“Am I gonna get another full day off?”
“What about Dawn splitting a shift with you another night?”
I made a rude noise, and Gran stood there with a stern face. I knew I’d get a lecture later. “Oh, all right,” I said grudgingly. “See you at five.”
“Thanks, Sookie,” he said. “I knew I could count on you.”
I tried to feel good about that. It seemed like a boring virtue. You can always count on Sookie to step in and help because she doesn’t have a life!
Of course, it would be fine to get to Bill’s after nine. He’d be up all night, anyway.
Work had never seemed so slow. I had trouble concentrating enough to keep my guard intact because I was always thinking about Bill. It was lucky there weren’t many customers, or I would have heard unwanted thoughts galore. As it was, I found out Arlene’s period was late, and she was scared she was pregnant, and before I could stop myself I gave her a hug. She stared at me searchingly and then turned red in the face.
“Did you read my mind, Sookie?” she asked, warning written in her voice. Arlene was one of the few people who simply acknowledged my ability without trying to explain it or categorizing me as a freak for possessing such an ability. She also didn’t talk about it often or in any normal voice, I’d noticed.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I apologized. “I’m 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 forhead, 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.