Out of Her Shadow: A Novel

By Eleanor Choukas Anderson

Something more troubling than an unhappy marriage calls Rebecca out into a rainy night with no shoes, no plans, and four young children in tow. She arrives unexpectedly at her childhood home, a haunted nineteenth-century mansion. She knocks on the door of her past and sets a year of extraordinary events into motion.

Melanie muses that self-reflection is not for the faint of heart. To find grace one must explore all facets of human nature, however dark. She brings temperance, humor and compassion to her relationships and to her work as a psychotherapist. When her place of employment, the Southeast Counseling Center, is destabilized by malevolent leadership, Melanies psyche is strained by shadows almost too deep to fathom.

After the birth of her second child, Pamela gives up all hope of regaining her lost youth. A numbing mist fills her emptiness as days bleed into years, and she takes on motherhood with impeccable care. But a sleeping ghost is roused when her adolescent son is treated for depression. With a mothers empathy, Pamela faces her own demons, and in the process her passion is rekindled. With wind in her sails and fifty pounds lighter, she is on a mission to serve children, but her prospects for a new career are complicated by torn loyalties.

Set in the mental health system against the vibrant backdrop of Vermont, Out of Her Shadow celebrates the feminine connection and its triumph over dark spells. Layers of despair and betrayal are eased by the love and laughter shared between sisters and their outrageous capacity to trump the law without breaking it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781475948318

Eleanor Choukas Anderson

Eleanor Choukas Anderson, has been writing fiction, poetry, and music since childhood and has an extensive background in theater and dance. She brings the medicine of creative expression to her practice as a clinical psychologist in Vermont. She comes from a family of writers, and she coauthored the children’s musical An Elemental Tale. This is her first novel.

Book preview

Chapter 1

She stood at the painted glass window and traced the memory of her parents’ departure from that morning. The driver had come just before dawn, and she had stayed in bed listening to Catherine’s harried commands until bags and bundles were good to go. She had stood in this very spot as they drove away, the taillights looking back at her like a pair of eyes. The sun and her children had risen and slipped back into dream time while the birds were still singing. Were it not for the red stains on her hands and the subtle ebb of light, she might have been at either end of the day.

She made her way to the stairs, feeling the weight of time as her children slept, but worse, the dread of them waking up. The flush of singlehood had faded over the course of a week, and one day alone in the house had beckoned old fears now creeping in with the darkness. As she stepped down, she shifted her gaze from the second-floor windows to her feet. Suddenly they belonged to another woman. She grabbed the banister to steady herself while her feet kept walking, and a phantom wave rushed through her with such force she was lifted up out of her frame into a realm of undisputed being. The sensation of floating was so blissful she ceded all resistance to the mother of her children padding along toward the kitchen for the last cup of bitter coffee, an evening ritual she had come to cherish.

Something snapped as she reached for the morning pot and dropped back into her body. Lost in the seconds it took for time to recharge, she could not feel or move her hands. The paralysis was so terrifying she prolonged it for fear of discovering she was permanently stuck. Ever so slowly, she summoned the courage to wiggle her toes as the washer shifted cycles out in the back room. She raised a foot and then her pinky on the hand clutching the pot. Later she would remember the episode as mingling with eternity inside a bubble that popped. She poured the liquid tar over ice, treated it with cinnamon and whipped cream, and let herself out.

The outdoors was her refuge. A tingling sensation spread through her limbs as she settled into the hammock facing east from beneath the maples. The day had been hot but surprisingly energizing. While searching for a ball kicked out of bounds, the boys had discovered a crop of scarlet jewels just begging to be picked and quantified. If they filled a half-gallon pail, she could make magic. The challenge sparked a spirit of cooperation on the part of her eldest, who took the girls off her hands for most of the morning. Their joy upon returning had sustained them through hulling each delicate berry, but then for a mother’s eternity they watched through the oven door as their spirits sank into a pan of bubbling red ooze. Strawberry long cake, kindness of Betty Crocker, bitterly flopped, but then like some mysterious lab experiment the ooze began to expand, and much to their amazement, the ooze became a cake.

The moon was rising over the hill in a faint orange mist. A wave of melancholy washed over her as it often did this time of day, but it receded as a spirit of tenderness glowed through the windows and rested upon the foundation stones. Somewhere in the shadow of her mind, she must have known the wrenching separation of last week was less about escape and more about coming home.

Leaving her children’s father had been a wish and a nightmare, a scene she had written in countless ways until relinquishing its authorship to a higher wisdom. The ending was far too simple to have been scripted. Suddenly it was over, and what seemed to be an ordinary night became the last. One too many drinks, one too many insults, and she was driving through a cold rain with nowhere else to go.

Steve released her without a fight, and her father took her in without condition. Catherine had no sooner finished closing up the house in preparation for a year in London than her stepdaughter was knocking at the door. How typically Rebecca: no shoes, no coats, and no plan, just four little mites and a shred of the baby’s blanket. Catherine’s slow burn kept her father’s pipe stoked, and the whole sad story was expelled in plumes of cherry-scented smoke. Of course this is a home and not a museum, but it isn’t a flophouse either. Indeed not. It was a grand and well-preserved treasure, kept in the nineteenth century by meticulous care and renovations, the last resulting in a structural fluke that conducted sound from the downstairs den up into her bedroom. She had been listening to their conversations for years, lumping her stepmother’s sentiments in favor of keeping her enemy close.

Remembering the break coming in the morning, thanks to the kindness of her mother-in-law, she decided to kill the pot. In the event of insomnia there was always Ambien. It would take immense self-discipline to pace herself with the pharmacy collecting in the bathroom cabinet. The lure of drugs was not something she had fully understood until a sense of well-being had overcome her while out in the hammock. Could one little pill make such a difference? Another spoonful of cream and sprinkle of cinnamon to celebrate Xanax.

She stood in the kitchen, transfixed by the windows and glass doors now graced by her plants and prized ornaments. Steve had dumped all of her possessions and half of those belonging to the kids in the barn. She hadn’t the courage to face the piles after salvaging the things of worth. The jumble of boxes containing the underbelly of her former life could wait.

She floated about the downstairs, admiring the new life in Catherine’s museum. The feng shui fairies had visited, leaving evidence behind as a print here and a crystal there. Tired knickknacks were stowed in drawers, and she had asked forgiveness of her mother’s and grandmother’s ghosts. She brushed her palm over the top of the piano and sighed deeply as she took a seat. It had been so long. Her hands trembled as she placed them on the keys, waiting for the command. One tentative note and she was rolling through a lyrical sea, effortlessly, gracefully, undulating in a surge of emotional release like a silkie back in her skin.

