Free Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris Page B

just not focused today.”
    “All right, then. You stay out from now on, though.” And Arlene, her flaming curls bobbing around her cheeks, shook her finger in my face.
    I felt like crying. “Sorry,” I said again and strode off into the storeroom to collect myself. I had to pull my face straight and hold in those tears.
    I heard the door open behind me.
    “Hey, I said I was sorry, Arlene!” I snapped, wanting to be left alone. Sometimes Arlene confused telepathy with psychic talent. I was scared she’d ask me if she was really pregnant. She’d be better off buying an early home pregnancy kit.
    “Sookie.” It was Sam. He turned me around with a hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
    His voice was gentle and pushed me much closer to tears.
    “You should sound mean so I won’t cry!” I said.
    He laughed, not a big laugh, a small one. He put an arm around me.
    “What’s the matter?” He wasn’t going to give up and go away.
    “Oh, I . . .” and I stopped dead. I’d never, ever explicitly discussed my problem (that’s how I thought of it) with Sam or anyone else. Everyone in Bon Temps knew the rumors about why I was strange, but no one seemed to realize that I had to listen to their mental clatter nonstop, whether I wanted to or not—every day, the yammer yammer yammer . . .
    “Did you hear something that bothered you?” His voice was quiet and matter-of-fact. He touched the middle of my for-head, to indicate he knew exactly how I could “hear.”
    “Yes.”
    “Can’t help it, can you?”
    “Nope.”
    “Hate it, don’t you, cher ?”
    “Oh, yes.”
    “Not your fault then, is it?”
    “I try not to listen, but I can’t always keep my guard up.” I felt a tear I hadn’t been able to quell start trickling down my cheek.
    “Is that how you do it? How do you keep your guard up, Sookie?”
    He sounded really interested, not as though he thought I was a basket case. I looked up, not very far, into Sam’s prominent, brilliant blue eyes.
    “I just . . . it’s hard to describe unless you can do it . . . I pull up a fence—no, not a fence, it’s like I’m snapping together steel plates—between my brain and all others.”
    “You have to hold the plates up?”
    “Yes. It takes a lot of concentration. It’s like dividing my mind all the time. That’s why people think I’m crazy. Half my brain is trying to keep the steel plates up, and the other half might be taking drink orders, so sometimes there’s not a lot left over for coherent conversation.” What a gush of relief I was feeling, just being able to talk about it.
    “Do you hear words or just get impressions?”
    “Depends on who I’m listening to. And their state. If they’re drunk, or really disturbed, it’s just pictures, impressions, intentions. If they’re sober and sane, it’s words and some pictures.”
    “The vampire says you can’t hear him.”
    The idea of Bill and Sam having a conversation about me made me feel very peculiar. “That’s true,” I admitted.
    “Is that relaxing to you?”
    “Oh, yes .” I meant it from my heart.
    “Can you hear me, Sookie?”
    “I don’t want to try!” I said hastily. I moved to the door of the storeroom and stood with my hand on the knob. I pulled a tissue from my shorts pocket and patted the tear track off my cheek. “I’ll have to quit if I read your mind, Sam! I like you, I like it here.”
    “Just try it sometime, Sookie,” he said casually, turning to open a carton of whiskey with the razor-edged box cutter he kept in his pocket. “Don’t worry about me. You have a job as long as you want one.”
    I wiped down a table Jason had spilled salt on. He’d been in earlier to eat a hamburger and fries and down a couple of beers.
    I was turning over Sam’s offer in my mind.
    I wouldn’t try to listen to him today. He was ready for me. I’d wait until he was busy doing something else. I’d just sort of slip in and give him a listen. He’d invited me, which was