CHAPTER 22

As the week dragged by, June became increasingly upset. Several times, she was tempted to ask Tim Hartwick to change his schedule, and see her family sooner. But she resisted the temptation, telling herself she was becoming hysterical.

By the time Friday came, she wondered if it was too late. The Pendletons could hardly be called a family anymore. Michelle had withdrawn even further, going off to school silently each day, then returning home only to disappear into her room.

June found herself pausing in the upstairs hall too often, standing outside Michelle’s door, listening.

She would hear Michelle’s voice, soft, barely audible, the words undecipherable. There would be pauses, as if Michelle 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 Michelle.

Michelle looked at her questioningly. June tried to make her smile reassuring.

“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 Michelle as she came into his office, and gestured toward a chair. Michelle 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,” Michelle said. “I don’t care what anybody told you.”

“No one told me anything,” Tim assured her. “But I guess you know what I do here.”

Michelle 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,” Michelle said. Tim watched her carefully, trying to read her face, but there was nothing to read—as far as he could tell, Michelle was now quite relaxed.

“Why doesn’t she go to school?” Tim asked.

“She can’t. She’s blind.”

“Blind?”

Michelle 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?”

Michelle 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. Michelle 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 does,” Michelle 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.”

“I guess,” Michelle agreed. “Actually, at first I thought they were the same, too. But they’re not. Amanda’s real, and the doll’s not.”

“What do you and Amanda do together?”

“Talk, mostly. But sometimes we go for walks together.”

“What do you talk about?”

“All kinds of things.”

Tim decided to try a shot in the dark. “Was Amanda with you the day Susan Peterson fell off the bluff?”

Michelle nodded.

“Were you in the graveyard?”

“Yes. Susan was saying mean things to me, but Mandy made her stop.”

“How did she do that?”

“She chased her away.”

“You mean she chased her off the bluff?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said slowly. The thought had never occurred to her before. “Maybe so. I couldn’t see—it was foggy that day.… Mom said it wasn’t, but it was.”

Tim leaned forward, and his face grew serious. “Michelle, is it always foggy when Amanda is with you?”

Michelle thought a moment, then shook her head. “No. Sometimes it is, but not all the time.”

Tim nodded. “What about your other friends? Do they know Amanda?”

“I don’t have any other friends.”

“None?”

Michelle’s voice dropped. Her eyes seemed to cloud over. “Ever since I fell off the bluff, nobody wants to be my friend.”

“What about your sister?” Tim asked. “Isn’t your sister your friend?”

“She’s just a baby.” There was a long silence, but Tim was reluctant to break it, sure that Michelle was about to say something. He was right.

“Besides,” Michelle added, her voice little more than a whisper, “she’s not really my sister.”

“She isn’t?”

“I’m adopted. Jenny’s not.”

“Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle hedged. “Amanda says …”

“What does Amanda say?” Tim urged her.

“Amanda says that ever since Jenny was born, Mom and Dad don’t love me anymore.”

“And do you believe her?”

Michelle’s face took on a belligerent quality. “Well, why shouldn’t I? Daddy hardly even talks to me anymore, and Mommy spends all her time taking care of Jenny, and—and—” Her voice trailed off, and a tear slid down her cheek.

“Michelle,” Tim asked gently. “Do you wish Jenny had never been born?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“It’s all right if you do,” Tim told her. “I know how mad I was when my little sister was born. It just didn’t seem fair. I’d had my parents all to myself for so long, and then all of a sudden there was someone else. But I found out my parents loved me just as much as they ever did.”

“But you weren’t adopted,” Michelle countered. “It’s not the same.” She stood up. “May I go now?”

“Don’t you want to talk to me anymore?”

“No. At least, not right now. And not about Jenny. I hate Jenny!”

“All right,” Tim said soothingly. “We won’t talk about Jenny anymore.”

“I don’t want to talk about anything anymore!” Michelle glared at him, her face set stubbornly.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home,” Michelle said. “I want to go home, and find Amanda!”

“All right,” Tim said. “I’ll tell you what—I have to talk to your parents for a few minutes. Let’s get you a Coke, and by the time you finish it, I should be done with your father and mother. How does that sound?”

Michelle seemed about to argue with him, but suddenly her anger dissipated, and she shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”

Tim opened his office door for her and smiled encouragingly at June and Cal. “We’re going to get Michelle a Coke,” he told them. “You can go in—I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you,” June murmured. Cal made no response at all.

They were waiting when he got back, June sitting nervously in the chair Michelle had occupied a few minutes earlier, Cal standing at the window, his back stiff. Even though his back was to him, Tim could sense Cal glaring. He sat down in his chair and fingered Michelle’s file.

