“Grieving is a process with many stages,” Dr. Richardson said. “Its intricate and involved, and I want to help you through it. You’re wise to use therapy to support the family while you work your way through the thoughts and feelings about Amy’s death.”
Erin squirmed in her chair. She didn’t want to talk about Amy’s death. She wanted Dr. Richardson to convince her parents that she was well enough to move away. “So why don’t they want me to go away this summer? It’s like they’re punishing me.”
Her father leaned toward her. “Honey, you’re not being punished. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Mom said I did.” Erin surprised herself with her sudden comment.
“When? I’ve never said such a thing!”
“Yes, I heard you. When I first came to the hospital after Amy’s accident. You told me that I never should have let Amy go to the store because she’d just gotten her license and wasn’t very experienced.” Erin’s voice sounded angry and ashamed.
“But I never—I mean, I was upset.”
“It was an accident,” her father added.
Erin looked at them, from one face to the other, and nodded vigorously. “But you were right. I shouldn’t have let her go. but I really didn’t want to go myself, and so I let her have her way. Why did I do that?”
Dr. Richardson said, “You’re angry because she talked you into it.”
“Yes, I let her have her way! If I had gone on the errand instead of Amy, then the accident never would have happened!”
“But it was raining. Could you have stopped the rain?”
Erin felt flushed all over. She twisted in her chair. “Of course I couldn’t.”
“So what if you had lost control of the car too? Then what would have happened?”
“I—I would have been the one who died.”
“But you’re a more experienced driver. You might have had better control of the skid,” Dr. Richardson reasoned. “Erin, don’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve built a whole case—served as judge and jury for yourself—based on ‘if only’ If only I had driven instead. If only it hadn’t been raining. If only I hadn’t let her talk me into driving to the store.”
“But my mother said—”
“You’ve beat yourself up for the last year over something you had no control over.”
“But I let her drive, and she wasn’t experienced,” Erin insisted. Why couldn’t Dr. Richardson understand that she really was to blame for Amy’s death?
“Your sister was a sixteen-year-old licensed driver. She’d taken a driver’s test and was approved for a legal license. She was driving the car. She knew how to drive. She lost control. It was an accident.”
“But I feel so responsible. Because I was the ‘responsible one,’ and Amy was the baby. Isn’t that right?” Erin couldn’t help crying now as she turned to her parents. “Amy’ll never get to be an actress.” She looked at her father, whose eyes were brimming. “She’ll never get to grow up.” She looked at her mother, whose face was the color of paste.
Gently Dr. Richardson said, “Erin, this is guilt you’re feeling—a natural part of grieving. It’s good that you’re allowing yourself to express it. It’s okay to forgive yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”
“Sometimes I feel so depressed.” Erin blew her nose. “I feel like I’m going crazy, like I have to do it all, because Amy’s gone.”
“Letting these tears and feelings out will ensure that you won’t go crazy. In fact, I believe that your headaches are a result of keeping these feelings bottled up inside.”
Dr. Richardson faced Erin’s parents. “Erin’s been trying to help both of you, to distract you from your pain. She’s carried on, tried to take up the slack and act as a buffer, and yet still plan for a future. The headaches are a reflection of the terrible strain she’s under. It’s tough being the glue that holds everybody together.”
“We never meant for that to happen,” Mr. Bennett said, shaking his head.
Dr. Richardson continued. “Erin’s headaches have been the focus of your lives this past year. I believe that if both of you would come in for separate counseling as well as together as a family, you’ll all be able to work out your grief and put the pieces back together again.”
“But we’re working things out,” Mrs. Bennett protested, crying openly.
“As parents you’re facing a double loss: Amy’s death—an unnatural event—and Erin’s growing up and leaving home—a natural one. It can be scary facing the unknown. Yet Erin has to feel that the two of you are going to be all right before she can afford to be well and achieve her goals.”
“So you’re saying that we’re partly to blame for Erin’s headaches,” Mr. Bennett commented, shifting in his chair.
Her mother wept. “I never meant to blame you, Erin. Never!”
Erin buried her face in her hands. She felt her future and all her dreams slipping away. She felt tired and defeated. “I won’t go away if you really don’t want me to,” she whispered.
“That’s not a decision we have to make right now,” Dr. Richardson said kindly. “Right now we need to focus on all of you getting your feelings out. You need to confront your anger, fear, and guilt. Then we can discuss the future.”
Erin raised tearstained eyes to her parents. They were crying too, but it didn’t embarrass her. She half wished she was a little girl again and could curl up in their laps and be soothed. “I want things to be like they were before Amy died,” she said.
“That’s impossible” her father said.
“I agree,” Dr. Richardson told them. “But things can be good again. You can be a happy and unified family if we work together on your healing. Today has given you an excellent beginning.”
Erin watched her parents glance at one another, then nod in agreement. She rubbed the back of her neck, but the dull ache was already starting to subside.
Chapter Nineteen
Erin watched the rain from her living-room window. The water splattered against the glass, then ran in rivulets, pooled and collected on the outside sill before running off the edges and into the shrubbery. Her insides felt as liquid as the rain. Ever since her family’s session with Dr. Richardson, she’d cried off and on until she was sure that she was empty, that there couldn’t possibly be one more tear left within her. And that made her task for this afternoon a little bit easier.
