Darkness

“No!” she shouted, jerking away and sitting up, fumbling with the lamp, certain the bright light would wash away the lingering nightmare.

She blinked as the room filled with light, and another scream rose in her throat.

A figure loomed over her.

“Kelly? Kelly, are you all right?”

It was her grandfather’s voice. Kelly took a deep breath, her lungs flooding with air. She shuddered and fell back against the headboard.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, sweetheart,” Carl Anderson said. “I just came in because I heard you screaming.”

Kelly squinted up, her eyes not yet adjusted to the light. In the bright glare she could almost imagine—

No! She put the thought out of her mind. It was just her grandfather. “What time is it?” she asked.

“Just a little after eleven,” Carl told her. “I thought you’d still be reading.”

Kelly shook her head. “I–I was having a nightmare.”

Carl clucked sympathetically. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come creeping in here, should I? Scared you half to death.”

He bent over and kissed Kelly gently on the cheek.

His breath, the same fetid scent Kelly remembered from the dream, filled her nostrils once more. Instinctively, she shrank away.

Her grandfather straightened, stood still for a moment, then turned and left the room.

Kelly stayed awake most of that night — and the nights that followed — too frightened to sleep.

14

“Well?” Barbara Sheffield asked.

It was Saturday evening, and the sun was poised on the western horizon, casting long shadows across the broad yard that separated the Sheffield house from the canal. Barbara and Craig were in the kitchen, Barbara garnishing a large bowl of potato salad with sliced hard-boiled eggs, and Craig fishing in the refrigerator for a couple of cans of beer. Outside on the terrace, Ted Anderson was tending the just-lit barbecue kettle, while his father and wife were stretched out on chaises. The afternoon had gone quickly, with the men watching a baseball game on television while Barbara Sheffield and Mary Anderson got acquainted.

“Well, what?” Craig countered, though he knew what Barbara was asking him. She tilted her head toward the window, and Craig looked out, then smiled wryly. Outside, a croquet court had been laid out on the lawn, and Kelly Anderson was bent over Jenny, helping her line up a difficult shot. As he watched, Jenny, with only a little help from Kelly, swung the mallet. The orange ball shot through the wicket, ricocheted off Kelly’s ball, and struck Michael’s.

“It worked!” he heard Jenny yell, bouncing up and down with excitement. “Now what should I do?”

While Michael and Kelly argued about Jenny’s next shot — with Michael insisting that Jenny should knock Kelly’s ball into the yard next door, while Kelly suggested that maybe they should find out if Michael’s ball would float — Craig shrugged.

“Okay, so I was wrong. She seems like a perfectly nice girl.” He dropped his voice, even though they were alone in the kitchen. “But I still don’t get it — if she’s as normal as she seems, why did she try to kill herself?”

“Kids can be under all kinds of stress.”

“Well, she certainly looks normal enough now,” Craig observed. “Maybe Mary and Ted were right — maybe all she needed was a new environment.”

“You should have seen her a few days ago.” Barbara chuckled. “With that pink hair—” She fell silent, her face reddening as Mary Anderson appeared in the doorway.

But Mary only smiled. “That awful pink hair?” she asked. “Is that what you were talking about?” Barbara’s blush deepened. “It’s all right, Barb,” Mary went on. “It was awful, and I still haven’t thanked you for talking her into changing it. Let me give you a hand with that.” She picked up an egg and began peeling it, then glanced at Craig. “My husband and father-in-law are both grumbling about what they claim must be a beer shortage.”

Taking the hint, Craig pulled three cans out of the refrigerator, leaving the two women alone in the kitchen.

“I do appreciate what you did,” Mary said as she began slicing the egg she’d just shelled. “And I still want to know how you did it.” She sighed and her smile turned wan. “I … well, sometimes I just don’t seem to know how to talk to her.”

“Well, don’t ask me,” Barbara replied. “As far as motherhood’s concerned. I’ve always just winged it. I figure there’s no training for the job, and all we can do is follow our instincts.”

The last of Mary’s smile faded away. “Maybe my problem is that I don’t have any instincts,” she said, her eyes carefully avoiding Barbara’s. “Ever since Kelly was a baby I’ve felt that I didn’t have the slightest idea what she was all about. And it seems that it gets worse as she grows up, not better.”

“Don’t be silly,” Barbara objected. “Every mother has instincts. Didn’t you feel it when you first got pregnant?” She hesitated as Mary’s face reddened, and suddenly, as comprehension dawned on her, she felt a wave of embarrassment. “That was stupid of me,” she said. “I don’t know why I didn’t figure it out. Kelly doesn’t really look like either one of you. She’s adopted, isn’t she?”

Mary nodded. “I couldn’t have children at all. Ted and I tried, but I just can’t conceive.” Her voice took on an edge. “Sometimes I wonder if it might not have been better if we’d simply accepted the fact that we weren’t going to be parents.”

Barbara stopped working, and faced the other woman. “Mary, you can’t mean that.”

“Can’t I?” Mary asked, her eyes glistening with tears. “Do you know what it’s like, raising a child you don’t even know? Every time something goes wrong — and with Kelly, it’s seemed as though that’s been most of the time — you wonder whether it’s your fault. And then you start wondering where your child came from, if maybe it isn’t your fault at all. You start thinking maybe it’s something in your child’s genes.” A brittle, harsh laugh escaped her lips. “You wouldn’t know about that, would you, with two perfect children of your own?” At the stricken expression on Barbara’s face, Mary’s words suddenly died on her lips. “Barbara? Now I’ve said something, haven’t I?”

Barbara nodded mutely, trying to control the tears that had flooded her own eyes. “I guess we’ve been lucky,” she breathed. “With Michael, there haven’t been that many problems. He’s always been a bit of a loner, but—”

Mary Anderson’s jaw dropped open with surprise. “You mean he’s not yours?”

Barbara swallowed the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. “I — There was a problem. My first baby was stillborn,” she breathed. “We adopted Michael before I even left the hospital.”

Mary slipped her arms around the other woman, hugging her for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I had no idea.” Releasing Barbara, she stepped back, breathed deeply, then forced a smile. “Well, aren’t we a pair. Known each other half a day, and here we are, crying on each other’s shoulders.”

The two women went back to work, and suddenly Barbara found herself telling Mary about losing her child. “I hadn’t really thought about it for years,” she said. “But the same thing happened to one of the swamp-rat women last week. Her baby was stillborn, and she almost lost her mind.” She told Mary about the call she’d had from the clinic just a few minutes after Kelly had left that day, when Jolene Mayhew had told her what had happened to Amelie Coulton’s baby, and how the young woman had reacted. “Didn’t Kelly tell you?”

Mary shook her head. “I’m afraid Kelly doesn’t tell either of us very much. She comes and goes, and eats and sleeps, but every time I try to talk to her about anything, she just gets defensive.”

“I know,” Barbara sighed. “Michael can be that way, too. He’s always been a loner, sticking pretty much to himself.” She glanced out the window to see Michael lining up a shot on Kelly’s ball, while his sister did her best to ruin his concentration. “At least he was until Kelly arrived. I have a feeling she’s about to become his first girlfriend.”