girl. One who would now, because of what Eloise had done, live and go on to help a great many people. Or so the voice that wasn’t a voice told her. Justice , it promised, will be served in other, more significant, ways.
Eloise wasn’t sure she believed it. But what did she know?
She decided that it was a good afternoon to clear out the garden in the backyard. The perennials needed trimming, the annuals to get pulled up, the soil turning. She had neglected the garden badly, like so many things since the accident. Amanda reluctantly helped pull weeds for a little while, but then she lost interest and Eloise let her go inside and watch television. It was awhile of being out there alone before Eloise was aware of it, how strange was the rustling of the wind through the trees.
She stopped what she was doing and pulled herself up from her gardener’s crouch, stretched out her aching lower back, and listened. The leaves were dancing in the wind that had picked up. And underneath the current of that sound she heard the distinct sound of whispering. Low and musical, eternal, a million voices telling their stories to the sky. She stood there awhile, letting the sound of it wash over her. She knew that she had never heard it before, but that it had been there all along, like a radio station she’d never been able to receive. There was something deeply sad and also joyful, a symphony of all the myriad notes of lives lived. Once Eloise heard it, she couldn’t stop listening. It was mesmerizing, a siren song. What rocks would it crash her upon?
“Mom?”
Emily was standing over by the rosebush Eloise had just trimmed back. “Mom, do you hear it?”
Emily was wearing the dress she’d worn to her first communion. It was a white, lacey thing that they’d had to wrestle her into. She complained the whole day about how it itched, and she’d torn it off and thrown it to the floor the minute she was allowed to change. But she looked like an angel while she wore it. Even frowning and fidgeting, she was the most beautiful creature.
“The whispers?” asked Eloise. Oh, she wanted to take that girl in her arms. It was a deep and powerful ache, but she kept her distance.
Emily nodded sagely. “Yes,” she said. “The Whispers. Not everyone can hear them, you know.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Eloise asked. She didn’t mean to sound sad and peevish, helpless. But she did. And she didn’t mean just about The Whispers. She meant everything. “Emily, tell me. What am I supposed to do?”
Emily smiled—her funny, crooked, one that was always just for Eloise.
“All you have to do is listen.”
Then she turned and left soundlessly through the garden gate. Eloise didn’t call after her. She just let her lovely lost girl go.
Turn the page for a preview of Lisa Unger’s next thriller, coming soon from Touchstone . . .
CRAZY LOVE YOU
prologue
As I pulled up the long drive, deep potholes and crunching gravel beneath my wheels, towering pines above me, I was neither moved by the natural beauty nor stilled inside by the quietude. I did not marvel at the fingers of light spearing through the canopy, dappling the ground. I did not admire the frolicking larks or the scampering squirrels for their carefree existence. No. In fact, it all made me sick. There was a scream of protest lodged at the base of my throat, and it had been sitting there for the better part of a year. When it finally escaped—and I wasn’t sure when that might be—I knew it would be a roar to shake the world to its core.
It was supposed to have been an auspicious year for me. According to all the astrological predictions—if you believe in that kind of thing—I was to have found security at home, success at work—rewards for all my labors. Megan, the sweet and willowy girl of my dreams—the kind of girl who asked the universe for what we needed, and who dwelled “in a place of gratitude,” and who regularly walked around burning sage and
Eloise wasn’t sure she believed it. But what did she know?
She decided that it was a good afternoon to clear out the garden in the backyard. The perennials needed trimming, the annuals to get pulled up, the soil turning. She had neglected the garden badly, like so many things since the accident. Amanda reluctantly helped pull weeds for a little while, but then she lost interest and Eloise let her go inside and watch television. It was awhile of being out there alone before Eloise was aware of it, how strange was the rustling of the wind through the trees.
She stopped what she was doing and pulled herself up from her gardener’s crouch, stretched out her aching lower back, and listened. The leaves were dancing in the wind that had picked up. And underneath the current of that sound she heard the distinct sound of whispering. Low and musical, eternal, a million voices telling their stories to the sky. She stood there awhile, letting the sound of it wash over her. She knew that she had never heard it before, but that it had been there all along, like a radio station she’d never been able to receive. There was something deeply sad and also joyful, a symphony of all the myriad notes of lives lived. Once Eloise heard it, she couldn’t stop listening. It was mesmerizing, a siren song. What rocks would it crash her upon?
“Mom?”
Emily was standing over by the rosebush Eloise had just trimmed back. “Mom, do you hear it?”
Emily was wearing the dress she’d worn to her first communion. It was a white, lacey thing that they’d had to wrestle her into. She complained the whole day about how it itched, and she’d torn it off and thrown it to the floor the minute she was allowed to change. But she looked like an angel while she wore it. Even frowning and fidgeting, she was the most beautiful creature.
“The whispers?” asked Eloise. Oh, she wanted to take that girl in her arms. It was a deep and powerful ache, but she kept her distance.
Emily nodded sagely. “Yes,” she said. “The Whispers. Not everyone can hear them, you know.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Eloise asked. She didn’t mean to sound sad and peevish, helpless. But she did. And she didn’t mean just about The Whispers. She meant everything. “Emily, tell me. What am I supposed to do?”
Emily smiled—her funny, crooked, one that was always just for Eloise.
“All you have to do is listen.”
Then she turned and left soundlessly through the garden gate. Eloise didn’t call after her. She just let her lovely lost girl go.
Turn the page for a preview of Lisa Unger’s next thriller, coming soon from Touchstone . . .
CRAZY LOVE YOU
prologue
As I pulled up the long drive, deep potholes and crunching gravel beneath my wheels, towering pines above me, I was neither moved by the natural beauty nor stilled inside by the quietude. I did not marvel at the fingers of light spearing through the canopy, dappling the ground. I did not admire the frolicking larks or the scampering squirrels for their carefree existence. No. In fact, it all made me sick. There was a scream of protest lodged at the base of my throat, and it had been sitting there for the better part of a year. When it finally escaped—and I wasn’t sure when that might be—I knew it would be a roar to shake the world to its core.
It was supposed to have been an auspicious year for me. According to all the astrological predictions—if you believe in that kind of thing—I was to have found security at home, success at work—rewards for all my labors. Megan, the sweet and willowy girl of my dreams—the kind of girl who asked the universe for what we needed, and who dwelled “in a place of gratitude,” and who regularly walked around burning sage and
Similar Books
