“You want a ride home, man?” Evan offers to Adam.
Adam nods. “That’d be great. Thank you, Evan.”
“Dude, you can, like, start calling me bro or something.”
Adam’s face creases into a smile. His teeth are broad and a little crooked along the bottom row. A tiny dimple forms in the corner of his mouth. I decide that dimple will now be the first thing I see when I picture Adam.
Then he climbs into the passenger seat of Evan’s car, readjusting his long legs to fit.
“Call me later?” I ask Evan, knowing I sound a little needy, but I’m okay letting him know I need him now.
“Count on it,” he says, and pulls me to him, pressing his lips against mine. They linger like the scent of him. I let my lips graze over his until I’m dizzy with the contentedness of being in the arms of someone who loves every part of me, even the scary parts. I watch them drive away in Evan’s old white Ford, and I turn slowly toward my house.
Just before pulling my key from my bag, I take a moment and breathe deeply, letting the spring air in my lungs push against my ribs, then slowly exhale. I realize it’s the first time in close to a year that I’ve been able to take a deep breath. It feels so good I almost cry.
Mom’s sitting at the dining room table when I walk in. It’s still weird to see her out of bed and dressed in the middle of the day. But weird in a good way.
“How was school?”
She’s a little unpracticed. It’s like she has to remind herself how to ask the normal “mom questions.”
“Fine,” I say, deciding to save my teaching assistantship news for later. She’ll like hearing about it over dinner. It feels good to want to tell her that kind of stuff again.
“That’s good,” she says, gripping a mug of tea between her palms. She’s concentrating on the rich brown liquid. Then the wood of the table. Then the carpet.
It’s going to take a while. She said in therapy that she still can’t look at me without seeing Nell. I’m working on not holding that against her.
“I’ll be in my—I’ll be back there,” I say, not sure I should tell her whose room I’ll be in.
I turn to leave, but as I do, Mom’s fingers brush mine. She stands from the table and pulls me into a hug so tight, it knocks the wind out of me.
“Honey.”
I swallow the thickness from my throat and put my arms around her waist. I press my ear to her chest and listen to her heart thump. It sounds like honey, honey, honey.
When she finally lets me go, it’s like neither of us knows what to do from there. Mom’s the first to leave, deciding her tea needs to be reheated. I tell her I’ll see her at dinner. I smile to myself when I picture her excitement at hearing I’ll be Mrs. Dodd’s aide.
In my room, I change out of my school clothes and pull on Evan’s practice jersey and a pair of shorts. I crack the door to Nell’s bedroom and flop down on her bed, reaching beneath the mattress, feeling around for the journal I’ve been reading for nearly half a year.
Pulling the composition book from its place, I open it slowly, ceremoniously, and allow my eyes to fall across the page of Nell’s swirling letters. These are the words she left behind. The words Adam carried with him when he took her away from Oakside, and later left for me to find.
I run my finger across the impressions of her script, and let the gleam of her ring and mine catch a sliver of light. For just a moment, they look joined as one band, reinforced. Stronger. I take another deep breath.
And I read the words Nell wrote that inspired her to live—the same words that inspire those who loved her to go on living after she died. Her poetry isn’t a code to decipher anymore, but a language for her and me to share, even if she’s no longer here to speak it.
He says there’s a chance.
I say, What’s the point?
He points to me.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I feel so fortunate to have as many people to thank for their support as I have for this novel. Every author should be so lucky.
I am so grateful for my incredible editor, Annette Pollert. Thank you for your enthusiasm, warmth, and expertise throughout the whole process. When I dreamt of publishing, I always pictured an editor exactly like you. A million thanks to the entire team at Simon Pulse for your dedication to The Murmurings. Thank you: Bethany Buck, Mara Anastas, Jennifer Klonsky, Michael Strother, Lucille Rettino, Julie Christopher, Carolyn Swerdloff, Paul Crichton, Aaron Murray, Amy Bartram, Beth Adelman, Jenica Nasworthy, Jessica Handelman, Craig Adams, Mary Marotta, Christina Pecorale, Mary Faria, Brian Kelleher, Jim Conlin, Theresa Brumm, and Victor Iannone. Your eyes, minds, and hearts have made this novel possible.
