The Whispers by Lisa Unger Page B

said Alfie, entering the room like sunlight. And, each of them like heliotropes, turned to face him with a smile.
    Alfie was the favorite parent and always had been. He was the tree climber, the player of “dangerous tricks,” the storyteller, the tear dryer, the bear-hugger. He was the nightmare slayer, the surprise party thrower. Oh, how they all adored him.
    “Sweetie,” said Alfie to Emily. “You look like someone just dug you out of a grave.”
    “Thanks, Daddy,” she said with a smile. “That’s the look I was going for.”
    Eloise bit back a rush of resentment. If she ever said anything even approaching that, Emily would have stormed from the kitchen, raged up the stairs, and slammed the door to her room so hard that the dishes in the china cabinet would shake.
    “And my angel,” he said, kissing Amanda on the forehead.
    “Good morning, Daddy.”
    “And my love.” Eloise leaned up to kiss him lightly on the lips. She picked a piece of lint off the blue sweater she’d given him for Christmas. The color brought out the cornflower blue of his eyes, the natural flush in his cheeks. For him, she’d prepared egg whites with a side of fruit, no toast. His cholesterol was sky high, and he was a big man, thick in the shoulders and heavy in the middle. She worried about him, knew he ate horribly at lunch—pizza, fast food, gyros. He sat beside her, chair creaking, and picked up the paper.
    “Thank you for breakfast,” he said. Never a morning in his life had he ever neglected to thank her for making his breakfast.
    “You’re welcome,” she said. And she meant it.
    Eloise simply had never loved anyone else but Alfie. They were high school sweethearts, married while still in college. Neither of them had ever looked around for anyone else. They were two halves of the same whole; she’d known it the day he walked into freshman advanced algebra and picked a seat right next to her. He was taller than the other boys, bigger, more mature somehow. Was he handsome like football star Bradley Miller? Or tough and cool like bad boy Steve Tanner? No. But he had something that no other boy she’d known had ever had. She saw it right away. And she wasn’t even sure what it was.
    Eloise had forced herself not to stare at him that first day, even though she could feel him staring at her. And boys never stared at her because she was not pretty. She was plain in the face, and she was too skinny, and there was no money for the cool jeans or designer bags. She could never tame her wild black hair. And she was shy to the point of seeming rude. Smile a little, Eloise , her father used to chide. People like a girl who smiles.
    The middle schools from three different counties converged at Hollows High, so Eloise had been feeling more timid than usual that long ago fall morning. Surrounded by people she didn’t know, finding her way around a school that seemed huge compared to her small middle school on the outskirts of The Hollows, she wished the floor would open up and swallow her. That’s why she practically jumped out of her skin when, halfway through the period, Alfie Montgomery handed a note across the aisle to her.
    She took it and unfolded it, looking at him. He wore a big grin—oh, and those sparkling, laughing eyes. She couldn’t help but smile back. His face, full of light, demanded it.
    You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen. And one day I am going to ask you to marry me, he had written .
    She didn’t have time to react, because their teacher, Mrs. Peacock, was standing in front of Eloise’s desk. Eloise reluctantly looked up into the reading glasses of her annoyed instructor, who held out a hand for the note.
    Eloise handed it over, a hot flush coming up her neck and coloring her face, she was sure, a hideous scarlet.
    “Something you would like to share, Eloise?”
    She shook her head.
    “It’s my fault,” said Alfie quickly. He stood. “I passed it to her.”
    “Maybe you would like to share your