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  "Kaylee? Do you understand that nothing you've gone through is your fault?" Sierra scoots over and sits right next to me. She puts her arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to her.

  Tears drip onto my notepad. I lean into her and bury my face in her sweatshirt.

  "It's okay, little one. It's okay to cry. Just let it all out. You've been through so much." She hugs me tighter and whispers in my ear. "Oh, Kaylee, I love you."

  I feel like something inside me breaks, like a water balloon pops and everything comes gushing out. My whole body shakes and it gets hard to breathe. I gulp for air. I see dark spots on Sierra's sweatshirt where my tears have fallen. Sierra holds me close and keeps whispering in my ear. "It's okay, little one, it's okay. Just let it all out. It's okay . . ."

  I hiccup and finally pull away. I pick up my pen again. She didn't have amnesia, did she?

  Sierra is quiet. I look up to see her face—she's staring out at the grass. I can tell she's being careful about what she's going to say. "I don't think so, Kaylee. I think the drugs made her forget . . . everything. At least for awhile. I don't know for sure, but that's my best guess. I think she's taking drugs and it's made her do things she wouldn't have done otherwise." She looks down at me and then pulls her sweatshirt sleeve down over one hand and wipes my eyes and my nose with it. Then she shrugs and smiles. "We'll wash it later."

  I nod, then I ask another question, just to make sure. So using drugs is kind of like having amnesia?

  "Drugs can make you forget what's important and forget who you are." Sierra gives me a squeeze and then wipes her own eyes with her sleeve.

  Do you think she loves me?

  "Of course she loves you. After all, you're soooo lovable!" She smiles and then leans down until the tip of her nose is touching the tip of mine. "How could she help but love you? She's just not herself right now. Little one, may I ask you a question now?"

  I nod.

  "When I saw you that first day, you had your hands covering your ears—like this." She puts her hands over her ears just like I do. "And then today, I saw you do the same thing. Can you tell me why you do that? Can you explain it to me?"

  I feel my face get hot. I look down at the quilt and the squares blur in front of me. I wipe the tears and try to swallow the lump in my throat again.

  "Kaylee?"

  Aardvark.

  Albino.

  "Little one, does it . . . does it have something to do with . . . the man at the cabin. Something to do with him?" She puts her hand under my chin and lifts my face up so I'm looking at her, but I look away.

  Babka.

  Bombastic.

  Cloister.

  "Kaylee, I know what he did to you and I think it will help you if you can share it with someone. Either me or with Dr. Beth."

  Cohort.

  I put my hands over my ears and pull my knees to my chest. I wrap my arms around my legs and bury my face against my knees. The scream, louder than ever, rages through my mind and body. My legs and arms start to shake and I rock back and forth.

  Colloquial.

  Crescendo.

  The scream won't stop.

  Cretin.

  I can't make it stop.

  I feel Sierra lie down next to me. She puts her arms around me and holds onto me.

  I can never tell her.

  I can never tell anyone.

  Never.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Sierra

  I hold the phone in my hand and try to decide who to call. Dr. Beth is probably the right choice, she told me to call if I noticed "extreme angst" in Kaylee, but it's Pete's card I hold. I dial his number.

  After identifying myself to the receptionist who answers the phone, I wait. And wait.

  "Hey, Sierra?"

  "I blew it. I think I really blew it. I don't know what I was thinking. I just thought if we could talk about it, if she could share it with me—maybe it would help. But I didn't know. I don't know. I shouldn't have asked. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know!"

  "Whoa, Sierra, slow down. Take a deep breath. Good. Take another. Okay. One more. Great. Now, tell me what you're talking about."

  I feel my heart rate slow as I take Pete's prescribed breaths. The strength and warmth I sense in his voice reassure and my mind begins to clear. "Okay, I think I blew it with Kaylee. Something seemed to be bothering her this morning. She wasn't herself. She hasn't been since seeing her mom. So I thought if I could get her to talk about it, I mean write about it, maybe it would help. Dr. Beth says Kaylee feels safe with me, so I thought maybe she'd share it with me and it was going pretty well, until . . . until . . ."