“What happened?” June asked.

“We had quite a conversation.”

“And do you agree with my wife? Do you think Michelle’s crazy?”

“Cal, I never said that,” June protested.

“But it’s what you think.” He faced Tim. “My wife thinks both Michelle and I are crazy.”

The expression on June’s face, a combination of exasperation and pity, told Tim everything he needed to know.

“Mr. Hartwick—” June began. Then she floundered.

Tim came to her rescue. “Why don’t you call me Tim? It makes things easier. Dr. Pendleton? Can I offer you a chair?”

“I’ll stand,” Cal said stiffly, maintaining his position at the window. June shrugged, her face lifted to his, and Tim understood the gesture immediately. He decided, for the moment, not to press Cal.

“We talked about this friend of hers—Amanda,” he told June.

“And?”

“Well, as far as I can tell, she seems to think Amanda is real. Not necessarily physically real, but definitely a person other than herself. A person who exists independently of her.”

“Is that—is that normal?”

“In a small child, say a three-year-old, it’s not that unusual.”

“I see …” June said. “But not for Michelle. Am I right?”

“It may not be all that serious,” Tim began, but Cal had turned away from the window and interrupted him.

“It isn’t serious at all!” he said sharply. “All she’s done is dream up a friend to get her through a rough time. Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“I wish I could agree with you, Dr. Pendleton,” Tim said quietly. “But I’m afraid I can’t. Your daughter is in the midst of some very serious problems, and unless you’re willing to face them, I don’t really see how you can help her.”

“Problems” June repeated. “You said problems. You mean more than her adjusting to her—her condition?”

Tim nodded. “I’m not even sure her leg is the main problem. In fact, I’m almost sure it’s not. It’s her sister.”

“Jenny?” Cal asked.

“Oh, God, I was afraid of that,” June moaned. She turned on Cal. “I told you. I’ve been telling you for weeks, but you wouldn’t believe me!”

“Dr. Pendleton, Michelle doesn’t think you love her anymore. She thinks that, because she’s adopted, you stopped loving her when you had a baby of your own.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Cal said.

“Is it?” June asked, her voice hollow. “Is it really?”

“It seems her friend Amanda told her so,” Tim said.

June stared at him blankly. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Tim leaned back in his chair. “Well, it’s not really all that difficult to put together. Michelle is having some thoughts and feelings right now that are totally foreign to her. She doesn’t like them. In fact, they’re tearing her apart. So she’s invented Amanda. Amanda, essentially, is the dark side of Michelle’s personality, and Michelle simply transfers all her—how shall I say it? Uglier? I guess that’s a good enough word—she transfers all her uglier thoughts and impulses—the ones she can’t even bear to take responsibility for—onto Amanda.”

“Isn’t that what they call projecting?” Cal asked, his voice filled with a hostility that Tim chose to ignore.

“As a matter of fact, yes, it is. Except that this is a particularly extreme form. The term projecting usually implies the projection of one’s own problems onto someone else, but the someone else is usually quite real, A good example would be the faithless husband who constantly feels that his wife is cheating on him.”

“I’m aware of the definition,” Cal said.

Tim decided he’d had enough. “Dr. Pendleton, I get the feeling you’d rather not be hearing any of this. Am I right?”

“I’m here because my wife demanded it of me. But I think we’re wasting our time.”

“Maybe we are,” Tim agreed. He folded his hands placidly and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

“You see?” Cal asked June. “Even he says we may be wasting our time. If you want to go on with this, you’ll have to do it alone. I’ve heard enough.” He started toward the door, then turned back. “Are you coming?”

June met his gaze, and when she spoke, her voice was calm. “No, Cal, I’m not. I can’t make you listen, but I’m going to. If you want, you can wait for me. Otherwise, you can take Michelle, and I can walk home.”

Tim, who had been watching Cal carefully, was sure he saw Cal flinch slightly at the mention of Michelle, but he said nothing, waiting to see what Cal would do.

“I’ll wait,” Cal said. He left the office, closing the door behind him. When he was gone, June turned back to Tim.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He—well, he just can’t seem to face any of this. It’s been terrible.”

Tim was silent for a moment, allowing her her anguish. Then he said, very softly, “I think I can help Michelle. She’s under a lot of pressure—her physical condition, for one thing. It isn’t easy for a child suddenly to become a cripple. On top of that, there’s the whole thing with Jennifer. And, of course, the whipped cream on the cake is her father’s attitude. All together, it’s putting Michelle under a lot of pressure, and things are coming loose.”

