With the risk of exposure to Jimmy over and my childhood pretty much laid open, my alters had quietly faded away into my subconscious. Well, all of them except Fell. She went down with a fight. Jealousy, it seemed, was universal. Even within myself.
Through therapy, I pieced together a gray and dismal childhood. Long before Jimmy was taken away, Rae had soothed me while my parents fought. Jimmy’s disappearance and my dad’s rages created an influx of alters to help me cope. Each year, my dad would buy Jimmy gifts, only to have them returned. Each year, he became less stable, and Mom allowed his abuse out of guilt for cheating on him.
He loved me for those first six years he thought I was his, and he hated me for the next eleven as he mourned Jimmy’s loss at my hand. I didn’t blame him. We’d all made our fair share of mistakes, and we’d all paid a heavy price. My parents drank, Jimmy raged, and I forgot.
When I had moved back to Prairie Flats in the eighth grade, I handed over my Fluff Bunny to Clarence and told him my past never existed. It obviously worked, because I ceased to remember Travis from that school year to the next. My alters fell dormant, apparently at ease with the routine of school and work.
Yet as dismal as it was, the occasional splash of color found its way into my life. And that was the second lesson on utopia. It did exist in very small moments. A hummingbird feather collected for me. Tea and fairy tales with Granny. The touch of a silken spider web.
That seemed to be all I could think of lately. Webs. A web of lies. A web of secrets. Concentric circles connected to one irrefutable center. And inevitably, these webs always led me to think of the spider on the smooth skin of Trav’s shoulder.
When it finally popped into my view, it startled me. More for the perfect gleam of dark skin rippled over muscle than for the web itself. That Travis was busy at Clarence’s house was not uncommon. That I had literally walked right into him without noticing was.
I had just left the bathroom after my shower and was humming a lullaby when Travis came down the ladder from the attic. Unseasonably warm temps forced Travis to strip off his shirt while working to replace the insulation. A sheen of sweat covered his skin.
He turned. I stepped aside to give him room, but he just stood there, staring at me. I cleared my throat, and his dark eyes locked on mine.
Something about them reminded me of the look Jimmy gave Travis before the paramedics arrived.
He always loved you best.
Jimmy hadn’t been talking about our dad like I assumed. Rather, he’d been talking about Travis. As kids, Jimmy had loved Travis as much as I had, yet it was my affections Travis returned.
Like the rest of my childhood, the Baker’s Dozen helped me sterilize the truth. Jimmy was not the perfect brother. Nor I the perfect sister. And neither had we grown up flawless. Within us, we each carried the burden of our childhoods. I withheld my love. Jimmy gave too much.
“Travis?”
He shifted his weight onto one foot. His jeans hung just off his hips.
“Hey, Gem. Didn’t see you there.”
Yeah right.
Self-consciously, I tugged at the towel wrapped around my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. “Can I ask you something?”
He nodded, and I plunged ahead, afraid to lose my courage if I didn’t. “Why did you play along with me all those years? Why didn’t you tell me about us? About me?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?” This was the part I didn’t get. I understood how I had blocked Travis out of my mind, but he had no such excuse. Not unless we were both seriously messed up.
Travis climbed back up the ladder and brought down a shoe box. He opened it, and when I leaned forward, my handwriting appeared on the face of an envelope tucked inside. Trav’s name, underlined with a squiggly, the “i” dotted with a heart.
On his urging, I pulled the letter free. The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air.
Travis,
I don’t want to forget you.
Forever and Always,
Gemi
One after the other, the letters read the same. Four simple lines, laced with perfume, dotted with love. I counted them. Thirty-seven in all. They started the month I moved to Prairie Flats.
“Only one is different.” Travis pulled out a thicker envelope and handed it to me. “It’s the last one.”
I think I’m falling in love with you.
I grabbed the envelope and checked the postmark. October.
Understanding dawned. “You’re the reason.”
It wasn’t Granny’s death or the formation of the Dozen for my psych project that caused me to lose my mind. Rather, my feelings for Travis triggered my alters’ full-fledged return and Fell’s loss of control.
The first law of utopia. For one to find happiness, another will feel pain. When I finally gave in to my feelings for Travis and Angel sent that letter, I had plunged my alters back into turmoil. The past we had so neatly tucked away threatened to surface, and we were once again thrust into crisis mode.
It disturbed me to know I was so vulnerable. That my life might never be truly my own. “How much do you know about me?”
“Enough.”
“Did you know about my personality disorder?”
“Nobody did. We just thought you needed to start over. We followed your lead.” Travis tucked a stray hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, then traced along my jaw to my chin. He dropped his hand to my hip where it burned through my thin T-shirt. “I do know that whatever comes our way, we can handle it.”
I listened for any sign of the Dozen, but all I heard was my own heart. My head was clear. I shook the shoebox. “Did you always keep this in your grandpa’s attic?”
Travis flushed. “Actually, no. I kept it in my truck, waiting for the right moment.”
“Like right now?”
“Like forever.” He smiled in a way that made my stomach flutter and held out his hand. A sliver of emerald stone dangled on the end of a silver chain. It had been carved into a tiny feather. “I made it for you. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
He slid it around my neck and clasped it for me.
Tears stung my eyes. “Thank you, Travis. It’s beautiful.”
“Not as beautiful as you.”
It was my turn to blush. “You were here on purpose, in the attic, waiting.”
Like a spider.
