Page 93 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

Skye hugged her grandmother, arms locked in a firm hold. She’d hugged her like this ever since she’d been a kid. In the past few years, she’d gentled her arms around muscles not as tight, a body softer with age. “I’ll do the packing justice. Anything else?”

“That’s it, that’s all,” Luce muttered. And when Miss Janetta honked from her gray sedan outside, Skye thanked the stars. Holding the door open for Luce to stride out, she meant every bit of her: “Have fun and don’t rush.”

Then Skye shut every curtain and switched all the lights off in her path to her bedroom. Their home shall be a cave. A cave for her to hibernate. Sure, she wouldn’t forget her responsibilities, setting several alarms to wake her by 2 p.m. More than enough time for optimal boxing. They’d honor her grandfather in style.

She remembered art enthusiast magazines splayed upon Granddad’s desk, pre-stroke. He swore Luce’s work belonged in all of them, and they’d accomplished that feat for a half dozen. Lucky number seven would happen with forgettable, indirect assistance from his granddaughter. Nobody spoke of handlersand delivery people in speeches on fine art, but that should change.

Skye – 8:06 am

About to embark on a six-hour nap. Wish me well.

Celene responded seconds later.

Celene – 8:06 am

Busy night?

Skye – 8:08 am

Yeah. Working on your commission.

Celene – 8:09 am

You’ve earned a nice, long rest.

Will you dream of me?

Now that Skye could promise, every time. She bent her stiff joints beneath her comforter, sighing at how far they’d come. Life made sense now.

Skye – 8:12 am

I don’t need to sleep to do that.

Celene – 8:13 am

I believe you.

Go to bed, beautiful.

“Mmm, I love you, Celene,” Skye whispered into the fabric of her cool pillow. It sent chills through her, speaking those premature, possibly forbidden words. They were her truth, though. Only her dimmed room held that privilege of hearing.

On the bed rail next to her charging phone, she’d attached their ‘Bready for Love’ couple photo, as stunning as the day Pearl captured it. Skye would certainly embrace Celene in her dreams, swirling in peachy clouds and yellows of worlds unseen.

Yet, her thoughts fell on her grandfather when she closed her eyes. It would’ve been nice to create something for him, too.

Skye’s bodybegged for more sleep when the alarm clock went off in a bright, digital tune next to her head. Besides a few winks to adjust her eyes to the sunlight bleeding through her curtains, she’d think of nothing else but that delivery until it was prepared for Carl.

“Sheesh, okay,” she said as she hopped off the bottom rung of her ladder. The nap helped—perhaps too much. Contrary to assumptions about a daydreamer and her mystical bedtimes, Skye didn’t nap well. They left her disoriented and off-balance, much like a dream that hadn’t culminated in a conclusion. Six hours of this sapped her.

Eyes bleary from the transport in time, her shoulders thudded on either side of the hallway in her walk to the front room. Midday coffee would remedy this. Or better—black tea from Celene’s teapot. Infused with something tangy, like grapefruit or pomegranate seeds. Her stomach lurched as a warning not to bother. Nothing here would compare.

Dreams in this nap began enthralling, of Celene’s hands in Skye’s hair and her mouth clasped onto the pulse point on her neck. Then, those visions blew away in murky nebula engulfing Skye, folding over itself like waves. She’d call for Celene, and the mist would choke her into silence. In a fit, she’d yell out to herparents, then Luce, and her shrieks could only voice one person:Granddad, Granddad.

Lucid waking eluded her this time. She’d remained swept and bullied by foreboding, infernal waves until her phone sounded.

She bore her weight onto a wall, panting. No more all-nighters.

In a sharp groan, she cursed when she noticed her necklace missing. She’d unfastened it for a shower last night and left it in the bathroom.