Page 3 of A Violet Obsession

Did you finish the book you were reading last week? How’s the computer you’re building coming? I love you.

“Great.” My cheeks feel hotter.

He gives me a funny look and nods, and that’s when I realize I’m still staring.

I think my mouth might be open, too.

With a nervous bleat of laughter, I hop on my bike and pedal as fast as I can.

Yup, I’m a disaster.

2

LILY

10 years ago

Five minutes later, when I turn onto our street, I’m surprised to find our driveway empty. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I make sure I haven’t missed a text or a call.

Mom: Dropping Dad’s car at the mechanic and then heading to Costco. Be back by 3. Be home by 6 so we can do this week’s meals. I got a new recipe for chicken teriyaki. Love you.

Me: Don’t forget we’re almost out of olive oil

That was at noon.

6:30

The number is illuminated on the screen. I thought I was going to be in trouble for being late, but they aren’t back yet. After putting my bike in the garage, I call my mom, ignoring the weird feeling under my ribs when she doesn’t answer. I quickly thumb out a text.

Me: Should I start the rice?

I drop my bag on my bed and flex my hand. It doesn’t do anything for the growing tingling sensation in my palms. I chew on my lip trying to stave off my growing unease.

However, after I’ve showered and dressed, there’s still no response.

They’re not late… not really… I try to rationalize to myself.

They’ve just stopped somewhere and forgot to tell me.

By the time I’ve sent two more texts and called both my parents’ phones with no answer, the tingling has spread from my fingers to my wrists and is creeping up my forearms like static.

And then—loud enough that I can’t pretend I still don’t hear them—the whispers.

I haven’t heard them for over a year. Not since they warned me to get Emma and me out of the line by the lemonade stand at the fair, just minutes before an elderly man mistook his gas pedal for the brake and plowed through the stand and the people in line. That was also the day my mother and father stopped thinking it was cute that I had imaginary friends and told me to never speak about them again.

The whispers hadn’t come back.

Until now.

I squeeze my eyes shut as tight as I can and clench my fists, my stomach rolling.

But the whispers grow louder and clearer until I can’t deny the words.

Love you. Love you. Love you.

I hear my mother’s soft voice threading through the others.

A swell of sadness sweeps over me so strong that my knees almost buckle.