Welcome to the Whisper Fact or Fiction Blog Tour! We will have a small Guest Post with Heather Hildenbrand some book info and a chance to win an ecopy of Whisper!
Tinker – Fact. Okay, not my grandfather, but I had a good friend growing up whose dad was called Tinker. I think his real name was Garland, maybe? (What’s that? You’d have a nickname, too, if your name was Garland? Point taken.)
I don’t know the reason for his nickname. I think it’s because of his tendency to want to fix things, just like in the story. And, just like in the story, even his family called him Tinker most of the time, instead of “Dad” or “Grandpa.” It was almost like a term of endearment. The way he and Lydia interact, though, is mostly inspired from my Pop and Granny. They were always fussing at each other. He would purposely bait her for the simple fact that he liked to see her riled up. She’d chase him with a broom or something and he’d just laugh like it was the funniest thing in the world. But underneath it, they loved each other. #WhoCouldTell?
The Cherokee believe when a person dies, their soul is reborn. Life is repeated. An endless cycle of lessons to be learned, love to be found, destiny to be fulfilled. For the past six months, in every flower, every bird, I’ve imagined my parents, relieved of their human forms.
Now, after five months at the Skye View Wellness Center, it was summer. A time for parties and friends, but that’s the last thing I want to do. So when my best friend Erin convinces me to attend a bonfire at Eagle Point, I can’t handle the crowd full of sympathetic stares or drunken class clowns who would use my tragedy as a way into my heart – or my pants. The solitude of the woods offers an escape, until I stumble upon a boy, unconscious and bleeding, his pockets stuffed not with identification but with poetry illustrating the beauty of dying. I’ve seen enough death. I will not leave this boy’s side.
Even after he wakes, when the only thing he can remember are visions of events that haven’t happened yet…
I stood on the porch, trying not to look at the police cruisers parked in the driveway. And when I did look at them, I tried not to let the memories come. But that was like trying to stop water with your hands. Enough of it got through that you were going to get wet.
“How would you know I was there?”
His gaze locked on mine and I stilled, barely able to breathe. All trace of laughter disappeared from his expression. His stare was heavy to the point of paralyzing.
“My soul would recognize you and wake me.” His voice was gravelly and low, barely above a whisper, but it filled my ears and raced straight to my heart. I felt a keen familiarity with this moment and with Dylan himself. It was more than déjà vu. It was something inside me recognizing something inside him.
“I want to,” I answered, breathless and aching.
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t even have to think about his question. Our past was heartbreaking and our future uncertain. All we had was this moment. “Yes.”
I told myself it was nothing; fancy fabric couldn’t manifest a destiny any more than a person could fight it. But, although the sun still blazed with late afternoon heat, the day felt ominous. Or maybe it was me.
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