She locked the outside doors and made her way upstairs. A cool breeze caressed the drapes in the master bedroom, filling it with the scent of roses from the bushes below. Catherine’s closet was a boutique, a door in the wall that opened into a mahogany lair of custom-made cabinets and drawers. She felt deliciously wicked poking about without the threat of being caught, musing that her curves and small feet would spare her any temptation. Catherine was tall, angular, and thin, and every calorie declined had been rewarded by a quality purchase from which Rebecca would have snipped the tag. She browsed through a promising section of used one-size-fits-all tops and slipped out of her nightshirt. Examining her naked body in the mirror, she imagined what she would look like with short hair as the honey tips brushed her hips. The very thought terrified her. She needed Melanie!

What a relief to e-talk without the backdrop of Steve’s sighs out in the kitchen, the clinking of ice, the exaggerated straightening of The Rutland Herald amped up to remind her of his laborious existence. Her new e-station was a treasure trove of all things belonging to a desk: pencils, thesaurus, atlas, and a freshly bitten Apple.

To: [e-mail] Rebecca Cook Adams

From: [e-mail]

Date: 6-23-02 4:00 p.m.

Subject: Tomorrow

Kiwi Eyes, Are you alright? Just checking in about tomorrow, how’s 6:00? I’ll miss seeing your kids, but time alone is too scrumptious. I LOVE your mother in law. Yippee!!! Cannot wait to see the mansion. And have I ever got a surprise for you, but cookie crumb you will have to wait!!! Bringing hazelnut and other goodies!!! Watch out world! Hee hee! Xxxxxxxxx Melly Belly

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail]

Date: 6-23-02 10:20 p.m.

Subject: Re: Tomorrow

Mel la belle, 6:00 is just perfect! A surprise? You temptress! I’m a very naughty girl; already in their bed although Catherine’s tight lips had me in my old room and the kids in the guest suite. But alas and alack, Mother and Father Bear are boarding the Queen Mary, so Goldilocks is getting into things.

The little mother dressed in a rag,

Was sick to death of life as a nag,

And so she packed up the little ones,

And fled from his temper, vodka and guns,

Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide,

So her wheels rolled home at the end of the ride.

Her dad took her in and his wifey out,

And away wifey sailed in a huff and a pout!

Without a shadow of a doubt Elva Bacon (caretaker) has been ordered by Catherine to spy on me and report back. She bears a frightful resemblance to Mrs. Danvers of Rebecca. Should I change my name? Hee hee! In all seriousness, do you think I should cut my hair? Standing by!

Xoxoxoxo Kiwi Eyes

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail] Wendy Hartman

Date: 6-23-02 6:35 p.m.

Subject: Re: Missing you

My little Beckster,

I am HERE wishing I were THERE, but I have been working too hard to be the kind of friend you deserve, but my spirit is forever with you. I have to admit I am ENVIOUS ENYA of your breaking free. I promise a long visit before the end of this short summer. I am Piano Playing and Plotting Patricia on the forbidden subject of__________yes, you know what I mean, I am Following in your Footsteps Fanny.

Love, Wanting to do better Wendy, but wallowing away. Is it harder than dieting?

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail]

Date: 6-23-02 11:57 p.m.

Subject: Re: Missing you

My Wennikins! Not to worry, whenever you come will be just perfect! The piano is a dream, melts under your fingertips and it’s tuned! Let me be Coaching Cathy: Depending on how dangerous Battering Bob is, fleeing is as easy as NOT eating pie with the stomach flu! And is in fact, the only successful diet I’ve been on. I am Slim Sally, well at least Trimmer Tally. It was however a slight downer that of course Immaculate Ida’s scales are doctor-office-accurate and I have to resensitize myself to the mirrors. So yes, you can do this! And you will be emancipated Emma! Lovens thee, little b xxoxoxoxox

To: [e-mail] Charles Benjamin Cook Jr.

From: [e-mail]

Date: 6-23-02 12:05 a.m.

Subject: Checking up

Daddikins! You will be afloat by the time you get this. It felt strange waking up as the only adult today. This is a mighty large ship you are running back here in the hills Captain Cook! Very little has changed in a day. All of your summer buddies are thriving: oven birds, yellow throats, redstarts, wood thrushes, red eyed vireos, phoebes, catbirds etc. etc. A mysterious friend has shown up and I think it might be an immature cowbird. I christened that camera that’s been sitting in the den since your last birthday so you can identify him/her: a little smaller than a robin, shaped like a blackbird with a finch like bill. She/he is brown/gray with soft breast streaks. The kids and I watched her adroitly pluck flies and whatnot out of the air. She feasted all day and is not afraid of us. I almost think she would eat out of our hands. This afternoon she plopped down in a feathery little heap next to the terrace steps looking plump, stuffed and a little green! The moon was orange tonight and I made strawberry long cake. Remember Grammy used to make that? The kids spent hours picking the field clean! I think it is an amazing comfort for them to be here. Nanna Milly is taking them off my hands tomorrow for a night and the break comes none too soon.

Over and out!

Xxxxxxxxx love, me

She nestled into the pillows as the moon sailed deeper into the mist. Her eyelids grew heavy as she watched the maple leaves tremble in the rising breeze. Miniature dancers pirouetted across her mind as she drifted into sleep.

They would always gather at dusk, circling the house and watching from the trees. They were patient visitors and could slip through any crack no matter how small. Catherine had taken her through the house with a flashlight, chastening corners, closets, and the spaces beneath beds, reassuring her that nothing was there. All the while they flocked to the precipice of light and followed the shadows from room to room, taunting her from a place Catherine couldn’t see. Little Becky had no words to match the mission of her determined new mother, who clearly didn’t know the ways of the fairies.

Something was rocking her shoulder, brushing her cheek. She opened her eyes to a pair of blue ones peeking through silky blonde strands. Hannah brushed the hair away from Rebecca’s face and planted soft kisses on her forehead, easing her into the new day and the maternal imperative standing next to the bed.

Booboo, num num.

Mia pooped, Hannah announced.

Oh, darling, would you get Mommy a clean didy and some wipies?

And she peed too.

