Whispering Minds by A.T. O'Connor Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: A.T. O'Connor
Tags: Children & Teens
his jaw. My body ached at the touch, and I wanted something more. It was a foreign feeling, and I wasn’t sure I welcomed it. Not now. Not yet. “I’ll pull myself together. I promise.”
His hand caught in the hair at the nape of my neck, and he held me there, our foreheads pressed together. “You better, because I miss you.”
* * *
When the house grew quiet, Angel climbed out of bed, crept down the hall and knelt on the hardwood floor in front of her parents’ bedroom door. She folded her hands and prayed for the forgiveness of all their sins.
Chapter 8
I woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than I had in months. No dreams littered my night, just a quiet sense of peacefulness. When I went downstairs for my morning cup of chai, Mom greeted me in the kitchen with a pan of homemade cinnamon rolls. She must have seen my body tense because her red-rimmed eyes flickered to the floor.
“I’m sorry for yesterday, honey.”
I poured milk into my mug and watched it spin in the microwave.
She shifted to lean against the wall. “And the day before. All of them, really.”
The timer beeped. I scooped powder into my cup and watched the mountain of spices sink into the froth.
“You’re right. I’m an alcoholic. There. I’ve said it. Does that make you feel better?”
I stirred my tea, unable to look at her. “No. It doesn’t. I don’t want you to be an alcoholic. I just want you to be my mom.”
“I’ll quit. I promise.”
Finally, I turned. Nothing was harder than staring into the sober eyes of an alcoholic and witnessing a thousand apologies staring back at you. I took Mom’s hands in mine, her icy fingers leaching heat from my own. “We’ve been here before.”
She shook her head. “Not like this. I can’t…I can’t stand what your father has done.”
My pulse quickened. The Big Secret was within my grasp. “What has he done?”
Mom chewed on her bottom lip. “Gemi, I can’t. We’ve both made mistakes. We all have.”
“Tell me. I need to know. I need to know what this huge secret is that everyone seems to know about.”
Mom paled. “How do you know about that?”
“I heard you and Dad talking in the car on the way to the hospital and Dad making Granny promise something. Even the old lady at the funeral knows what happened. Everybody but me.”
“Remembering doesn’t help anyone.” She laughed, the bitterness echoing in the kitchen. “Alcohol helps you forget. But what he’s doing…it isn’t working anymore. It just has to stop.”
“You have to stop.” My voice sounded harsh in the quiet kitchen. Mom was stubborn enough to keep quiet about the past, but I wasn’t going to let her off the hook for her drinking. “Both of you do.”
“I will.” She squeezed my hands—fumbled—and pulled me into a hug. Her freshly washed hair smelled of orange ginger. Clean and strong. Maybe this time would be different.
Unless…“Where’s Dad?”
Mom shrugged. “Out. He’s taking this harder than you think.”
I let the comment go. The only thing my father ever took hard was his liquor.
“Will you help me, Gemini?”
“Do what?”
“Decorate for Christmas.”
I grimaced. “Isn’t it a little late? I mean, it’s already Wednesday. Christmas is in three days.”
“Three days to enjoy the holiday season.” Mom deliberately ignored my reluctance and grinned as if our previous conversation had never happened. Even sober, she was a master at forgetting. “Come on, Gemini. It’ll be fun. It’s been so many years since we’ve pulled the tree up from the basement, I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”
Sadly, so had I. After finishing our cinnamon rolls, Mom carried the decorations down from the attic while I straightened the kitchen. In the process, I dumped out the last third of whiskey and tossed the bottle into the trash. Dried rice tumbled down over the plate shards from my tantrum the other day—a grim reminder that I also had some things to work
His hand caught in the hair at the nape of my neck, and he held me there, our foreheads pressed together. “You better, because I miss you.”
* * *
When the house grew quiet, Angel climbed out of bed, crept down the hall and knelt on the hardwood floor in front of her parents’ bedroom door. She folded her hands and prayed for the forgiveness of all their sins.
Chapter 8
I woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than I had in months. No dreams littered my night, just a quiet sense of peacefulness. When I went downstairs for my morning cup of chai, Mom greeted me in the kitchen with a pan of homemade cinnamon rolls. She must have seen my body tense because her red-rimmed eyes flickered to the floor.
“I’m sorry for yesterday, honey.”
I poured milk into my mug and watched it spin in the microwave.
She shifted to lean against the wall. “And the day before. All of them, really.”
The timer beeped. I scooped powder into my cup and watched the mountain of spices sink into the froth.
“You’re right. I’m an alcoholic. There. I’ve said it. Does that make you feel better?”
I stirred my tea, unable to look at her. “No. It doesn’t. I don’t want you to be an alcoholic. I just want you to be my mom.”
“I’ll quit. I promise.”
Finally, I turned. Nothing was harder than staring into the sober eyes of an alcoholic and witnessing a thousand apologies staring back at you. I took Mom’s hands in mine, her icy fingers leaching heat from my own. “We’ve been here before.”
She shook her head. “Not like this. I can’t…I can’t stand what your father has done.”
My pulse quickened. The Big Secret was within my grasp. “What has he done?”
Mom chewed on her bottom lip. “Gemi, I can’t. We’ve both made mistakes. We all have.”
“Tell me. I need to know. I need to know what this huge secret is that everyone seems to know about.”
Mom paled. “How do you know about that?”
“I heard you and Dad talking in the car on the way to the hospital and Dad making Granny promise something. Even the old lady at the funeral knows what happened. Everybody but me.”
“Remembering doesn’t help anyone.” She laughed, the bitterness echoing in the kitchen. “Alcohol helps you forget. But what he’s doing…it isn’t working anymore. It just has to stop.”
“You have to stop.” My voice sounded harsh in the quiet kitchen. Mom was stubborn enough to keep quiet about the past, but I wasn’t going to let her off the hook for her drinking. “Both of you do.”
“I will.” She squeezed my hands—fumbled—and pulled me into a hug. Her freshly washed hair smelled of orange ginger. Clean and strong. Maybe this time would be different.
Unless…“Where’s Dad?”
Mom shrugged. “Out. He’s taking this harder than you think.”
I let the comment go. The only thing my father ever took hard was his liquor.
“Will you help me, Gemini?”
“Do what?”
“Decorate for Christmas.”
I grimaced. “Isn’t it a little late? I mean, it’s already Wednesday. Christmas is in three days.”
“Three days to enjoy the holiday season.” Mom deliberately ignored my reluctance and grinned as if our previous conversation had never happened. Even sober, she was a master at forgetting. “Come on, Gemini. It’ll be fun. It’s been so many years since we’ve pulled the tree up from the basement, I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”
Sadly, so had I. After finishing our cinnamon rolls, Mom carried the decorations down from the attic while I straightened the kitchen. In the process, I dumped out the last third of whiskey and tossed the bottle into the trash. Dried rice tumbled down over the plate shards from my tantrum the other day—a grim reminder that I also had some things to work