Before I could stop myself, I leaned forward and kissed him, barely brushing his lips with my own. I rested my hand on his chest, feeling his strength beneath my palm. His kiss deepened and stole my breath away. For the first time, his kiss brought only pleasure and no pain. I really was in charge.
When he pulled back, I leaned unsteadily against the wall. “Long ago, I think you promised me a trip to Emerald Lake.”
“You remember that?”
I closed my eyes and watched the parade of memories. I nodded. “I think I finally remember everything.”
He scooped me into his arms and carried me to my room. He dropped me on the bed and knelt down before me, wrapping my legs around his body. I shifted to bring him closer. Eye to eye, we gazed at each other. I would graduate in a few months and finally be free to live my life.
With the Dozen once again tucked away and all my childhood secrets laid to rest, I was ready for the next step. “Wonder if it’s too late to rewrite that paper.”
“What paper?”
“Utopia.” I nuzzled my head against his shoulder. “I think I just found it.”
Travis caught my hand in his. His fingers twined in mine, a spider with too many legs.
“I love you, Travis Stone.”
He smiled against my lips. “It’s about time.”
* * *
On the bedside table, my cell phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Gemi. Forever and Always, Jimmy.
Acknowledgements
A novel isn’t written overnight. My journey began forty-odd years ago when my parents instilled the love of the written word in me. With the help of public libraries and Scholastic book orders, my childhood was filled with stories. For that and so much more, I thank my parents. You encouraged me to read well beyond my years—a gift that showed me a world of vast possibilities and beautiful diversity.
And diverse it was. After moving from large cities where I was a minority to dinky towns the size of thimble, with rolling hills, cornfields and conservative Midwestern values, I met and fell in love with my high school sweetheart who has supported my incessant need to write ever since. Allowing me to pen stories at odd times and about odd things wasn’t in our wedding vows, but it should have been because the life of a writer is nothing close to normal. Thanks so much for putting up with me and my quirky habits—including my desire to raise a large family.
Without my four kids I would be lost. You’ve filled my life with so much joy—and novel fodder—that I will never be able to repay you. Thanks for learning to be independent and supportive. Not many kids make their own dinners while encouraging their moms to disappear for an entire month each year. Mine not only do, but they also cheer me on in my crazy pursuit of penning 50,000 words in thirty days each November.
And a good thing, too, because
Whispering Minds
is the product of National Novel Writing Month. To that end, I must thank the Sexy Turkey Hatters of 2009. Without you, I never would have written 56,000 words in twenty-six days. Your cyber presence in my life the year before was the inspiration for this novel—as in, “What if the people I was talking to didn’t really exist?” I hope you find a couple of our NaNo dares within the pages. They are for you.
Another amazing thing that happened in my writing journey that year was my discovery of The World’s Best Online Writing Site. Yes, AqentQuery Connect, that’s you. I met many wonderful friends on AQ’s community who have supported me in my writing endeavors, particularly the Class of ’09, Step by Step and Kid Crits. Your input into my writing has been priceless.
Other critique partners of note for
Whispering Minds
are: the fearlessly honest, Mindy McGinnis; R.C. Lewis; Kay Elam; and Riley Redgate. Thanks so much for your expertise. My beta readers—Jamie Risner, McKenzie Sommers, and Shanda Bogstad—were of no less value in helping me catch plot holes and character inconsistencies. Thanks a bunch for taking time out of your busy lives to read some pretty rough drafts.
Once my novel was whipped into shape, I got busy with the professional side of writing. A big thanks goes to my editors, Laura Carlson and Matt Sinclair. You showed me that despite the drafts and revisions of yore, I still had a ways to go in creating a novel worthy of gracing America’s nightstands. Your belief in me and your encouraging words about my writing were some of the most magical experiences of my life. In addition, Charlee Hoffman earns my undying gratitude for the beautiful cover design, while R.C. Lewis—in all her OCD wonderfulness—created the sleek format you hold in your hands.
Ironically, my novel never would have made it to the bookshelf without the support of my past literary agent, Stephen Fraser. Despite amicably parting ways so I could spread my wings to embrace all genres of writing and not just humorous chapter books, Stephen’s enthusiasm for my writing in general gave me the push to pursue publishing when I was ready to trunk my keyboard for good.
And speaking of trunks, thanks a billion to Elephant’s Bookshelf Press for taking a chance on me. I am honored to be part of your close-knit family of writers.
Which reminds me, my journey wouldn’t be complete without circling back to family. Writing is such a solitary experience that it’s easy to lose focus. Thanks to my siblings for donning their pompoms and helping me keep my eyes on the goal. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you.
Lastly, I would like to thank my extended family, in-laws and friends for taking the time to ask about my writing and listen to long-winded answers about the ever-changing publishing business. I have truly been blessed to share my writing journey with so many wonderful people.
Forever and always,
Alexandra Tys O’Connor
Book Club/Study Guide Questions
1. Gemi has been called an unreliable narrator by some readers because she can’t relay everything that is happening to her due to her blackouts. However, others may contend that she does relay her story in a factual manner—at least those portions she is aware of. What do you think and why?
2. To that end, aren’t all narrators unreliable because they relay the events of their lives through their own filters? If so, what does that say about us and the way we view our lives?
3. Gemi’s parents each have secrets of their own—her mother’s affair and her father’s part in the accident and sexual abuse allegations that took Jimmy away from the family. How did their denial of these events exacerbate Gemi’s inability to cope with the loss of her brother? As individuals or as members of a community, how have you seen denial hinder healing?