The Third Eye

by Lois Duncan

  “Not really,” said Karen. “I mean, there aren’t any parties I want to go to.”

  “Now, don’t try to tell me that. This is your graduation night!”

  “Mom, I’m grown up now, right? You just said it yourself,” Karen said. “I should know if I want to go to any parties. If I say I don’t want to, then I don’t want to.”

  “But what about Tim?” Mrs. Connors asked her. “Surely he must have planned something.”

  “Tim can take care of himself,” Karen said. “If Tim had wanted to take me to a party, he would have invited me. And he didn’t.”

  “But I thought…” Her mother paused, digesting Karen’s statement. She seemed to reconsider what she had been about to say and stopped herself. “I see. I didn’t realize… that you were having problems.”

  “We’re not having them,” Karen said. “We had them. It’s over between Tim and me.”

  “But he took you to the prom! And tonight you walked together!”

  “We signed up to be graduation partners back in April,” Karen told her. “That was a preset thing. There’s no rule that says that if you walk with a partner you have to go out together afterward.”

  “You could still have fun at the parties,” Mrs. Connors said. “Your other friends will be there.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to go,” Karen said.

  “There’s no reason, then, that you have to,” her father said. “Lovers’ quarrels tend to work themselves out. Things will look brighter in the morning.”

  “You’re probably right,” Karen said, avoiding her mother’s eyes. There were questions there that she didn’t want to have to answer.

  The parking lot was jammed full with cars. There were people everywhere—graduates still in their caps and gowns, graduates changed into street clothes, friends and relatives hugging and laughing—all of them in a state of exultation. The continual flashes of light that spattered the darkness proved that there were many who had not forgotten their cameras.

  Because they had arrived late, Karen’s parents had been forced to park at the back of the lot next to the football field. Now it took over ten minutes to work their way into the line of cars that was inching toward the street. Traffic from both sides of the lot merged at the exit gate, and the car that pulled into line directly ahead of them was a familiar Honda filled with teenagers. Karen could not see into the front seat to identify the driver, but when one of the girls in the back turned to make a laughing remark to the boy beside her, she recognized the profile of Lisa Honeycutt.

  So Tim was attending the graduation parties without her. Karen accepted the knowledge without real surprise. Although it was impossible to see whether or not he had a date sitting next to him, the mere fact that he was providing transportation for so many people showed that his plans for the evening had not been made on impulse.

  These were people whom Karen had begun to think of as her friends as well as Tim’s. It was painful to realize that she had been mistaken. It was doubtful, she knew, that she was being deliberately excluded and someone had actually suggested, “Let’s go off and leave Karen.” Still, no one in the group had cared enough to insist that she be with them. She had been accepted as part of a unit—“Tim-and-Karen”—and if that unit no longer existed, then Karen didn’t either.

  I will not feel hurt, she told herself. It doesn’t matter. I’m no worse off now than I was before Tim and I started dating. For a while things changed, and now they’re back to the way they used to be, that’s all.

  Her parents did not seem to have recognized Tim’s car or, if they had, they restrained themselves from commenting. The conversation during the drive home was confined solely to the topic of the graduation ceremony.

  When they reached the house, Karen’s father retrieved his camera from the table in the den and set out to make up for his earlier forgetfulness by turning the photography session into a professional-style undertaking. First he took formal close-ups, using the white drapes in the living room for a backdrop; then he shot a batch of full-length poses of Karen standing on the stairs, holding her diploma.

  After those had been taken, he turned to his wife.

  “Why don’t you go stand on the step beside her? I’ll get a shot of the two of you together.”

  “Oh, no,” Mrs. Connors objected. “This is supposed to be Karen’s night.”

  “Come on, Mom,” Karen said dutifully. “We haven’t had a picture taken together since I was a baby.”

  “Well, if you really want me to.” Her mother sounded pleased.

  She ascended the stairs and took her place next to her daughter. They stood there stiffly, shoulder to shoulder, directing their smiles toward the camera lens. The flash exploded in their faces.

  “Is that it, then?” asked Karen, relieved to have the ordeal over with. “If it is, I’m going to get changed. This outfit is sweltering.”

  “It’s not as bad as what I had to wear at my graduation,” her mother said. “My gown was made of wool, and it gave me a rash, but at the party afterward I wore a red silk dress.” She reached over suddenly and placed her hand upon Karen’s. “It’s all been worth it.”

