"Us? All of us?"

June nodded.

"I see."

The concern that June had seen in his eyes only seconds before faded abruptly, like a curtain being drawn. When he spoke again, his voice was icy.

"Are you sure all of us need to go?" he asked, drawing the covers around himself.

"What do you mean?" June's voice was guarded; she could sense something coming, but wasn't sure what.

"I wish you could have heard yourself a few minutes ago," Cal said smoothly. "You didn't sound quite-well, rational is the word, I think."

June's mouth dropped open in astonishment. For a moment all she could do was stare at him. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying? It didn't seem possible.

"Cal, you can't do this." She could feel her control slipping away from her. Tears were welling up again, and the anger she had thought was dissipated was flooding back.

"I haven't done anything, June," Cal said reasonably. "All I did was bring Jenny up, put her to bed, and then go to bed myself. And the next thing I know, you come in, raving like a maniac, insisting that I'm some kind of monster, and telling me I need to go into therapy. Does that sound rational to you?"

June rose from the bed, her eyes blazing. "How dare you?" she shouted. "Have you completely lost your mind? Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to go on defending yourself, trying to pretend nothing's wrong? Well, you listen to me, Calvin Pendleton. I won't tolerate it. Either you agree, right now, to go with me to see Tim Hartwick, or I swear, I'll take Mich.e.l.le and Jennifer, and I'll leave you. Right now. Tonight!"

She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for him to speak. For a long time their eyes remained locked in an angry challenge. When finally the moment came, the moment when one of them would have to surrender, it was Cal.

His eyes flickered, then he looked away from her. He seemed to sink into the bed, the tension in his body suddenly released.

"All right," he said softly. "I can't lose you, I can't lose Jennifer. I'll go."

Mich.e.l.le started back to her room, her hip throbbing, barely able to make her crippled leg function.

She had heard the fight, heard her mother screaming at her father. She had tried not to listen at first, but then, as her mother's shouting suddenly stopped, she had gotten up and crept out into the hall. Still hearing nothing, she had moved painfully down the hall, stopping only when she was right outside their door.

And she had listened.

At first, she had heard only a low murmuring of voices, but couldn't make out the words.

Then her mother was screaming, threatening to leave, telling her father she was going to take them all away.

Mich.e.l.le, in the hall, had heard nothing then but the sound of her own heart pounding, felt nothing but the excruciating pain in her hip.

Finally she had heard her father. His words echoed in her ears: I can't lose you. I can't lose Jennifer I can't lose you. I can't lose Jennifer.

Nothing about her.

She crept back to her room and got into bed. She pulled the covers up tight around her neck and lay there, her small body shivering, her mind whirling.

It was true. He didn't love her anymore.

Not since that day when she had fallen off the bluff.

That was the day the good things had stopped, and the bad things had started.

All she had left was Amanda.

In all the world, there was only Amanda.

She wished Amanda would come to her, talk to her, tell her everything was going to be all right.

And Amanda came.

Her dark figure, like a shadow in the night, moved out of a corner of the room, drifted toward Mich.e.l.le, holding out her hand, reaching out, touching her.

The touch felt good. Mich.e.l.le could feel her friend drawing her close.

"They were fighting, Mandy," she whispered. "They were fighting about me."

"No," Amanda said. "They weren't fighting about you. They don't care about you. They only love Jennifer now."

"No," Mich.e.l.le protested.

"It's true," Amanda's voice whispered, soft in her ear, but insistent. 'It's all happening because of Jennifer. If it weren't for Jennifer, they'd love you. If it weren't for Jennifer, you wouldn't have fallen. Remember how they were teasing you? It was about Jennifer.

"It's Jennifer's fault. All of it."

"Jennifer's fault? But...but she's so small..."

"It doesn't matter," Amanda whispered. "It will make it easy. Mich.e.l.le, it will be so easy, and when she's gone-when Jennifer's gone-everything will be like it used to be. Can't you see?"

Mich.e.l.le turned it over in her mind, listening all the while to Amanda's gentle voice, whispering to her, rea.s.suring her. It all began to make sense.

It was was Jennifer's fault. Jennifer's fault.

If there were no Jennifer....

Mich.e.l.le drifted off to sleep with Amanda close to her, crooning to her, whispering to her.

And when she was asleep, Amanda told her what she had to do.

It made sense to Mich.e.l.le now.

All of it....

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. Mich.e.l.le 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 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."