Early morning sessions of nursing Mia with Hannah molded tightly against her served as an alarm and snooze button. A gentle soaking rain was welcome after yesterday’s heat and a sound sedative. Mia relieved the pressure in Rebecca’s breast with soft little grunts as she twirled her mother’s hair. Rebecca fell in and out of a pleasing sleep as her kittens took the warm nourishment deep into their cells. Between waves of unconsciousness she glanced at the clock as time slowed and glided. Only six thirty. She promised herself to rise before the boys and make French toast, which reminded her, all of Ben’s shorts were in that load needing to go into the dryer.

Moving with great dexterity in the way only young mothers can, she maneuvered her way out of bed without waking the baby.

Hannah devoured alone time with Rebecca and elatedly cracked eggs into a bowl with surprising skill for a four-year-old.

You want six eggs, Mumma?

That’s right, darling. Now can you fill this cup halfway and pour the milk into the bowl? Perfect! Now stir, stir, stir, and I’ll get you some cinnamon.

Better put those clothes in the dryer, Mumma, Hannah said as she whipped the mixture with a spoon.

These moments of reprieve were never long-lived, and in no time Mia was tugging at her mother’s shirt while Ben groused about the slow cycle on the dryer. I don’t get why you didn’t just do it last night.

I know, sweetie. I can’t think of everything.

Apparently not!

Be nice.

I’ll be nice if you’ll just do your job.

Ben, for God’s sake, stop.

"Okay fine, then you pack my bag."

Come on now, you’re going to have such a nice time with Nanna and Grumps. Let’s put on happy faces.

I’m happy, Mumma, Hannah announced.

What are you going to do? Dan asked.

Melanie is coming over, so talking and talking.

And getting drunk. Ben would not let it go.

No, Mumma! Hannah looked genuinely frightened.

I’m not getting drunk. You never have to worry.

Ben is teasin’?

I’m not sure. You teasing, Ben?

Ben pushed his plate out of the way and patted his face with his napkin in the exact manner of his father. He was now the alpha male and had his work cut out for him. He cleared his throat, pushed in his chair, and exited without a word. Rebecca’s spirits plummeted, sending a nanosignal to Mia to place her demands. She emptied the partially chewed goop from her mouth and reached for Rebecca. Boo boo num num!

Boo boo all gone. Rebecca poured cran-grape into a sippy cup with a determination that infuriated Mia. She wailed as her mother took her into her lap, sealed up her little lips, shook her head, and batted the cup onto the area rug with torpedo force.

Oh no! Hannah, towels from the bathroom. Dan, watch your sister! Rebecca had considered putting the oriental away, but instead she had picked up a case of soda water. She scrambled to the pantry, emptied an entire bottle onto the rug, and chased it with Murphy’s oil soap.

What’s going on in there? Ben yelled from the laundry room.

Mia wrecked Grammy’s rug, Hannah answered.

Mia’s little lips quivered like houselights at the end of an intermission. In one fell swoop, Rebecca scooped her up, plopped her bottom in a chair, lifted her shirt, and gave up the gold. Sighing as she took bites of Hannah’s breakfast, she said, Thank the lord in heaven for breast pumps.

What? Ben appeared to be disgusted as he poured himself some juice.

Well, it’s like this. I’m a human cow, and if I don’t get milked in time I will start to moo in pain. Mia going to Nanna’s for the night is kind of like leaving me out in the pasture too long, so farmer milk pump to the rescue! The kids were fully engaged but needed further information, as conveyed by their faces.

You see, the way it works with cows and humans and dogs and cats and horses and all manner of mammalian suckling— She took a sip of Hannah’s juice.

Get to the point! Ben demanded.

"The way it works is, the more a cow is milked or a baby animal or human suckles, the more milk is made. Frequent suckling is a signal to the mother’s poor, worn-out body to produce more milk. It’s nature’s little way. I’m hungry mother tit, make more make more. Hannah and Dan did not quite get it but were tickled by the word tit." Ben scrunched up his nose and smiled in spite of himself.

Am I ever glad that isn’t me.

"Yes, be glad, because you see, Mia is telling my left boob to make more milk and I have udderly no control over these things."

That’s nasty, Ben said.

Hannah’s perfect little face was overtaken by two dreamy orbs. Mumma, I remember doing that.

Doing what, darling?

That what Mia does.

Nursing?

Get out of here, Ben said.

What was it like? Rebecca asked.

Hannah fell against her mother, almost whispering, Like ’nilla cocoa.

Hannah buried her face in her mother’s shirt while her brothers roared.

Oh man! Ben dropped to his knees, hands on belly. Vanilla cocoa!

Milly Adams appeared at the screen door as Mia broke into a grin, releasing her grip on that piece of tissue that was inarguably her property. As Milly entered the kitchen, Pavlov’s bells went off, promising all kinds of comforts and delights as she greeted her pups at floor level.

What’s all the commotion? Nanna could hear you from clear across the yard!

You don’t want to know! Translation: Rebecca didn’t want her to know. Milly kept up a running commentary on family life, and no topic was too sacred. The issue of breast feeding was controversial enough, but to carry on into the toddler years was beyond the pale.

And how is Mumma?

Oh, Mumma is so happy to see Nanna.

Milly had an uncanny ability to enter a room and instantly size things up.

You eating?

Yeah, I’m eating enough.

You’re shrinking down to nothing.

No, I’m shrinking down to normal.

You girls, the whole lot of you, have a funny idea about normal.

Well, you look good, Mills.

Milly sighed and rolled her eyes. That darn place. You don’t know how bad it is until you’re out of it! They work you half to death, showing no appreciation, and then wonder why folks go postal.

Well, thank God you’re out of there!

Hannah had squirmed her way into her grandmother’s lap, and Mia was making an attempt.

Think you can stand old Grumps for a night? Milly took Mia into her arms and stood up as Hannah clung to her like a baby monkey and rode her across the kitchen. Milly laughed as Hannah hugged her neck and wrapped her agile little legs around her waist. Rebecca clapped her hands.

Okay, boys, pack up the rest of your things while I show Nanna the house.

Rebecca led Milly and babes toward the back stairs. We have Operation Laundry here to your left.

Milly’s eyeballs did three-sixties as she was ushered upstairs and down the plush hallway. Jesus!

Oh God, this is nothing.

Hannah jumped off Milly and did a graceful little tumble. Nanna, come see our room!

See ah woom! Mia mimicked.