  "Until?"

  "Well, earlier, I was watching her in the backyard and I saw her cover her ears—like she was trying to block out a loud noise, and then I could see her begin to tremble. Her whole body was shaking like a leaf. So I began questioning her. I finally asked her why she'd been covering her ears. I told her she'd done that the first day I saw her, and I wondered if she could tell me why . . ."

  "Good. Did she respond?"

  "Good?" I'm baffled by his response. "No, she didn't respond. So then, oh I can't believe I did this, but . . . I pressed a little more. I asked her if it had anything to do with Jack. I could see I'd embarrassed her or that she felt ashamed or something. Oh, Pete, I could see it on her face. She began to cry and then turned away from me. After a minute she covered her ears again. Then she laid down in a fetal position, with her hands over her ears. It was like she wasn't there anymore—like she was somewhere else. Oh, it was awful. I didn't know what to do."

  "What did you do?"

  Pete's voice remains calm, like he has complete confidence in me. His tone implies concern for Kaylee but holds no condemnation for me—which, honestly, baffles me. "Um. I laid down next to her and put my arms around her. I stroked her back and her hair. I knew she wouldn't hear anything I said, so I just held her until she calmed—until she finally took her hands away from her ears."

  "Good. Good. So when did you blow it?"

  "What?"

  "You said you blew it. When did you blow it?"

  I try to shake the confusion from my head before I respond. Didn't he hear me? "The whole thing. I blew the whole thing. I shouldn't have asked her those questions—shouldn't have referred to Jack . . . Obviously I handled it wrong."

  "Tell me what happened next."

  "Well, I kept stroking her back and when she took her hands off her ears and I thought she could hear me again, I told her that I loved her and that nothing she'd experienced was her fault. I'd told her that earlier too when we talked about her mom."

  "Wait . . . Did she talk about her mom?"

  "Yes, she wrote down a few questions for me. Questions about things she overheard when Kathryn was here. She asked about her mom using drugs. Oh, Pete, she has so much to deal with." I sigh. "I'm so sorry. I pressed her too hard. I should have left that conversation to Dr. Beth or you—someone who knows what they're doing."

  "Huh. Sierra, from where I'm sitting, you handled everything just right. Your instinct is great. Kaylee communicates with you. She's open to you—at least more open than she is with anyone else. If she's going to open up, my guess is she'll open up to you. I really think you did just fine."

  "What? Really? But . . ."

  "Tell me what she's doing now. How is she now?"

  "Now?" I peek out the kitchen window and look at her again. "She's sitting on a quilt in the backyard, eating a sandwich, and playing with Van."

  "She's eating and playing?"

  "Yes. After she calmed down, I asked her if she was hungry." I laugh when I remember her response. "Want to know what she wrote?"

  "Sure."

  "Her note said she was ravenous. She even defined raven
ous for me. Evidently she doubts my vocabulary skills."

  "You did know what ravenous meant, didn't you?"

  I can almost see the smile on his face as he teases. "Duh!"

  With Pete's chuckle, I feel my neck and shoulders relax. The tension from the last hour eases. I listen as Pete fills me in on some recent developments with Kaylee's mom, but it's too much for me to think about now. I'm spent. I'll have to consider his news later.

  "Sierra."

  I strain to hear him. His voice has softened to a whisper.

  "You're amazing." He clears his throat. "I mean, you did an amazing job with her. You really did. From a professional standpoint, you may have pushed her, but you also opened a door for her. Kaylee's in bondage—a prison of silence. Speaking, especially speaking the truth about what happened to her and allowing those around her to help her understand that it wasn't her fault, will help set her free. She needs to speak, and she needs, when she's ready, to speak the truth. Be cautious—don't push her too hard. You're walking a fine line. But today you gave her permission to tell you what she's been through. You invited her to share her story."

