Part 28 (2/2)
June found herself pausing in the upstairs hall too often, standing outside Mich.e.l.le's door, listening.
She would hear Mich.e.l.le's voice, soft, barely audible, the words undecipherable. There would be pauses, as if Mich.e.l.le were listening to someone else, but June knew she was alone in her room.
Alone, except for Amanda.
Several times during those days, June tried to bridge the gulf that was widening between her and her husband, but Cal seemed impervious to her overtures. He left for the clinic early each morning and stayed late each evening, coming home only in time to play with Jennifer for a few minutes, then retiring early.
And Jennifer.
It was as if Jennifer sensed the tension in the house. Her laughter, the happy gurgling that June had grown so used to, had completely disappeared. She seldom even cried anymore, as if she were afraid to create any kind of disturbance.
June spent as much time as she could in her studio, trying to paint, but more often than not she merely stared at her empty canvas, not really seeing it. Several times she started to dig through the closet, to find the strange sketch she knew she hadn't done. Something stopped her-fear.
She was afraid that if she looked at it long enough, thought about it hard enough, she would figure out where it had come from. She didn't want to.
When Friday morning finally came, June felt suddenly released. Today, at last, they would see Tim Hartwick. And today, perhaps, things would begin to get better.
For the first time that week, June broke the silence that had lain heavily over the breakfast table.
”I'll pick you up at school today,” she told Mich.e.l.le.
Mich.e.l.le looked at her questioningly. June tried to make her smile rea.s.suring.
”I'm meeting your father after school today. We're all going to talk to Mr. Hartwick.”
”Mr. Hartwick? The psychologist? Why?”
”I just think it would be a good idea, that's all,” June said.
Tim Hartwick smiled at Mich.e.l.le as she came into his office, and gestured toward a chair. Mich.e.l.le settled herself into it, then surveyed the room. Tim waited quietly until her eyes finally came back to him.
”I thought my parents were going to be here, too.”
”I'm going to talk to them a little later. First, I thought we could get acquainted.”
”I'm not crazy,” Mich.e.l.le said. ”I don't care what anybody told you.”
”No one told me anything,” Tim a.s.sured her. ”But I guess you know what I do here.”
Mich.e.l.le nodded. ”Do you think I did something to Susan Peterson?”
Tim was taken aback. ”Did you?” he asked.
”No.”
”Then why should I think you did?”
”Everybody else does.” There was a pause, then: ”Except Amanda.”
”Amanda?” Tim asked. ”Who's Amanda?”
”She's my friend.”
”I thought I knew everyone here,” Tim said carefully. ”But I don't know anybody named Amanda.”
”She doesn't go to school,” Mich.e.l.le said. Tim watched her carefully, trying to read her face, but there was nothing to read-as far as he could tell, Mich.e.l.le was now quite relaxed.
”Why doesn't she go to school?” Tim asked.
”She can't. She's blind.”
”Blind?”
Mich.e.l.le nodded. ”She can't see at all, except when she's with me. Her eyes look strange, all milky.”
”And where did you meet her?”
Mich.e.l.le thought for a long time before she answered him. Finally she shrugged. ”I'm not sure. I guess I must have met her out by our house. That's where she lives.”
Tim decided to drop the subject for a moment. ”How's your leg? Does it hurt very badly?”
”It's all right” She paused, then seemed to change her mind. ”Well, sometimes it hurts worse than others. And sometimes it hardly hurts at all.”
”When is that?”
”When I'm with Amanda. I-I guess she sort of takes my mind off it I think that's why we're such good friends. She's blind, and I'm crippled.”
”Weren't you friends before you fell?” Tim asked, sensing something important.
”No. I saw her a couple of times, but I didn't really get to know her until after the accident. Then she started visiting me.”
”Didn't you have a doll named Amanda?” Tim asked suddenly. Mich.e.l.le only nodded.
”I still do. Except that it isn't really my doll. Actually, it was Mandy's doll, but now we share it.”
”I see.”
”I'm glad someone someone does,” Mich.e.l.le said. does,” Mich.e.l.le said.
”You mean some people don't?”
”Mom doesn't. She thinks I made Amanda up. I guess she thinks that because they have the same name. Amanda and the doll, I mean.”
”Well, it could get confusing.”
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