This is my old room, Rebecca explained. Recognizable only by the headboards.

Holy moly, Milly exclaimed, taking in the pale yellow everything.

This is Iggy. He’s brand new. Hanna waved a stuffed iguana at Milly as Mia presented worn ittle bah.

Who do we have here?

Ittle bah, Mia repeated.

That’s Mumma’s little bear. She had him when she was a kid, Hannah explained, jumping up and down on the bed.

Rebecca caught Hannah with one arm and stripped the bed with the other.

You have to see this. Rebecca led the party into the master bedroom. Ta-da!

Now what do you do in a bed that big! Milly was awestruck.

I think it’s more about what you don’t do.

Milly laughed heartily as Rebecca dragged her by the arm into Catherine’s closet.

What’s your foot size, Mills? Rebecca asked.

Holy Jesus, said Milly. Here’s what could have been a car for you kids.

You got it, darling!

Honestly, how can one woman feel so important?

Oh, believe me, this woman can, easily.

Rebecca continued the tour with a melodramatic descent of the grand stairs.

Did you know that I’m a composer? Rebecca seated herself at the piano as Milly feasted her eyes on the living room. Hannah, dance for Nanna!

Rebecca flooded the room with ethereal sounds, and Hannah moved about like a fairy, twirling, leaping, and reaching for the ceiling. Mia trailed her sister and stretched her plump little arms up over her head.

Okay, dancers, take a bow, Rebecca instructed as she led the procession into the dining room. This is where the royalty is served. Dancers to the kitchen!

Hold on, girl, would you look at this china and her gardens. How does she keep up with it?

What, you think she does this herself?

There was a soft rumble of thunder as Milly and Rebecca looked out through the bay windows onto the exquisitely sculpted grounds. Despite all the fuss and pruning, the gardens were bursting out of bounds like spirited little girls in party dresses.

When are we going? The edgy voice of Ben.

Are you kids all ready? asked Milly

Yeah, we’re ready, Ben said.

Milly, can you see Grumps with one of these? Rebecca held up a demitasse, chuckling.

Mom! Ben from the hall.

Okay, darling. She whispered to Milly, He’s afraid of lightning and wants to be in the car.

God love him. We should get going anyways. The old man will be wanting lunch.

I give you six months of retirement before you go postal on that old man.

Milly laughed her way into the laundry room, where Rebecca dropped the soiled sheets.

The questions of the day, she said as she opened the cupboard next to the washer. Do I use Tide, allergy-free Tide, Liquid Cheer, or Arm & Hammer? Do I wait and put Bounce in the dryer, or should I use liquid fabric softener? And which bleach do I use—or do I at all? That is where I really get confused.

Milly laughed. Do you suppose she’d notice if I clipped a couple of them pillows?

Oh yes, she’d notice.

Okay, hugs, everyone. Go easy on Nanna and Grumps.

Rebecca’s spirits were sinking, inevitably a part of overnight separations. Call if you need me.

You never mind us, Milly said. Cuz we ain’t giving you a thought.

Rebecca watched the car snake along the drive and turn out onto the road. There were few more poignant sights than that of her kids driving away. What a mean trick, this pang of sadness that unfailingly struck as soon as there was a window of solitude. She spent half her life craving these moments, but when they finally came they were far too shocking. She tried to imagine the Sunday night reentry as an antidote to her sudden blues. That always helped. And then there was Melanie and, oh yes, the surprise!

Chapter 2

Pulling out of the yard for a visit to Rebecca’s was transformative. Through the looking glass she did go!

I’m leaving now, Melanie called out.

Mark didn’t flinch.

Bye-bye, she called, honking the horn to distract him from their neighbor down the road, the most unimaginative man she had ever had the misfortune of knowing.

Should I wait up? Mark smiled.

Not unless you want to pull an all-nighter. Don’t look at me like that. I told you I was spending the night.

"Yeah?’

You’re joking, right? She studied his face. You’re not joking. You know, I honestly think I could leave and come back without you noticing.

Mark swaggered over to the car with hopes, she mused, of enticing her back before dawn. He presented his head to her through the window and caught a cool peck and the promise of some hot marital tension.

Ah, Mel, don’t drive off mad.

I’m not mad. I’m late.

So who’s around?

You really do tune me out, don’t you! She was too kind to accelerate out of the mud puddle. "It’s just your bio brats. Mine are at the lake, darling. I told you."

He leaned in and tried again. Now that’s more like it.

I’m not cooking tomorrow, you know, she softly teased.

Ah, so you’ll come back?

Maybe.

Her road dissociation was getting worse. The last twenty miles went by in a blink, but what a fabulous sky show; towering giants with luminous crowns cast streaks of light out into the fourth dimension. The dirt road leading up to Rebecca’s new home belonged to a winding maze as intrinsic to Vermont as its lush trees. The residential sample along the way perfectly matched the class mix at town meetings across the state. The hills welcomed shack and mansion alike. The Cook family castle was only two driveways down from one of the more impressive backwoods establishments.

As she pulled into the yard, she was filled with a sudden envy she struggled to suppress. She scanned the property for Rebecca while taking in the front portico and magnificent landscaping. On the side lawn was a trellis covered with flowering vines and a tiered garden to die for. And there she was, floating, not walking, across the lawn in bare feet and jeans. Rebecca was a rare beauty, the essence of femininity, defying physical law by being both curvaceous and slight. She exuded sexuality, humor, and kindness, moving in a soft radiance that hypnotized everything in sight.

God, would you look at you? Melanie pulled away from their embrace. If you get any prettier, I will just have to leave.

Shut up.

Okay, here’s the thing. Look at me, this is a confession.

Yeah?

It has required immense personal work for me to accept that you’re a genius and a knockout, but, Beck, I didn’t know you were this rich!

Oh, for God’s sake, you have to come kill a wasp. He’s trapped in the bathroom.

By the time they entered the kitchen, they had transformed reality.

Okay, we have to set an agenda! Melanie was emptying her bag of goodies.

Hazelnut! Gimme. Rebecca headed for the sink with the old coffee grounds. Yes, but you have to go get that wasp.

I’ll need a cup and a book.

You can’t just squish it?

Do you want all its relatives after us?

Good point!

Rebecca directed Melanie into the upstairs bathroom from behind, her big eyes on the alert.

Okay, darling, Melanie coached. You’ll have to let go of my shirt.