  “What has?” Karen asked. “Renting the gown?”

  “Having a child. Devoting my life to raising and protecting her. Seeing you up there on that stage tonight, standing so straight, looking so beautiful, so much a real part of it all, I felt very proud.”

  “Mom!” Karen exclaimed, surprised and touched. The flash went off again, momentarily blinding them. Startled, Karen swung back around to confront her father.

  “I thought the picture-taking was supposed to be over!”

  “That was one final shot,” Mr. Connors told her. “I’m finished now. You can go change your clothes if you want to.”

  “I do want to,” Karen said. “Actually, I guess I’ll say good night. I’m tired out from all the excitement. I think I’ll take a shower and read in bed.”

  “On your graduation night!” her mother exclaimed incredulously. “Honestly, there are times when I just don’t understand you, Karen. I was sure that once you had a chance to think things over you’d change your mind about going out with your friends. You could take the car and be on your own, you know. You wouldn’t have to be dependent on Tim for anything.”

  Karen sighed. Her mother was back in character. The surge of affection that she had felt for her only moments before was replaced by exasperation.

  “I haven’t changed my mind,” she said. “I don’t want to go out. Why does that bother you so much?”

  “I didn’t say it bothered me,” her mother said. “I don’t appreciate it when you use that tone of voice. You make it sound as if I were out to wreck your life. You know perfectly well that all I want is for you to have a good time.”

  “I do know that,” Karen admitted. “It’s just that sometimes…” She couldn’t think of a way to complete the sentence without antagonizing her mother further.

  Her father came to her rescue.

  “How about some TV?” he suggested. “Or maybe we could watch a DVD?”

  That night, Karen dreamed. This had not occurred for so many weeks now that she had begun to dare to hope that this phase of her life was over.

  This dream, like the earlier ones, was about a child. This time, however, the subject was one she had never seen. She was small and blond, and she stood next to a backyard swing set. Beyond that, there was a wooden fence that was bordered by a line of rosebushes. The bushes were in bloom, spilling over with great clusters of pink and yellow blossoms. The little girl stood facing them. All that Karen could see of her was her back and a pale, silken torrent of hair.

  The sight of the child stirred an emotion in her that was more intense than anything she ever had experienced. It was a surge of caring so overpowering that it was as though a steel blade were being twisted in her heart.

  Who are you? Karen called out to the dream-child. Please, turn around so I can see you! I want to know you! I wa
nt to see your face!

  But the girl did not hear. She was busy with the roses.

  Turn around, Karen begged her.

  A surge of fear shot through her, for abruptly she knew that this child was in danger. How the knowledge came to her, she could not have said, but she was as certain as she had been of the fate of Carla Sanchez.

  Be careful! Karen cried silently.

  The little girl bent and kissed a rosebud.

  Karen awakened, shaking and drenched in sweat.

  CHAPTER 11

  In the clear light of morning, she was able to put the dream into perspective.

  “It was a nightmare,” she assured herself. “Just a regular nightmare, like anybody in the world could have. Just because I had a dream doesn’t mean it was a vision of some kind. I was hurt and mad about Tim, and, because I wouldn’t admit it, my feelings showed up in my dreams.”

  The explanation was reasonable, especially in light of the fact that the child in the dream had been fuzzy and featureless, as compared with the images of Carla and of Bobby Zenner, which had seemed real enough to touch.

  It was just a dream. It didn’t have any deeper meaning. Eager as she was to believe this, Karen nevertheless forced herself to leaf carefully through the morning paper, flipping the pages apprehensively, alert for news of some small blond girl whose family might have reported her missing. There was no such story, nor was there any such report online or on the morning news.

  Three days later, having shoved the dream firmly to the back of her mind, Karen started her job at the Heights Day Care Center.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” her mother asked doubtfully. “You’ve worked at that place for two whole summers. It was a good enough job when you were in high school, but now that you’ve graduated, I should think you’d want to look for something more exciting.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open,” Karen assured her. “If something irresistible comes along, I can always change jobs.”

  She had made a conscious decision to avoid arguing with her mother. It had become obvious on the night of her graduation that the two of them had reached a point at which they could not continue to live together. In September, Karen would be moving into a college dorm, which would provide them with an automatic separation point. Next summer, if things went as she anticipated, she would find a job, perhaps in another town, and get her own apartment.

