Whispering Minds Read Free Page A

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