Sorry. Rebecca ran into the hall and cracked the door. Do you see him?

Not yet.

Tell me when you see him.

Okay, target located.

Rebecca slammed the door as Melanie strategized.

Did you get him? Rebecca’s muffled voice from the hall. Mel?

Melanie brushed the wasp with a tissue to get it out from behind the window frame. Not a good idea; the thing flew furiously about the room, hitting the ceiling and dive-bombing so hideously she had to pulverize it with her shoe.

Mission accomplished. She opened the door with the corpse in the tissue. Rebecca screamed.

The thing is dead, Becky. My God, get a grip!

Rebecca dissolved into hysterics, crossing the line from laughter to weeping and back again, falling into a violently shaking heap at the top of the stairs.

I can’t breathe! she said, gasping, as Melanie flushed the wasp down the toilet and brought out a box of tissues.

Here you go, sweetie—nice, calm breaths.

I think I’ve been upset.

Of course you’ve been upset.

Rebecca fell into Melanie’s arms as the episode passed. What did you do with it?

Gone. Swirling about in the septic tank.

This is too good, Rebecca said as Melanie dipped her finger in her coffee and licked the cinnamon cream. They were side by side on the terrace chairs like two passengers as the evening sun kissed their faces and crystals of rain in the garden.

Okay, agenda time, said Melanie.

The surprise first?

Hee hee! Melanie could speak with her eyes, and Rebecca knew this was big. Okay, the surprise will take up time, so should we say— she looked at her watch. That we do our check-in afterward, then eat and channel no later than nine?

Yes, and I have some sage to burn in the attic.

Okay.

And maybe some sage in their bedroom?

Okay, brace yourself. There are two, and they’re both big. Really, really big.

Rebecca loved Melanie’s theatrical flair and fully admired her ability to sit on a secret.

I will save the best for last.

Good. Rebecca took a sip. Oh, I forgot! She retrieved two little peach-colored tablets out of her pocket and presented them in her palm. The other half of our speedball.

Xanax?

Let us thank Catherine for branching out with her consumerism. I mean, the woman has to sample every possible product. If you would rather, there’s Valium.

Holy Jesus. Don’t let me near that stockpile. Melanie bit into the tablet.

You chew? Rebecca grimaced.

It’s really not bad.

You know, you could just put it under your tongue, Rebecca said.

Okay then. You know that Brook has been promising, or, more aptly put, threatening to restructure management. Her vision is to get more of a clinical perspective on decision making, and she’s adding another position, so there’ll be two directors of outpatient programs housed locally.

Go Brook.

She wants me to be the outpatient director in White River, and I said I’d do it.

No, Mel, that’s wonderful! Wow, you will be perfect. Congratulations, girlfriend! This was a big surprise, albeit rather disappointing, until Melanie grinned mischievously.

Mel?

She asked if I thought you’d be good for the Springfield programs, Melanie said.

She did not!

She did. We would be raised to fifty-three thousand and be on the executive team.

No! She told you all that? What’s happening to Rob?

My best guess? He’s being axed. He can’t stand her and has been just this side of insubordinate.

But why me? Honestly, I didn’t think she even knew me.

Because, idiot, you’re the licensed psychologist on staff.

Oh, Mel, so you accepted? Did you accept for me?

I told her I was sure you’d be interested. You realize this is a total breach of policy.

Melanie Jacobs, how could you have kept this from me? Rebecca looked into her impish eyes. What? Mel?

You think those are the two surprises, don’t you?

So this is a joke?

Oh no, I would never do that to you darling, ever, but there’s another one, and it’s much, much bigger.

It is? Rebecca asked tentatively.

You know Brook’s been looking for a new medical director.

Yah?

Melanie took a long, melodramatic breath and sipped her coffee. Tom is back.

She watched the chemicals pour into Rebecca’s bloodstream, rise to her cheeks, and blast out of her eyes.

When I was down meeting with Brook, I ran into him at the coffeemaker. I think I might have gasped, but I don’t completely remember. I managed to get a little information but not much. He’s been in Accra.

"Where?"

Accra. It’s in Africa. I had to look it up. Beck, he looks gorgeous. He’s tan, and his hair is long. He said he needed to watch the sun set at a civilized hour.

Oh my God, I’m going to faint!

I know. Brook came looking for him and gave me this little look, like, watch it, girl, he’s my property. I swear.

Oh my God!

I know.

Melanie Jacobs, you’ve turned my life upside down!

Do you have any citronella?

Do I have what?

Citronella, candles for the bugs.

Of course.

The bugs aren’t bothering you?

They want you.

She would flip if she saw this, Rebecca said as she lit the last of the candles placed in a circle around their chairs.

Why?

Because, Mel, one must be frugal with one’s supplies. These unlit ones were the backups.

Melanie smiled as she watched her friend move like a Shakespearean vision, her long hair falling dangerously close to the flames.

This has to go on the agenda, Rebecca said. Why I feel so guilty about using my parents’ things, the complexity of being a stranger in my childhood home, and what exactly is off limits. Like, should I buy my own damn citronella? And if so, where do I draw the line? Should I then buy my own ink for the computer, and my own Windex? These things weren’t spelled out.

Maybe you should just replace whatever you run out of.

That is the very problem. Her supplies will never run out. But let’s check in. I’m getting hungry.

Okay, me too. Do you want to keep going with this?

No, you first.

Well, as I said earlier, things are overall really good. Mark is beside himself with the prospect of my making that much. I have to say, that is the biggest draw in taking the position. Mark and I are doing really well. Lately he’s been showing up only for the sex, but that’s just fine with me. It’s frequent, and he gives me great attention.

He’d better.

So sex is great, and the rest is just fine—you know, handling the mob scene.

How is that mob scene?

Help me! Peter bought a motorcycle that’s beached in the yard. The kitchen table has seen at least four applications for state colleges that keep mysteriously disappearing. There’s a trail of parts and tools from his bike to the garage. He’s leaving smears of grease on the bathroom towels, and I blew a gasket the other night when I found one on a dishtowel. But he is exonerated because he has a job selling knives on commission. Matthew. I told you he decided on Northeastern?

That’s a great school.

It is. He’s cooking up some travel plans and deferring college for a year. He’s such a great kid. I swear, kids come into the world with their own plans. So those are Mark’s. Mine are doing well. Sarah is glued to the books, surfacing when she gets hungry or needs to express an opinion.