  "Okay, thanks. I won't push her too hard. I just . . . I just want to help her."

  "You are helping her. And you're doing a great job."

  Okay, thanks. Thanks for your time and for . . . you know . . . your encouragement and everything."

  "No problem."

  Just as I'm ready to hang up, he stops me.

  "Sierra?"

  "Yes?"

  "Hang in there. I meant what I said earlier, you are amazing. Good-bye."

  I hold the phone in my hand, startled. I don't know what to do with his compliment . . . Soon, I realize, I'm grinning like a school girl with her first crush. "Oh good grief! Get a grip, Sierra!" I bang the receiver down and head outside to check on Kaylee.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Kaylee

  Kind of a long day, wasn't it, kiddo?"

  Sierra sits next to me on my bed. I see her reach for the comb and I shake my head. NO. I take the comb from her hand. Combing my hair isn't her job. I can do it myself. I run the comb through the sides and back a few times and then reach around her and put it back on the table. She just watches me.

  "Would you like me to read to you tonight?"

  I shrug.

  Sierra gets up, bends down in front of the bookshelf, and pulls out my Bible. She opens it to The Gospel According to Mark. We started with The Gospel According to Matthew. She said the Gospels are the stories about Jesus. That's what Grandma Bickford thought I'd like. And she was right. Sierra told me that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John were some of Jesus' disciples and that they each wrote about Jesus from their own perspective.

  The first three definitions for dis·ci·ple all say that it's someone who follows Christ. Christ is Jesus' last name, I think. So I guess even the person who wrote the dictionary knew about Jesus.

  Sierra's voice is soft as she reads and my eyes get heavy. I have a hard time keeping my mind on the story about someone who was deaf. Instead I keep thinking about Sierra's questions earlier today—her questions about him. But I don't want to think about him anymore. I yawn and pull the blanket up around my chin and close my eyes.

  Sierra keeps reading. "'He has done everything well, they said. He even makes the deaf hear and the mute speak.'"

  I sit up. What did she say? I grab Sierra's arm and pull the Bible toward me so I can read it myself.

  "Kaylee, it said Jesus can make the mute speak." She points to the verse she just read.

  I read it for myself. Jesus can make the mute speak? Can He make me speak? I lie back down and think about what I would say if I could talk. I think again of the questions Sierra asked me this afternoon. Would I have to answer her questions if I could talk?

  "There's another verse somewhere in the Bible that says 'all things are possible with God.' Or something like that. Jesus can do anything."

  I turn my head away from Sierra and face the other wall. I've heard enough for tonight. She seems to understand and leans over and kisses my forehead. "Good night, little one." She stands and reaches for the lamp and then stops. "Shhh . . . Do you hear that?"

  I listen and look up at Sierra. She's smiling. The noise—what sounds like screaming—comes again. I can just barely hear it. Sierra's looking at the window that's open over my bed.

  "It's the Giant Dipper. The ride at the Boardwalk. There it is again, hear it? You can hear the people screaming as they go down the biggest drop. Sometimes the sound carries on the breeze in the evenings. Do you like roller coasters?"

  I shrug. I don't know. I've never been on one.

  "Oh, the Giant Dipper is really fun! I'll have to take you soon, before the Boardwalk closes for the winter. Would you like that?"

  I shrug again. Maybe. I'm not sure about the screaming part.

  She leans over and kisses my forehead again and squeezes my shoulder. "Want me to close your window? Or does the breeze feel good?"

  I just look at her. Does she expect me to answer?

  "Sorry, little one. Sometimes I forget. I'll close it when I come in later and let Van out." She gently tugs on a clump of my hair and bends down again and whispers in my ear. "I love you, Kaylee Wren. Sweet dreams."

  Sierra turns to leave but I reach for her. I catch the hem of her shirt and pull on it. She stops, turns around, and looks down at me. I hesitate but then I open my mouth and even though I know nothing will come out, I mouth the words, I love you, too.