To my brilliant agent, Steven Chudney—endless thanks for believing in me from the start. Your insights, intuition, and tireless efforts make me a better writer. No author could wish for a better advocate.
Professors, teachers, and mentors along the way, I am so grateful for your guidance. A very special thanks to Kathryn Reiss, Elmaz Abinader, Cornelia Nixon, Victor LaValle, Stephanie Young, and Yiyun Li. My experience at Mills College continues to sustain and nourish me.
Much, much love to my extraordinary writing group: Lizzie Brock, Laura Joyce Davis, Nina LaCour, and Teresa K. Miller. Thank you for your close readings and encouragement, and thank you for renewing and inspiring me every month. You mean so very much to me. Additional thanks to early readers Nate Davis and Liz Vachon.
To Frank Bumstead—did you think I’d forget? Thank you for making sure I didn’t have any excuse to shy away from my dreams.
Mom and Dad, thank you from my very core. You never once told me it wasn’t possible. Never once did you let on that writing might not be the most prudent endeavor. That seed has rooted me deeply, and has kept me upright when insecurity threatened to tip me over. To my brother, Matt; to Nikki, Rick, Jan, Bethany, Grandma Ruthie (of blessed memory), and Grandpa Phil: Thank you for your unceasing support and encouragement. I am humbled by your generosity of spirit, and so very lucky to call you family.
To my son, Simon, for the doors you’ve opened, even though you don’t have the dexterity to do that yet. I promise to dedicate my life to making sure you know how much you are loved.
For my husband, Matt: For making sure writing is always there, around every corner, never too far from my side. For insisting I never, ever let it slip away, and for catching it when it falls out of my hand. For believing when I don’t. For listening when it hurts and when it’s exciting and when I hate and love and fear it. For sushi and inspiration, for late night musings, for taking it seriously but always knowing when to laugh. For standing by my side. For facing it with me. For loving every crazy ounce of me. I love you, always.
CARLY ANNE WEST is a freelance writer with an MFA in English and Writing from Mills College. She lives with her husband and son in Seattle, Washington. Visit her at carlyannewest.com.
Jacket designed by Jessica Handelman
Jacket photograph copyright © 2013
by Josefine Jonsson/Trigger Image/Glasshouse Images
Author photograph by Kristyn Stroble
simon pulse
SIMON & SCHUSTER, NEW YORK
Watch videos, get extras, and read exclusives at
TEEN.SimonandSchuster.com
* * *
Thank you for reading this eBook.
Find out about free book giveaways, exclusive content, and amazing sweepstakes! Plus get updates on your favorite books, authors, and more when you join the Simon & Schuster Teen mailing list.
CLICK HERE TO LEARN MORE
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com/teen
* * *
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
&nb
sp; SIMON PULSE
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
First Simon Pulse hardcover edition March 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Carly Anne West
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of
Simon & Schuster, Inc.
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at www.simonspeakers.com.
Designed by Hilary Zarycky
The text of this book was set in New Baskerville.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
West, Carly Anne.
The murmurings / Carly Anne West. — 1st Simon Pulse hardcover ed.
p. cm.
Summary: After her older sister dies from an apparent suicide and her body is found hanging upside down by one toe from a tree, sixteen-year-old Sophie starts to hear the same voices that drove her sister to a psychotic break.
ISBN 978-1-4424-4179-8
[1. Death—Ficton. 2. Supernatural—Fiction. 3. Sisters—Fiction. 4. Psychiatric hospitals—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.W51733Mu 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2012013296
ISBN 978-1-4424-4181-1 (eBook)
The Murmurings Page 25