She’s a riot!

She is. Peter’s the only one worth her time, so go figure! Relationships are such a mystery.

And how is pretty little Polly?

Polly is Polly, Ms. social butterfly. She is sprouting little boobs and wearing makeup. I figure the time I have with her before I have to fasten my seat belt is running out.

At least teenagers sleep through the night.

No they don’t. They don’t even go to bed. After hallucinating the sound of Peter’s wheels pulling in for an entire six months while Mark was snoring away, it occurred to me to buy a noise machine.

A noise machine?

Highly recommend to mothers. You know, we’re all wired to discriminate sound from a deep sleep. The noise erases the world beyond the bed. The one drawback is addiction. Now I have to hear some form of moving water or I can’t sleep. Melanie stretched in feline fashion, ran her fingers through her straight, dark hair, and let it fall against her shoulders. What?

You.

What about me?

You have no idea how sexy you are.

I love you.

You are the reason I don’t dread aging.

Oh, darling, there are lots of reasons to not dread aging. The scenery gets damn fascinating. Trust me.

I do, but doesn’t it bother you that you’re closer to fifty than thirty?

Jesus! Now that you put it that way.

Sorry.

You know, forty-five’s not exactly ancient.

I know. I’m sorry, I’m obsessed with aging.

Don’t be, you’ll waste your life. But tell me what’s happening with you.

Well, I kind of already have: my kids are coping, Steve is being an asshole, and I’ve admitted to myself that I married him for his mother. Milly is retired and my daycare in the fall.

Wonderful.

This house thing we will get to, the job thing I’m not sure about, the Tom thing—oh God, I’ll need drugs. Do you think he knows I’m single?

Probably. The important thing is to keep your power.

And not gain weight. Rebecca stretched her arms out in front of her. You know, I really love how thin I am now. I’m experiencing a whole new relationship with my arms.

They looked out over the lawn to the gently sloping field peppered with wildflowers.

Beck, I know I threw a lot at you, and maybe you can’t answer this or don’t want to, which is cool, but why aren’t you sure about the job?

Rebecca took a deep breath, but before she could sigh, a June bug found her hair. Taking her chair with her and upsetting the table of drinks and candles, she catapulted forward onto her hands and knees, shrieking, Get it out! Get it out!

Melanie rushed to assist, firmly instructing Rebecca to hold still as she isolated the involved strands and brought the beetle to a crunching end. Rebecca kicked the air as Melanie disentangled its barbed legs.

These things really are primordial, Melanie said with disgust.

Oh God, look what I’ve done! But you have to admit that was a blatant assault.

It was bad. I’m not sure I would have handled it differently, but sweetie, those are nasty scrapes.

It’s a dangerous world, Mel.

Rebecca sat at the kitchen table pumping while Melanie chopped veggies for their salad.

Should I put this cheese in?

Sure, throw in whatever you like. It’s all good.

Sunflower seeds?

Mmm. Mia’s days are numbered, let me tell you.

Isn’t it a little sad when it’s your last?

Who said she’s my last?

Oh, of course, silly me.

Rebecca had the air of a mistreated cow with her abrasions and the ridiculous-looking contraption attached to her breast.

So, the job. I just don’t think I could give up my summers, I mean with the kids these ages.

That’s big.

That’s the thing about these school positions.

Agreed.

And I can’t imagine supervising my peers, especially the older ones. I mean, can you picture Jane Moss relating to me as her boss?

Jane would love it. Hey, none of us take the administration seriously anyway, and people adore you. They totally value your clinical take, and we’d be in weekly meetings with Tommy boy.

We would.

I’m not trying to talk you into …

Yes, you are.

Okay, but I really think you would find that summers are light, and you have Milly now.

True.

I really think you should give it a shot, darling.

Off the master bedroom was a screened-in sitting area equipped with surround sound from the natural world. Rebecca and Melanie lay on a bed of quilts as still as dolls. Shadows played on their faces as the night air stirred the candles and they tuned their senses. Channeling, for lack of a better word, was the notional skill of reading unsuspecting psyches out of the neural web of the collective unconscious. The surprising frequency of accurate messaging–first channeled and later substantiated by real events–increasingly reinforced their belief in telepathy, especially in consideration of certain men.

Okay, I’m just going to go with this, said Melanie, breaking the silence. A caveat is coming in from the Goddess, so bear with me. She says you need to defend against your tendencies to self-sacrifice, especially with men. Be strong, she says, and don’t let them push you over. You will always be vulnerable to this. Learn to distinguish between connection and yielding to another’s will.

Hmmm.

Okay, Steve. Steve, where are you? The Goddess is not happy with you.

A barred owl called from across the meadow. Melanie waited for an image, a thought, or a sensation to flash through. All was conspicuously quiet, and then there it was, the first pulse from Steve’s brain wave, a feeling of resistance against the life force.

Okay, some of this is going to be hard to interpret. He’s struggling to keep you out of consciousness; he’s too conflicted, so he’s rejecting you altogether, buying into the family myths about you as a spoiled princess and yukking it up with his brothers. Beck, this isn’t me.

It’s them. They used to rape me with their eyes when Milly wasn’t looking, you know, at family gatherings.

He isn’t entirely happy with himself, but he needs to save face. Is he the baby?

Actually, yes.

He hates being the baby. He’s posturing as the tough guy while finding solace in Milly’s kitchen. Oh, what a hoot, Milly wants to get a word in.

Don’t let her.

It’s hard not to. Wow, she means business. He’s spinning your separation as the victim, but she isn’t buying it. Wow, darling, that boy was bad to you. You know that, don’t you? I mean, really bad. Okay, the Goddess wants to speak. She’s fed up with his mistreatment and his deception. Enough is enough. Hmmm. Bear with me, some imagery is streaming in. I’m seeing and smelling doughnuts and coffee, lots of yellow and artificial flowers. The tablecloth is plastic and the kitchen spotless. This is Steve’s first and true home. You represent a standard he can’t measure up to, and he’s tired of trying, of being someone he isn’t. Hmm, well, this sure makes sense. He was preconsciously driving you away so he could blame you, the way he deluded himself into thinking that it was your choice to work. It killed him that you had to work, so he made you into the princess with a little professional career. He was both demeaned and excited by your status, but after a while he just hated it; it embarrassed him around the big guys, the brothers and the fathers. He is actually so in awe of you that he had to set you up to fail, hence all the passive aggressiveness. Interesting. He looks at your degree and your profession as a walk in the park. It isn’t real work like getting under a fucking car or taking an engine apart, or creating your own business from scratch like his father had to. This class stuff is an enormous issue, so he has to devalue you and make you the enemy.

