Read Mind of My Mind for Free Online Page B

Emma period. I
    actually liked the little old ladies who worked there, and they sort of adopted me. That
    was where I got into the habit of reading everything I could get my hands on. And now . .
    . well, old-fashioned libraries of wood and stone and books were still like home to me.
    The city tore down Forsyth Public a few years ago and built a new one of steel and glass
    and concrete and air conditioning that was always turned too high. A cold box. I went to
    it two or three times, then gave up. But Karl's library was perfect. I had walked away
    from him to look at some of the book titles.
     
    "You like books?"
     
    I jumped. I hadn't heard him come up beside me. "I love them. I hope you don't care
    if I spend a lot of time in here."
     
    Karl made a straight line of his mouth and glanced over at his desk. His desk, right.
    His work area.
     
    "Okay, so I won't spend a lot of time in here. Show me my room, will you?"
     
    "You can use the library whenever I'm not working in here," he said.
     
    "Thanks." I could see there was going to be a certain coldness about this library, too.
     
    He showed me the rest of the first floor before he took me up to what was going to be
    my bedroom. Large, businesslike kitchen. Large, businesslike cook. She was friendly,
    though, and she was a black woman. That helped. Formal dining room. Small, handsome
    study—why the hell couldn't Karl work there? Game room with billiard table. Large
    service porch. As big as the house was, though, it was smaller than it looked from the
    outside. I thought it might turn out to be a more comfortable home than I had expected.
     
    Karl and I stood on the porch and looked out at his park of a back yard. Tennis court.
    Swimming pool and bath house. We could see Doro and Vivian splashing around in the
    pool. Grass. Trees. There was a multicar garage off to one side, and I got a glimpse of a
    cottage almost hidden by trees.
     
    "The gardener and his wife live out there," Karl told me. "His wife is the maid. The
    cook helps with the housework, too, when she isn't busy in the kitchen. She lives upstairs,
    in the servants' quarters."
     
    "Did you inherit all this or something?" I asked. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd
    said, "None of your business."
     
    "I had one of my people sign it over to me," he said. "He was going to put it up for
    sale anyway and he didn't need the money."
     
    I looked at him. The expression on his thin, angular face hadn't changed at all. I
    hooted with laughter. I couldn't help it. "You stole it! Oh, God. Beautiful; you're human,
     

 
    after all. And here I have to make do with shoplifting."
     
    He gave me a forced smile. "I'll show you where your room is now."
     
    "Okay. Can I ask you another question?"
     
    He shrugged.
     
    "How do you feel about black people?"
     
    He looked at me, one eyebrow raised. "You've seen my cook."
     
    "Right. So how do you feel about black people?"
     
    "I've known exactly two of them well before now. They were all right." Emphasis on
    the "they."
     
    I frowned, looked at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
     
    "That you shouldn't get the idea that I dislike you because you're black."
     
    "Oh."
     
    "I wouldn't want you here no matter what color you were."
     
    I sighed. "You're going to make this even harder than it has to be, aren't you?"
     
    "You asked."
     
    "Well . . . I'm no happier to be here than you are to have me, but we're either going to
    have to get used to each other or we're going to have to keep out of each other's way a lot.
    Which won't be easy even in a house as big as this."
     
    "Why did you and Doro fight?"
     
    "What?" My first thought was that he was reading my mind. Then I realized that even
    if he hadn't seen Doro's hand, I had a big bruise on my jaw.
     
    "You know damn well why we fought."
     
    "Tell me. I answered your questions."
     
    "Why does a telepath bother to ask questions?"
     
    "Out of courtesy. Shall I stop?"
     
    "No! We fought . . . because