Erin turned and crossed to the middle of the floor where Amy’s trunk sat waiting. The house was silent, because both her parents were at a counseling session, and since classes and exams were finally over, she had nothing else to do but sort through her sister’s things. Dr. Richardson had told her, “I believe it will help heal you.” Now she realized that more than her headaches needed healing. Her parents needed healing too.
Erin sat on the sofa, reached out, and unsnapped the catch on the trunk. She raised the lid. Clothing lay on top—Amy’s favorite items. She lifted a red blouse and remembered the day Amy had bought it. She’d said, “Erin, can you loan me the money for this. Please … I’ll be your best friend.”
Beneath the clothing she found the case Amy had received for her sixteenth birthday to hold her clown makeup. Amy had been delighted because she thought it made her look like a “real pro.” Erin smiled, because on the first opportunity Amy had had to carry it—the dance recital—she’d forgotten it. Erin opened the kit and examined the tubes of greasepaint.
She unscrewed one cap, closed her eyes, and sniffed. The heavy, oily odor sent her back to the Children’s Home and the day she’d filled in for Amy and had first met David.
Funny how they’d met again during the play. David had turned out to be as zany in real life as he’d been that day he’d entertained the children. So much like Amy. Erin still wondered why she never told him about their real first meeting. But now that they were going their separate ways for the summer, she guessed it didn’t matter anymore.
Erin remembered his kiss and touched her mouth. No use ge
tting all sentimental, she told herself, closing the lid of the makeup case and snapping the catch tightly. David was a part of the past now too. Time to go forward.
Inside the trunk she discovered a shoe box filled with photographs. There was a strip of her and Amy they’d taken one day at the mall in one of those “instant-photo” machines. In one frame Amy had crossed her eyes and Erin was looking exasperated. In another Amy had sneezed just as the camera had fired.
And there were photos of Amy and Travis—of the two of them beside a Christmas tree, kissing under mistletoe, and sitting in Travis’s sports car.
Erin ran her fingers over the glossy surfaces, tracing her sister’s smiling face locked in time, forever young. A lump swelled in her throat, so she quickly shoved the photos back into the box and put it aside.
She found a pile of gifts and keepsakes from Travis—a necklace with a single pearl, his Christmas gift to her, a football pennant, several ticket stubs, and a broken comb. “You sure kept some weird things,” Erin said aloud. But then she supposed that she would have done the same thing if Travis had given them to her.
She uncovered the teddy bear Travis had given Amy in the hospital—the one Erin had tried to give back to him the night he’d dated Cindy. She’d come very close to throwing it into the bay but in the end had brought it home to Amy’s room.
She hugged the tattered bear, burying her face in its fur. It smelled of Amy’s perfume. She pulled the familiar bottle out of the trunk and spritzed its fragrance into the air. The scent was light and floral. She closed her eyes and inhaled.
After a few moments Erin opened her eyes again. She was alone—yet, surrounded by all of Amy’s belongings, it had seemed—just for a moment—that Amy had been there too. “What do you think, Mr. Bear? What should we do with Amy’s things? If we give them away, someone else will just toss them. If we keep them—” She stopped because her eyes were misting over, and her throat had clogged up again. If she kept them, someday she’d be able to tell her children all about Aunt Amy. She’d be able to let them meet Amy in a different sort of way.
Slowly she gathered up the mementos and packed them lovingly back inside the trunk. She’d save everything, and she’d have her father put the trunk in her bedroom, at the foot of her bed. And the trunk, and all it contents, would be hers for all time, and somehow that meant Amy would be too.
She closed the lid and leaned her head against the sofa. Outside, the rain had slackened, and the sun was struggling through the cloud cover. Dr. Richardson had been right. It had helped to touch her sister this way. She felt better inside. And now she had just one more thing to do. One more task before she could close this chapter on her life and begin the next one.
Erin got up and went to the kitchen and picked up the phone.
“I’d like to speak to Travis Sinclair, please.”
The guy on the other end said, “Let me check his room.”
The receiver clunked down, and Erin heard him yell, “Hey, Travis, some babe’s on the phone!” The sounds of the college dorm, of male voices and doors slamming, filled Erin’s ear. In a few minutes the receiver was picked up, and Travis’s voice said, “Yeah?”
Erin almost lost her courage. Her palms began to sweat, the receiver becoming slippery in her hand. “Travis? It—it’s Erin Bennett.”
There was a long pause. “Where are you?”
“Tampa. Home.”
“How’d you get my number?”
“I called your mom and asked her for it.”
“What do you want, Erin?”
What did she want? “I think I want to tell you that I’m sorry.”
“Sorry about what?”
“Sorry about … the way I treated you, you know, last year when Amy was … was …”
“It was a hard time for all of us,” Travis said quickly. “It’s all right, I understand.”
“And then that day we met at the mall. I’m sorry about that too.”
“I probably shouldn’t have spoken to you. I knew how you felt. But when I saw you, I just remembered Amy so strong. It was like she might have been there with you.”