You are so psychic. Milly’s kitchen to a tee, and she’s the doughnut queen.

Hmm, okay, this is really interesting. He is feeling a big sense of relief despite playing up what this little bitch did to his family. And in his better moments he knows he’ll be a better father with a little distance. He wants to make it up to his kids, and he actually has moments of feeling exhilarated, of feeling free. He’s getting closer to his older brother and has already planned a week of hunting in the fall.

Well, dah, he’d planned that before I left.

Let me see—being in his body is not all that fun. He is so damn tight and edgy, and God, he was furious with you for not serving him. Okay, hold on, the Goddess is coming through. She wants you to resist any temptation to approach him or give into him. Approaching him will prolong a painful process and invite his vindictiveness. He will respond sadistically. Oh, okay Beck, forgive me, this is the Goddess, not me. It is imperative that you do not in any way whatsoever, in word or action, attempt to sway him from his reality that he really wasn’t enough for you. He needs to feel needed. She says she means business, and furthermore, there’s another fish in his puddle. Ooo, sorry darling. Wow, I didn’t see that coming. Melanie opened her eyes.

They slowly came out of trance.

Oh God, Mel, you nailed it. I feel sooo guilty.

Guilty for what?

For marrying someone who wasn’t enough for me and breeding like a rabbit.

You’re not responsible for his soul. Don’t take it on. You were a kid when you married him.

I hope he’s a better ex than husband. Rebecca shook out her legs. Your turn.

Okay, I need to pee. I’m not sure who I want you to do first.

Melanie was dazzled by the impeccably designed bathroom and the three-dimensional image of herself in the mirrors. She threw off her nightgown and stepped onto the scales.

Beck, are these scales right?

Of course. They’re Catherine’s—what do you expect?

You’re sure?

Positive. Rebecca came into the bathroom. Is that good?

It’s great.

Well, I should think so. You’re a rail.

You know, I have to say, I don’t feel the need to be extraordinary in the looks department, but I really can’t complain for my age.

Nobody would believe you’re in your forties. I mean, look at you.

Rebecca and Melanie studied her naked form in the glass. She was perfectly toned with smooth skin. Rebecca envied her small, firm breasts and dark nipples, her flat stomach, slender hips, tight little butt, and long legs. There was a toughness about her that was smoothed out by high estrogen levels. Melanie had thick, dark hair and light brown, almond-shaped eyes. Her lips were thin and curled slightly at the corners, giving her spirited nature away. Melanie was the kind of beauty who had, as she was fond of saying to Rebecca, a continuum of looks ranging from plain to striking.

You know, said Rebecca, you and Catherine could be sisters.

I can see that.

I bet you’re her size, Rebecca said impishly.

Not a good idea, Beck.

I know. That’s the point, Rebecca said, throwing off her nightshirt and stepping onto the scales. Ugh, I gained two pounds by starving.

You’re Venus.

I’m a troll.

You’re psychotic. I mean, four kids and you’re a porn queen. Jesus.

You think so? she said, looking over her shoulder provocatively.

You have a classical feminine shape. You’re perfect.

I have stretch marks and cellulite.

Where? Is it hard being so gorgeous? Because you’re digging for imperfections.

I’m not.

You are, but let’s have a look at that stockpile, Melanie said, opening the cabinet. Holy Jesus, this is a candy store!

See anything good?

Melanie examined the bottles. Well, why bother with the hazelnut for starters? God, how does she score all of this?

She buys her way in. I really think she shops for scripts the way she shops for clothes. I mean, there are tags still on half the things in her closet.

Poor Catherine, she must be wildly jealous of you.

No, she just doesn’t like me.

They resettled into position, breathing in the summer night floating through the screen.

I think I don’t want you to do Mark, so how about—and I know this is sick …

No, it’s not.

How do you know?

I do.

I want you to do Randy Scott.

Great choice.

Just a little background. We’ve been working on a nightmare case together, a nightmare in that the team is not coming together at all. Randy is beyond all the crap. He and I have had the same reactions to everything, and he came to my rescue against an ugly attack by one of the team members. I think he has a little crush on me.

And that’s sick?

Well.

It’s completely normal to savor peripheral attractions. Okay, this will be fun. Randy is cool.

And hot.

Yes. Okay, let me see.

Melanie waited patiently while Rebecca took her time.

I’m starting to get him. Lots of interference in the airwaves tonight. Did you notice?

Melanie hadn’t noticed and felt sure it was Rebecca’s own brain activity.

Okay. I’m seeing a hand on a tiller, and a boat slicing through the water along a white sand beach. Clear water and clear mind. His wife and kids are his emotional cushion, her sweet smile and fresh scent. Adventures through a Gothic library, the excitement of musty books. He burns through them at the speed of light.

You have him.

High IQ, trust fund baby. At peace with his life and the universe within his own mind. Enter Melanie Jacobs in a peach sundress with an other-worldliness in her eyes. You are power, competence, integrity, intelligence, grace. The sun kisses your face, a clump of hair has fallen out of your barrette, your maple eyes flash, your mouth mischievously quivers, your delicate gold chain teases and whispers about the pleasures below, your wedding band shimmers and adds to the excitement of forbidden fruit, excruciatingly kept by professionalism, devoutness. God, I’m picking up on his language. You have depth and mystique, like a medieval lady, you’re tough and soft, tantalizing. Okay, sorry about this, but he has entered my body. Wow, men are amazing. Their arousal is so to the point. They are wired to compartmentalize because the sensation is so intense. You are totally delicious to him, and he feels no conflict whatsoever, it only enhances his lust for his wife, whom he deeply loves. Wow, he is such a good man, and, yes, he is a man, and, yes, he thinks about you; you are the other woman.

I wore that dress to our last powwow.

This sensation is totally mindless and intense. I’m going to jump you if I don’t stop, she said, giggling. I’m so terribly sorry. Any questions?

No, I don’t think so. That was a great channel. I think they have a summer place somewhere on the water. And Beck, I love that he’s such a great family man. I think that’s a big draw for me. Mark’s a great lover, and he adores his boys, but he doesn’t give them the kind of attention they need. When I see paternal qualities in attractive, strong men, I turn into a marshmallow. I’ll be the first to admit.

