Comes the Blind Fury

Michelle glanced wildly around the room, as if searching for something. Her eyes came to rest on her doll, sitting in its usual place on the window seat.

“Mandy,” she said. “Amanda told me!”

June’s mouth fell open in surprise. She stared first at Michelle, then at the doll. Surely she didn’t think it was real! No, she couldn’t. Then June realized what had happened. An imaginary friend. Michelle had made up an imaginary friend to keep her company. And yet, there was the doll: its glass eyes, large and dark as Michelle’s, seemed to see right through her. June closed her mouth, and stood up.

“I see,” she said hollowly. “Well.” Dear God, what’s happening to her? she thought What’s happening to all of us? Trying to keep her confusion from her voice, and forcing herself to smile at Michelle as if nothing were wrong, she got to her feet.

“We’ll talk about it later.” She bent over and kissed Michelle lightly on the cheek. Michelle’s only response was to lower herself, so she was once more lying on the bed. As June watched, all expression seemed to fade from Michelle’s face. Had her eyes not remained open, June would have sworn she had fellen asleep.

Hugging Jennifer close to her, June backed slowly out of the room.

Cal came home in the middle of the afternoon, and spent the rest of the day reading and playing with Jennifer. He spoke only briefly to June, and didn’t go up to Michelle’s room at all.

As June finished setting the table for dinner, and was about to call Cal into the kitchen, an idea came to her. Without pausing to think about it, she went into the living room where Cal sat with Jennifer in his lap.

“I’m going to have Michelle come down for dinner,” she said. She saw Cal flinch, but he quickly recovered himself.

“Tonight? What brought this on?” His voice was guarded, and June prepared herself for another argument.

“She’s spending too much time by herself. You never go up there—”

“That’s not true,” Cal started to protest, but June didn’t let him finish.

“Whether it’s true or not isn’t the point. The point is that she’s spending too much time alone, feeling sorry for herself. And I won’t let it continue. I’m going to go up and tell her to put on her robe and come downstairs. And I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

As soon as she left the room, Cal put Jennifer in the extra bassinet they had installed in the living room, and fixed himself a drink. By the time June returned, he had finished it and begun on a second, which he brought with him when June called him to the table.

They sat silently, waiting for Michelle. As the hall clock ticked hollowly, Cal began twisting his napkin.

“How long are you going to wait?” he asked.

“Until Michelle comes down.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“She will,” June said firmly. “I know she will.” But inside she did not feel the assurance of her own words.

The minutes dragged. June had to force herself to stay at the table, not to go upstairs, not to give in at all. And then it hit her.

Maybe Michelle couldn’t come down. She got up from the table and hurried into the hall.

At the top of the stairs, Michelle, her robe tied tightly around her waist, was clutching the bannister with one hand, while with the other she tested the top step with her cane.

“Can I help?” June offered. Michelle glanced at her, then shook her head.

“I’ll do it,” she said. “I’ll do it by myself.”

June felt the tension that had been building up in her suddenly release itself. But then, as Michelle spoke once more, the knot of fear that had been clutching at her all afternoon regained its grip, more tightly than ever.

“Mandy will help me,” Michelle said quietly. “She told me she would.”

Very carefully, Michelle started down the stairs.

CHAPTER 12

The morning sun, crackling with an autumnal brightness, flooded through the windows of the studio, its rays seeking out every corner, its brightness lending a new mood to the canvas on the easel. June had begun it several days ago. It depicted the view from the studio, but it was moody, somber, cast in heavy blues and grays that reflected all too well her own mood over the past few weeks. But this morning, bathed in the sunlight, its colors seemed to have changed, brightened, capturing the excitement of a suddenly gusting wind churning the cove on a dark day. Dipping her brush in white paint, June began adding whitecaps to the boiling sea that erupted over her canvas.

In one corner of the studio, Jennifer lay in her bassinet, cooing and gurgling in her sleep, her tiny hands contentedly clutching at her blanket. June tore herself away from her work long enough to smile at Jenny. As she was about to return to the canvas, a movement outside caught her eye.

Putting her palette and brush aside, she went to the window and looked out.

Michelle, leaning heavily on a cane, was making her way toward the studio.

As she watched, June fought to control her emotions, struggled against an almost overpowering impulse to go to Michelle, to help her.

Michelle’s pain was written boldly on her face: her features, even and delicate, were screwed into a mask of concentration as she made herself keep moving steadily forward, her good right leg moving easily, almost eagerly, while her left leg dragged reluctantly behind as if mired in mud, being moved by sheer strength of will.

June felt tears well up in her eyes. The contrast between this fragile child bravely limping toward her, and the robust, agile Michelle of only a few weeks ago tore at her.

I won’t cry, she told herself. If Michelle can take it, so can I. In a strange way, June drew strength from the pain-contorted body that drew steadily nearer, then, suddenly feeling self-conscious about watching Michelle, she turned back to her easel. When, a few minutes later, Michelle appeared at the door, she was able to feign surprise.

“Well, look who’s here!” she exclaimed, forcing her voice to a level of cheerfulness she didn’t feel. Reflexively, she took a step toward Michelle, but Michelle shook her head.

“I made it,” she said triumphantly, lowering herself on June’s stool so that her left leg hung nearly straight to the floor. She sighed heavily, then grinned at her mother, a trace of her old humor briefly illuminating her face. “If I hurried, I bet I could have made it twice as fast.”

“Does it hurt terribly?” June asked, letting her mask of cheerfulness fall away. Michelle seemed to consider her answer carefully, and June wondered whether she was going to hear the truth, or some evasion Michelle thought she might like to hear.

“Not as much as yesterday,” Michelle said.

“I’m not sure you should have tried coming all the way out here …”

“I needed to talk to you.” Michelle’s face turned serious, and she shifted her weight on the stool. Even that slight movement sent stabs of pain through her. She winced slightly, and waited for the spasm to pass before she spoke again.

“What is it?” June asked finally.

“I–I’m not sure. It’s—” She floundered for a moment, then her eyes moistened, and a tear began running slowly down her cheek. June quickly put her arms around Michelle and hugged her close.

“What is it, darling? Tell me. Please?”

Michelle buried her face against her mother, her body suddenly wracked with sobs. With each sob, June could feel Michelle’s body tighten with the pain in her hip. For several minutes June held her, until Michelle’s agony slowly passed.

“Is it that bad? Does it hurt that much?” June wished there were some way she could take the pain upon