Near Touch

Chapter 21: Fallout

Amy sat on one end of the chesterfield, her body folded in half, arms tied around her knees. It was as though she was trying to contain as much of herself as she could, before the impending tornado hit - one that could disperse her morality across the Appalachians.

Even several helpings of her mother's delectable chicken pot pie hadn't quite quelled the turmoil inside Amy. Her hair had doubled in volume; mostly due to her nervous fingers foraging for peaceful thoughts in the russet strands.

"Soon your hands are going to be filled with clumps of your beautiful hair," Anne chided, muting Sophie's Choice on the television. "Sit. Let me braid it for you."

Amy focused on her mom as though she was seeing her for the first time. Dropping to the hardwood floor, she willed her thoughts away from Caleb Dawson.

But it was impossible.

The wait was worsening by the second. Caleb had run off after their encounter with Dr. Abernathy, not even bothering with explanations or excuses. No goodbyes, no see you laters. The whole affair was starting to remind Amy of her first night with Caleb.

How naively she had promised to help him find his body. Not even thinking about her or her family's safety, jumping to help a ghost. Emotionally driven decisions were so unlike her! Amy blamed the bloodbath that was her uterus that week.

"Leigh loved your little play date," Anne said. Her deft fingers were soothing as they wove Amy's hair into a Dutch plait. "What about you?"

Amy chose to deflect. "We met Dr. Abernathy in the park. I told her that I'd attend the next session with y'all."

"Honey, that's wonderful!"

With a modulated voice, Amy said, "Was it bad of me not to go before?"

"These things take their own time. You decide when you are ready."

When Anne was done, Amy twisted around and rested her chin on her mother's knee. "Dr. Abernathy - and I don't know if I'm the one reading into this - she, uh, kind of implied that I was responsible for what happened," she muttered. "For what Leigh did."

Her mother's fierce eyes shone as she ran her palms over Amy's face. "Don't you think that for a second! Not one, do you hear me?"

Amy nodded, bewildered at this reaction she had definitely not anticipated.

"I need to have a word with Agatha," her mother's voice was punctuated with anger. "Your father and I told her to never bring that up in front of you."

"You did?"

"Of course! Anyone would know that's just plain stupid."

"You don't think I'm a terrible sister?"

"No more than I am a terrible mother and your dad a terrible father," said Anne. "Growing up is hard. For your sister, it's a little bit harder. We face these things as a family."

Amy buried her face in the folds of her mother's mohair sweater. The scent of gooseberries and home finally did the trick. A yearlong skirmish with insurmountable guilt had ended, and it was all because Amy had trusted the blue-eyed boy who was haunting her. "Thank you."

"We have too much love in this house to make room for blame." Her mother held her close. "I should've come to you sooner."

In a thick, mousy whisper, Amy said, "I thought you'd hate me."