Christina Lee - Whisper to Me

Sam had made a beeline for me about an hour earlier to talk about his grandson Micah. He said Micah was being moved to another facility and that he would let me know the visiting hours once the boy was settled. I promised him I’d visit Micah in the next couple of weeks, but I still didn’t understand his motives for seeking me out.

For all I knew, my mother had put him up to it or something.

She had always commented on how nurturing I had been to Rachel in the hospital. In reality, I think she knew how my feelings had changed. But she was cool enough not to mention it, outside of teasing me about living with two women for the summer. When she asked about Rachel, she’d get this softness in her eyes that I continued to ignore.

Regardless, I felt for the kid and would visit Micah if it made Sam happy. It might even make me feel better. Maybe I’d bring along my acoustic bass and play him some tunes.

Two women dressed in skimpy clothing now edged closer to the elevators, and I could already tell they would attempt to get by without showing their room keys.

“I need to see your keys,” I said in an authoritative voice.

“Oh c’mon,” the one in the red heels said, trying her best to use a seductive voice. “We . . . accidentally left them in our room.”

It bugged me when girls used their sexuality to get their way. But I supposed it worked on enough men to keep the practice in business.

I remained unflappable. “Which floor?”

She seemed surer of her answer to that question. “Fifth.”

“Mmm-hmm,” I muttered, reaching for my two-way radio. “Let me call the front desk and have them look up your names.”

“No, wait,” the brassy blond said, her eyes shifting guiltily. “We . . . we don’t actually have rooms here.”

“Yeah, thought so,” I said. “Nice try. Why do you ladies need to get up there?”

They side-eyed each other, and then the brunette said, “Our boyfriends are waiting for us.”

I’d heard this one before. These girls were probably supposed to meet some businessmen, away from home for the week, in their rooms. “Why aren’t they down here with you?”

Blondie shrugged. You’d think the dudes would be slicker and actually bring them up with their own cards. But they were too afraid to be seen with women who were not their wives.

“Security’s in place for a reason,” I said. They tried giving me doe eyes, but I wasn’t going for it. “For all I know, you could be strapping bombs or something.”

They laughed and looked down at their scantily-clad bodies, pretty certain that what I was suggesting was ridiculous. “You can frisk us and find out.”

But the only woman I’d consider frisking was a certain green-eyed beauty.

“You scheduled your follow-up appointment with Dr. Douglas, right?” Mom asked.

Every summer visit post-surgery, Mom made sure I secured an appointment with my neurosurgeon. The idea was that they would monitor the pressure in my skull. Even though the fluid had been drained during surgery, post-op complications were always a possibility. Three years out, I hadn’t had anything more than occasional headaches, some numbness, and sensitivity to light.

“Of course,” I said. “It’s not for a couple of weeks.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said, setting up a display of natural lip balms at the cash register.

I nodded. It was a given that she always wanted to come, and I was more than fine with that.

“I’ve been thinking.” I walked over to the freshly-painted chocolate-brown wall and looked around the store from that vantage point. “You need a website, Mom.”

“Um . . .” Mom looked at a loss for words as she did after many of my latest suggestions.

“I brought my camera,” I said, pointing to my bag. “I figure we can take photos and then post the items on a webpage.”

“Gosh, honey, I don’t know.” She bit her fingernail, a habit I’d been noticing a lot more recently. “How am I supposed to keep up with a website after you head back to school?”

“We can do something basic. We’ll list the hours of operation, phone number, and address,” I said, even though she still looked skeptical. “Just so people know how to find us.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she said, folding her arms and sinking back against the counter.

“And great photos of the space might draw people in. Especially the locals,” I said, moving to another corner to see what the lighting looked like near the front windows. “They’d be willing to take a drive here to see what this place is all about.”

“That does sound like a good idea, honey,” she said, joining me at the front display to stare out across the small parking lot. “Gosh, what am I going to do without you?”