  She bends down again and puts her arms around me and gives me a tight squeeze. When she looks at me her expression is serious, like she might cry. Finally she says, "Kaylee, you just gave me a precious gift. Thank you." She walks to the door and turns off the light. "Good night, little one."

  I lie still for a long time. The questions from earlier keep me awake. When Sierra asked why I cover my ears, she knew, somehow, that it had something to do with him. How did she know? If she knows, what does she think? Does she think I'm bad? She said today that nothing I've gone through is my fault, but she doesn't know everything. If she knew, she wouldn't say that. It had to be my fault.

  I must have done something wrong or that wouldn't have happened.

  I roll over and bury my face in my pillow. I reach behind me for Van, and sink my hand in the fur on his back. He turns and I feel his wet nose nuzzling my hand. I roll back over and scoot down next to him. I pull my pillow down and lay my head next to his.

  I can't think about all that now. I need to think about my plan. I have to go. I have to find my mom, to help her. I knew I couldn't go tonight because—well, I just couldn't. But I'll have to go tomorrow. I feel that big boulder sitting on my chest again. I turn my head so I'm nose to nose with Van; I put my arm around him and hug him tight.

  I lie there with Van for a long time thinking about my plan—and listening to the screams of people who are supposedly having fun.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Sierra

  I love you, too . . .

  Kaylee's words—the words she mouthed—hold so much for me. Too much, probably—comfort, hope, even healing.

  Her love is God's grace to me.

  Is it truly possible that what my mother and daddy have said all these years really applies to me too? All my sins are forgiven? Even what I did to Annie? What my choices caused? My mother's oft-quoted verse comes to mind again. "The truth will set you free . . ." And I hear the question she asked equally often, What's the truth, Shannon?

  Finally I'm beginning to understand the freedom found in the truth. Christ died to forgive my sins and He has forgiven me. Even more amazing is that He loves me. He loves me. The accusations I've lived with for so long have quieted. My mind is still and I'm resting in truth. Freedom.

  Tonight I also dare to h
ope. I hope for an enduring relationship with Kaylee. I pray for Kaylee, her healing—her freedom. I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how to help her. All I know how to do is love her. I give the rest to God; I try something new: I turn all my hopes and dreams over to Him . . . and I trust.

  Then I think again of Kaylee. Pete is right, the truth will set her free. She must speak her truth so we can speak truth back to her. I will spend the rest of my life telling her that what she went through—her mother's drug use, the abuse, all of it—wasn't her fault. She paid the price for others' actions. The familiar anger I feel whenever I think of what Kaylee suffered wells within me again. Then a new thought hits me—and stuns me. Kaylee, an innocent child, paid the price for others' poor choices—just like Christ, who was also completely innocent, paid the price for my choices.

  "I get it." I whisper into the dark, choking back tears. "I really . . . get it." I pull myself out of the Adirondack chair and step down to the lawn. There, standing barefoot on the grass, I lift my face to the sky. The Big Dipper hangs low over the bungalow against the black velvet sky and millions of stars dance overhead. Who am I to deny God's mercy? His forgiveness? Who am I to think I know more than the Creator?

  Who am I? I know who I am. I am completely unworthy. But I am completely loved. I bow my head, humbled, and offer my gratitude . . . "Thank You for loving me and forgiving me. Thank You." I wrap my arms around myself and head back into the bungalow. It has been a long day.

  I'm sure I fell asleep with a smile on my face, but I wake with a start, heart pounding, body tense, and fully alert. The sound that woke me comes again shattering the silence of the night. Screaming! Coming from Kaylee's room!

  I bolt from my bed and down the hallway, reaching her in seconds, I'm sure, although it feels like it takes much longer. Too long. She is in her bed, thrashing back and forth, arms flinging overhead as though she's trying to hit something or someone. I reach for her shoulders to shake her awake and notice that her sheets and pillow are soaked. Tears glisten on her cheeks. She screams again—a deep, primal, agonizing scream.