Erin leaned against the kitchen wall because her knees were trembling. “I never should have said the things I did to you that night after the dance. I know now that you were hurting too, and I never should have treated you as if you didn’t care.”
“I was hurting all right,” he confirmed. There was a pause before he added, “Amy used to talk about you all the time, Erin. She really thought you were something special.” Erin remembered the essay Amy had written for English class about sisters, and she smiled wistfully. Travis continued. “She was always telling me what a great dancer you were and how you were going to become famous.”
“She had plans to be a famous actress too, and she thought we’d work together someday.” Erin twisted the cord around her fìnger. “We probably never would have, you know. Even if she’d lived. But Amy always planned big.”
“I was pretty mixed up when she was in the hospital. I was mad, and I didn’t know who to be mad at.” Travis’s voice seemed to be coming through a tunnel. “Screwy, isn’t it? I’ve had a lot of girlfriends, but the only girl I ever wanted died.” Erin felt dampness on her cheeks and wiped it away furiously. “I loved Amy, Erin. I really did.”
“I know,” she said. “I loved her too.”
“I kept some pictures of her just so I’ll always remember what that feeling was like. I’ll never forget her. You gotta believe that.”
“I believe you.” Her voice was scarcely a whisper. “And I’m just sorry I treated you so mean. I—I guess that’s all I called to say, Travis.”
“Look, I’ll be wrapping up exams this week, then I’m coming home. Maybe we could get together and talk.”
“I’d like that. It helps to talk about her.” She thought of the items Amy had saved because they came from Travis. “There were some things in her stuff you might like to have. Pennants, a necklace—stuff like that.”
“Sure,” he said. “That would mean a lot to me. And—uh—thanks for calling, Erin. It always bothered me that you were so angry at me. I feel better about it now.”
“So do I,” she said, and she meant it.
“Well, I gotta get back to the books.”
“And I’ve got someplace I have to go.”
“Good-bye,” Travis said.
“Good-bye,” she told him, and hung up the phone. She took a long, shuddering breath. Her head felt light, but it didn’t hurt, and the tenseness along her shoulders evaporated with a few shrugs. She felt drained, but also at peace.
Still clutching the receiver, Erin rested her forehead on the wall. She closed her eyes. “Goodbye, Travis,” she whispered. “Good-bye, Amy. Good-bye.”
Chapter Twenty
Erin stood at the chain-link fence looking over the crowded track and infield. Banners flapped in the afternoon breeze. The biggest one read: Special Olympians—You’re Winners! The infield was a jumble of athletes in gleaming wheelchairs and orthopedic braces, of bright T-shirts emblazoned with the five Olympic circles, of coaches and paramedics dressed in shorts and baseball hats.
Erin scarcely saw them. She was looking for David, knowing that even if he glanced over toward the fence, he would not recognize her. After all, he’d only seen her once in her full clown makeup.
All at once she saw him. He was making balloon animals for a group of kids swarming around him near a refreshment stand. She ambled toward him, her hands deep in the pockets of her oversize, baggy pants. She asked, “Need some help?”
“I sure do, here—” He stopped midsentence and stared at her. “Hey, I’ve seen you before.” His brow crinkled beneath his whiteface, and his orange drawn-on mouth puckered. “Last year!” He snapped his fingers. “The Children’s Home.”
“Someplace else too.”
“Erin?” His amazed, comical expression made her laugh out loud. “But—but—who? How …? You were the girl who worked with me that day?”
“Yes.”
“But you never said anything about it all this time.”
“Its a long story.”
“The girl who was supposed to appear—”
“Was Amy, my sister.”
David shook his head as if to clear it. “Man, am I confused.”
“I’ll let you buy me dinner and explain everything after the Olympics are over today.”
“But I thought you weren’t coming.”
“I changed my mind. And besides, some clown once told me that helping out and making people laugh makes a person feel good inside.”
David came closer, ignoring the kids who began to scatter as the start of various events were announced over the PA system. “I thought you were brushing me off. After the play and all, you hardly spoke to me.”
“I had a lot of things to figure out. Are we still friends?”
He smiled, and she felt as if the sun had just splashed over her. “I’ll be your best friend.” He took her hand and led her over to a grassy spot, away from the bustling activity. There he stood facing her, still holding her hand. “I got accepted to clown school for the summer.”
“And I’m going to Wolftrap for sure. The scholarship’s for three weeks.”
“So are you all right now?”
“I will be,” she said. “Our whole family’s going to counseling now, and I also go to the grief support group for teens. Dr. Richardson’s been urging my parents to start attending a Compassionate Friends meeting—that’s a support group for parents who’ve lost kids.”
David nodded. “I guess it helps to be with people who’ve been through the same things you have, huh?”
“It helps a lot.”
“What about FSU in the fall?” David asked. “Will you be going there?”
Erin shook her head. I’m going to start at the junior college, and if Dr. Richardson thinks I’m ready, I’ll transfer to FSU at midterm. Otherwise, I’ll transfer next fall.”
“I know how much you were counting on going.”
Erin shrugged. “I wasn’t as ready to move away as I thought I was. Beth was excited when I told her. We’re going to try to take a class together.”
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