“You managed without me at the other location,” I said, playfully knocking my hip against hers. “Besides, I bet John would help if you needed him.”

“Yeah . . . he would,” Mom said with a contented gleam in her eye.

Her husband, John, had been to the shop during his lunch break this week to see our progress. I’d admit it was still awkward being around him—one of the reasons I was thankful for Dakota’s offer to stay at her place this summer. Mom and John had been married only a year—they had eloped and held a private ceremony, which was best for all concerned—and it all felt too fresh, as if they hadn’t waited for the ink to dry on my parents’ divorce papers.

John was definitely nice enough, and he didn’t act like he was trying too hard to win me over, but what I noticed most of all was how he treated my mom. It was like he revered her. It hadn’t slipped by me that they spoke openly, consulted each other on important things, and made decisions together.

I realized how vastly different that was from how Mom and Dad had interacted. They were barely in the same room at the same time. And they never seemed to agree on anything. In retrospect, maybe they’d acted civil only for my sake.

Because as soon as I’d retreat to my room, they’d argue bitterly in hushed tones, just a floor below. It was scary listening to your parents knock each other down with words. I’d lay awake desperately formulating elaborate ways to fix things, but the next morning everything would seem fine between them. Empty, but fine.

Maybe contentment in a new marriage—a new relationship—was just a novelty. I remembered how close I felt to Miles at the beginning. We talked incessantly on the phone those first few weeks. We had been a deliriously happy couple, hadn’t we?

And then I began remembering the little things. How I’d been so giddy about dating him that I let certain things slide. Like when he was out with his teammates, I was never invited along. How I stayed home alone my share of weekend nights because he had away games or would be involved with some kind of team thing. How sometimes Dakota, and even Kai, would show up to drag me out the door to a movie or to get pizza with friends.

Gosh, how had I forgotten that? Come to think of it, Mom and Dad had separate friends and activities as well.

Spending weekends over at Dakota and Kai’s house had felt drastically different. Their family laughed and got along most of the time. Mr. and Mrs. Nakos would share meaningful looks, and they always spoke respectfully to each other.

I removed my digital camera from its case, adjusted the flash, and began taking test shots of the store. “I think we should do a grand reopening in a couple of weeks. We’ll pass out fliers and invite family and friends.”

Mom moved out of range of my shot to avoid being in the picture. She was such a pretty lady, with her dark pixie cut and bright eyes, but she hated seeing herself in photographs.

“You’re in a better location now,” I said, sneakily taking a shot of her while she arranged candles on a shelf. “So hopefully business will pick up.”

She sat back on her heels, admiring her arrangement. “That would be great.”

“And knowing you, you’ll want to be in the back making product most of the time,” I said. “So I’d consider hiring part-time help to work the front of the store.”

She looked up at me. “Can’t I just keep my little girl here?”

“You know I’d do it if the university was closer,” I said as my guilt accelerated.

“I know you would, sweetie,” she said, exhaling. “I’ll have to hire somebody responsible and trustworthy.”

“Of course. Let’s see how the rest of the summer goes,” I said, snapping my last photo. I’d have to shoot more once the shop was in final order. “Before I head back to school our goal can be to find someone.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She stood and headed to the back room to check on the new batch of candles cooling on a rack.

I got busy unloading more boxes from the previous store—bath lotions, shower gels, and soaps. I remembered the deep timbre of Kai’s voice when he told me I smelled good that morning. How he stood so close behind me. The way his eyes sought mine in the mirror.

Had he been remembering our night together the way that I had the past few days?

Damn, he was starting to hijack my brain.

A week ago, I would have never considered him to be anything more than a handsome best friend from childhood. But now I was entertaining all of these other thoughts about him. I imagined waking up in his bed. In his strong arms. Touching him, tasting him, hearing the sounds he made when he came undone.

And, Holy Mother of God, what did that boy look like completely naked?

I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d felt this kind of visceral response to somebody. It was like a live wire had been plugged into the center of my chest and was being fed directly to the area between my legs.