the icy hand of fear stroke my spine. “It can’t be.”

He fixed me with a look of wary concern, his gaze lingering on my bruised eye. “What day is it?”

Thursday?
It had to be Thursday.
“My parents are gone,” I said, as if that explained anything.

Travis snorted. “What’s new?”

“They’re not coming back.”

“Did they tell you this? Because you’ve been acting so strangely lately, I don’t know what to believe with you anymore.”

“I don’t know what to believe either.” My voice cracked, but didn’t break. I hated being this vulnerable. Hated the blackouts. Hated the confusion. Hated my dad. Hated…no, I didn’t hate my life. Not yet. But I would if I lost Travis.

I pulled myself together from the inside and held my hand out to him, hoping we were still friends enough for him to take it. “I want to show you something.”

He placed a hand on my back and pushed me forward. It wasn’t enough, but I’d take it.

When we got to the kitchen, I stopped and waved around the room. “This is the me you know. Neat and clean, all put together and maybe even a little pretty.”

Travis opened his mouth, and I put my finger across his lips. “Don’t say anything. I have to do this.”

My hand found his, and I led him down the half-finished hall, past the stairs still stained with my blood, into the living room. I didn’t have to turn around to see his reaction, I felt it in the tightening of his fingers and the lag as he slowed down to take in the unfathomable mess. I finished the tour with the office and gently pushed him to sit on the weight-bench that often doubled as a chair.

“This is my life.”

Travis shook his head. “It’s your parents. It’s not you.”

“It is me. On the inside. Something inside of me is broken and dirty and wrong just like this house.”

He glanced around at the piles of debris, then back. Not denying what I had said. Not lying to soothe me. I gathered my thoughts and my courage. Or at least what remained of both.

“Granny passed away on Saturday. We went to her house on Monday. Tuesday was the funeral and Wednesday, I…we…went to the college and, well, you know how that turned out. Last night after you left…”

Trav’s eyebrows bunched. “Do you know what day it is?”

Instead of answering, I stared at him, unable to look away from his probing gaze. “I woke up on Thursday, and my parents, they were leaving, almost like they were sneaking out. My dad had a duffelbag. And I…”

“You what?”

“I cut my arm on my way down the stairs. You didn’t answer when I called, Mom’s car wouldn’t start, and I had to get Collin to give me a ride to the hospital. Then he brought me home. That was today. He brought me home today after the blizzard blew itself out.”

Trav’s stare told me I was wrong, but I couldn’t stop. I had to convince him—me—that everything was all right. “And the electricity was out, and I packed and…oh, God, Travis, what is wrong with me? What is happening to me?”

“Your granny just died, and you’re upset.”

“It’s more than that. Somehow I feel it—the wrongness—here.” I pressed my fingers to my forehead.

His next words terrified me. “You might be right. Tell me everything you remember.”

I tugged my sweatshirt sleeve up to expose my bandaged wrist and repeated my story—the only one I knew, the only thing that made sense right now. “I cut myself on a nail on my way to answer the phone. You didn’t answer, so I called Collin. I got stitches, and he brought me home after the blizzard.”