“Then I was right,” June breathed. It was as if a weight was being lifted from her shoulders. “Why does that make me feel so much better?”

“It’s always better,” Tim assured her, “to understand a problem. It’s when you don’t know what’s going on that you feel completely lost. And at least, with Michelle, we know what’s going on.”

Michelle sat in the teachers’ lounge for a few minutes, sipping at her Coke. She liked Mr. Hartwick—he listened to her, and believed her when she told him about Amanda. He didn’t tell her Amanda was a ghost, or not real, or anything like that. Idly, she wondered what he was telling her parents. Not that it would make any difference. No matter what he said to them, they wouldn’t love her anymore.

She wandered out of the teachers’ lounge and onto the back stairs of the school. Billy Evans was sitting on a swing, kicking at the ground, trying to get the swing going. He was all alone, and when he saw Michelle, he waved to her, beckoning to her. She threw away the empty Coke cup and started down the stairs, leaning heavily on her cane.

“Hi,” Billy said. “Will you push me?”

“Okay.”

She began pushing him. He laughed happily and began begging her to push him harder.

“It’s too high,” Michelle said. “You shouldn’t even be on these swings. You should be on the little ones.”

“I’m big enough,” Billy replied. “I can even walk the backstop.”

Michelle glanced out to the baseball diamond, where a makeshift backstop had been constructed from two-by-fours and some wire mesh. It stood about eight feet tall and was some twenty feet long. Michelle had seen some of the older boys, the boys her age, scrambling up it, then walking its length. But the younger boys, the boys Billy’s age, never dared.

“I never saw you,” Michelle said.

“You never looked. Let the swing die down, and I’ll show you.”

Michelle stopped pushing, and Billy let the swing go through its arc once. Then, as it reached its forward peak, he jumped off, landing on his feet and running out toward the baseball field.

“Come on!” he called over his shoulder. Michelle started after him, moving as fast as she could, but by the time she reached him, he was already scrambling up the wire.

“Be careful,” she warned him.

“It’s easy,” Billy scoffed. He reached the top and straddled the two-by-four, grinning down at her.

“Come on up,” he said.

“I can’t,” Michelle said. “You know that.”

Billy pulled one foot up, then the other. Slowly, balancing himself with his hands, he managed a crouching position. Then, wobbling all the way, he rose carefully until he was standing upright, his arms held straight out.

“See?”

Michelle could see him swaying. She was sure he was going to fall.

“Billy, you come down from there. You’ll fall and hurt yourself, and I won’t be able to help you.”

“I won’t fall! Watch me!”

He took a tentative step, nearly lost his footing, then regained his balance and took another.

“Please, Billy?” Michelle pleaded.

Billy was moving steadily away from her, inching carefully along the two-by-four, his balance improving with each step.

“I won’t fall,” he insisted. Then, realizing that Michelle was about to insist that he come down, he decided to tease her. “You’re just mad, because you can’t do it. If you weren’t a cripple, you could. But you are, so you can’t!”

And he began to laugh.

Michelle stared at him for a second, his laughter echoing in her ears.

He sounded like Susan Peterson, and all the rest of them.

The fog started closing around her, the cold mists that she knew would bring Amanda with them. Billy Evans, his face grinning at her, faded from her vision, but his voice, still laughing, cut through the fog like a knife.

And then Amanda was there, standing behind her, whispering to her.

“Don’t let him do that, Michelle,” Mandy said softly. “He’s laughing at you. Don’t let him laugh at you. Don’t ever let any of them laugh at you again.”

Michelle hesitated. Once more, she heard Billy’s mocking laugh, and his taunt.

“You could do it! If you weren’t crippled!”

“Make him stop!” Mandy hissed in her ear.

“I don’t know how,” Michelle wailed. She looked around desperately, searching for Amanda.

“I’ll show you,” Mandy whispered. “Let me show you …”

The laughter, the mocking laughter, suddenly stopped, and was replaced by a scream of terror.

Billy tried to jump, but it was too late—beneath his feet, the backstop was moving.

He lost his balance, tried to regain it, failed. Then his arms were flailing in the air. He was falling.

A second later there was a silence in the schoolyard, a silence broken for Michelle only by the sound of Amanda’s voice.

“You see? See how easy it is? Now you can make them all stop laughing …”

Her voice trailed off, and she was gone. The fog began to disperse. Michelle waited for a moment, waited for it all to be gone, then she looked.

Billy Evans, his head twisted around so that his empty eyes were staring at her, lay on the ground a few feet away.

Michelle knew he would never laugh at her again.