I know, what’s with that?

Excellent work, girlfriend. We’re getting too good at this. Melanie sat up.

Rebecca laughed. Can you imagine if they all saw us now? The new, improved management. I mean, we are so out there, and they all have no idea.

I know. So what now, are you ready for Tommy boy?

No, no, and no.

Maybe we should have a little smoke?

Great minds think alike.

Beck, you have to come out here! Melanie called from the terrace as Rebecca was conferring with herself about various brands of micropop. She had the sensation of waking up and wondered how long she’d been standing there contemplating the danger in a little extra butter.

Mel, she said as she slid open the screen door, I’m way too stoned. Mel?

Out here, darling.

Rebecca rode her feet across the lawn toward the hammock, experiencing herself as a dissonant assembly of bionic parts. Her hip joints took someone else’s command, locked, and froze. The darkness was softly electrified, multitudes of tiny lights blinking and trailing.

Is something wrong? Beck?

Mel. She managed to pull a fiber of sound out of her throat.

What is it, sweetie?

Melanie approached Rebecca and placed her hands on her shoulders, her kind touch melting into and through Rebecca.

I can’t move or feel my legs, she said through clenched teeth.

You can’t move them?

I’m way, way stoned.

It’s okay darling, the pot is just really strong. Let’s just slowly walk back to the porch. Melanie led her toward the stone steps as she stiffened and resisted like a robotic toy.

Am I hallucinating?

Well, I’m not sure. What are you seeing?

Blinking stars.

Aren’t they amazing? There must have been a hatch.

Ish, that gives me the creeps! She stamped her feet.

What’s with the clenched teeth?

I’m turning into the Tin Man.

Into the freezer for The World’s Best Vanilla, and not the freezer-burned open container—no, that would not do—must dig into the new one. Melanie lit the terrace candles and danced into the kitchen.

Okay, what’s your pleasure? Rebecca asked.

Holy Jesus! Melanie exclaimed over the assortment of liqueurs stashed in the sideboard.

It’s on the house.

Just the opened ones?

Any you want.

They won’t mind?

They’re out in the Atlantic, Mel, and besides, my father’s favorite thing is serving up drinks.

What are you having?

It’s between the crème de menthe and amaretto.

I’ll have whatever you’re having.

Okay, let’s go mint.

They sat on the terrace, moaning over their parfaits. Every third slurp or so, Rebecca squirted a little dab of cream into her glass dish.

I know, she said, picking up on Melanie’s amazement. I’m out of control, but I’ll be so bereft after you leave that I’ll lose my appetite for a few days. She took a sip of crème de menthe straight from the bottle and went directly to her spoon with the cream. Nothing I can do about it now. The train’s left the station.

Melanie smiled and shuffled the tarot as Rebecca carried on for another full parfait’s worth.

Mmm, it’s good that you’re vibing them up, Rebecca remarked as she watched Melanie handle the cards.

Just let me know when you think you might be done.

Rebecca took one last swig of the cordial and cleared the glass tabletop, laughing and bumping into things.

Okay, Melanie instructed. Concentrate on what you wish to ask. It can be a general theme or a specific question.

Do I tell you?

Yes.

Rebecca searched her psyche as she watched the fireflies twinkling over the treetops and fields, opening up a book of magic.

Can it just be the theme of Rebecca’s life?

Sure, let’s see what comes up.

Melanie had feminine hands with long nails that she kept carefully polished at all times. Rebecca had quietly admired them over the three years they had known each other and was fond of watching them in action. They were skilled dancers mirroring the poetry of Melanie’s language, now moving like a flock of magenta birds above the unturned tarot.

Okay, gently move the cards around like this and ask them to speak.

Rebecca lightly touched the cards and tentatively moved them in circles.

Imagine a deep lake fed by hot and cold springs. The cards are little fortune lilies resting on the surface. They have long stems reaching into your unconscious. The lake is a perfect reflection of your past, present, and future. Melanie gently placed her hands on top of Rebecca’s, riding and guiding them until it was impossible to tell who was steering the boat.

The cards have the power of knowing.

Every ounce of pragmatism inherited from her father hid like a frightened rat in the deepest fold of Rebecca’s mind when she was with Melanie. She felt herself yielding to the hypnotic touch, trusting her friend’s omniscience as a fluid extension of real things unseen.

As you feel the current rippling through the cards, notice that some are charged more than others. Melanie lifted her ballerina fingers and brought them back to the stage, that little spot in front of her chest where they routinely performed. You may move off a charged card and see if it pulls you back. You may do this more than once. If it’s hot, it will pull you back.

Rebecca closed her eyes as she took direction. A breeze moved the loose hairs around her face and played the leaves like a rain stick. Melanie felt that she was in the presence of an angel and was moved by her friend’s innocence and vulnerability, by the scrapes on the balls of her hands, and by the unfathomable loneliness she must have endured as a child.

When you feel a clear charge from any one of the cards, you may turn it over. You will receive messages from seven cards.

Rebecca kept her eyes closed, visualizing her destiny rising to the surface of the lake in a sparkling effervescence. Slowly she turned over seven cards. A chill passed through Melanie as she looked at the upturned cards, finding herself in sudden allegiance with that part of her neocortex that did not subscribe to this hocus pocus. But not to worry: Melanie was a champion rationalizer, and a positive interpretation was rapidly coming to order. She picked them up and carefully arranged them into a seven-point star. The Emperor, The Queen of Swords, The King of Cups, The Devil, Death, The Falling Tower, The Star.

Oo, this is horrible, and I was in such a good mood!

It really isn’t, darling. You need to remember that these are metaphorical. Your psyche and destiny are dynamic. You are undeniably in crisis, and you have immense strength and great protection, all here in the cards. This is actually a damn good reading. And sister girlfriend, I have never known anyone to draw so many cards from the Major Arcana. Jesus. Melanie laughed.

I love you so much, Mel. You make every little thing okay.

I love you too, Kiwi Eyes.

Chapter 3

Caleb came perfectly into the world, a Caesarian baby with ten toes, ten fingers, and a head of gosling down. Unlike his older sister, Melissa, who had demanded service at first breath, Caleb opted to sleep for the first couple of days with little interest in feeding or checking in. It worried her, and she asked the nurses if something might be wrong so many times that the heavyset one with red hair was short with her. On the third day, she awoke to the tender vision of