The Weird Travels of Aimee Schmidt: The Curse of the Gifted Read Free Page A

pieces about her mother, anything no matter how insignificant. Only Aunt Lauren, too, seals her mother’s memories away in a sacred crypt. But Aimee isn't going to let it go. Somehow she's going to find out more about the woman who died giving her life.
    Aimee is Mike's child, not her looks like James, but in her insulated personality. After countless hours of therapy her impenetrable façade has begun to melt. She still struggles to share her feelings. She easily regresses to her old, comfortable habits of guarding her inner thoughts, desires, and fears. With years of practice, like a chameleon, she can blend into any crowd. Being plain greatly improves the odds to exist unnoticed. Aimee prefers it that way.
    Even though her dad won’t talk about her mom, he’s told Aimee her death wasn’t Aimee's fault. He feels she's ridiculous for thinking it was. The only thing he's ever shared with Aimee is it was just her mother's time. Aimee knows he loves her with all of his heart. Still getting past the guilt of her mother dying because of her birth has taken years, and helped pay for the sweet Mercedes Dr. Sanders drives.
    How much they both lost was imprinted into Aimee's being early in life, and confirmed the day she received the death certificate. Children shouldn’t have to deal with death, but it cemented an unbreakable bond between her dad and Aimee. They both seek solace and peace. Escape makes the emptiness less painful. Her dad flees in his plane. And Aimee, well, she blends to esca…
     
    ...Buzzzzzz. Aimee jumped, then reached over and slapped off the alarm. Five fifty-five. Time for her run. She still felt wired like a dose of speed pulsed through her body. She had been awake since after four. A jog in the cool air would clear her mind. Aimee threw on her clothes and pitched opened her door. The rich smell of dark roasted coffee filled her lungs as she made her way towards the kitchen.
    “Good morning, sweetheart. Did you get back to sleep?” her dad asked peering over the readers sliding down his nose. He was in his usual spot with the sports section of the morning paper spread across the tiny kitchen table.
    She yawned and turned on the faucet to fill a glass with cool water. “Nope,” she answered.
    “I’m sorry.” He picked up the paper and turned the page. “I dozed right off when I went back to bed.” He dropped the top of the paper and looked over it at Aimee. “You going for a run?”
    “Yep, wanna go?” she shot back.
    Sheepishly he said, “Well, maybe tomorrow. I need to leave early this morning, but thanks for asking. Go be healthy, but be safe. Okay, honey?”
    “Sure thing, Dad. I’ll catch you the next time.” She smirked, then finished her glass of water, grabbed her rain slicker, and slid it quickly over her head before stepping out into the cool drizzle. After locking the deadbolt, Aimee hid the key under the potted plant, then walked carefully down the slick driveway. Her dad was coming out onto the front porch. She waved at him, then jogged off hugging the curb to keep clear of the icy water splashing wickedly from passing cars. Several blocks away she stopped at the main intersection and pressed the pedestrian signal.
    “Hey, Aimee!”
    She immediately recognized his voice and whipped around. Aimee smiled. A blue sedan ap proached. Dylan’s head was leaning out the back window. Robert Moore was driving and Trent Fry sat in the front passenger seat. Dylan’s beautiful face was being dusted by the light rain. His short, silky brown hair was wind-blown back, and a crazy grin stretched across his face and brightened his chocolate eyes. Robert ignored Aimee and revved his car waiting for the light to change. Trent glared at her.
    Aimee asked Dylan, “Hey, what are you guys doing out so early?”
    Before Dylan could answer, Robert stomped on the accelerator when the light turned, and the sedan blew past her. Dylan’s hand waved before it disappeared into the car. She started to