  Meanwhile, she would try to avoid confrontations. Since these would be the last few weeks in which they would be living in the same home, she hoped that she and her mother could manage to get through it with a minimum amount of conflict.

  Despite this resolution, she had no intention of sacrificing her final summer at the day care center, no matter what other jobs might present themselves. She loved the center and everyone connected with it: Mrs. Dunn, the director; plump, efficient Jane Roebuck, who taught the four-and five-year-olds; pretty, round-faced Maria Torres, who cared for the infants. Most of all, she loved the atmosphere—the warmth and good cheer that pervaded the clean, airy rooms, the clatter and clutter and whimpers and giggles, the shouts on the playground, the chortles and squeals and cooing in the Baby Room.

  “Am I ever glad to see you!” Mrs. Dunn, silver-haired and bustling, greeted Karen with unconcealed relief when she reported to work the Monday after graduation. “Things are absolutely chaotic around here! We lost our playground help—both girls fell through on us without a word of warning—and you did know, didn’t you, that Maria got married?”

  “No!” exclaimed Karen. “I didn’t even know she was engaged!”

  “She wasn’t. That is, not officially. It was one of those love-at-first-sight things, a wild, romantic elopement. Which was lovely for Maria, but devastating for us. I’ve hired one new person, and I’m looking for two others, and I’ve been living in terror that you might change your mind about coming back this year.”

  “No way,” Karen told her. “You can stop worrying. And I’m definitely not running off to get married.”

  “Thank god for small favors,” Mrs. Dunn said. “What I was hoping was that you would take over the Baby Room. That would leave me free to take the toddlers, and poor Jane will just have to manage as best she can with the preschoolers until I can hire some extra help.”

  “How many babies do we have this year?” Karen asked her.

  “Eight to ten regulars, which is too many, I know, but you’ll have Deedee, our new girl, to help you. She’s only fifteen, but she has little brothers. That should make her an expert at diaper changing.”

  “That’s great,” said Karen. “You know how much I like the babies.”

  The previous year, she had been Maria’s assistant in the Baby Room, so this year, as she entered the familiar environment, it was with the happy feeling that she was coming home. The cribs and infant seats were not yet occupied, but the room itself held the sweet, residual odor of Pampers and talcum powder. A pile of towels and crib sheets, fresh from the laundry, sat out on the changing table. Colored mobiles swirled lazily in a current of air from an open window, and the yellow walls and bright, checkered curtains threw off a glow like reflected sunlight.

  Deedee proved to be a skinny, freckled girl who announced a bit sullenly that this was her first job and that she had applied for it under duress.

  “My mother said she didn’t want me sitting around all summer,” she grumbled. “I don’t see why that would have been so terrible. After beating my brains out at school all year, I deserve a vacation.”

  “You’ll have fun working here,” Karen assured her. “I started two summers ago at almost the same age you are, and I liked it so much I’ve come back every year.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by the tinkle of the bell in the front office, announcing the beginning of the first rush hour of the day.

  The day care center opened its doors at seven on weekday mornings, and clients began bringing in children almost immediately. By seven fifteen on this particular day, a line of parents stood waiting at the admissions desk, and six small inhabitants had already been installed in the Baby Room. Two of these were too young to do much of anything but sleep. The other four, who were in various stages of mobility, had been placed in playpens and bouncy chairs and were soon busily engaged in gumming graham crackers.

  Shortly before nine, an attractive young woman rushed in with a ten-month-old named Matthew, announcing frantically that she was late for class. Several other college-bound parents, all equally harried, arrived just behind her.

  There was a lull until midmorning, when some mothers who were headed for luncheons or country-club activities brought in a rash of new arrivals.

  For identification purposes, the names of the babies were printed on cards and pinned to their shirts. “Adam, Sara, Matthew, another Adam.” Deedee reviewed them aloud. “They’re all straight from the Bible.”

  “This is the year for that,” said Mrs. Dunn, who had stuck her head in through the doorway to review the situation. “The names seem to come in batches. Last season’s babies were Heathers and Brookes and Skyes.”

  She glanced worriedly around the room, which was churning like an anthill.

  “You’re over your quota here, aren’t you? I’ve put out a sign, saying that we’re filled, which is something I should have done a half-hour ago. It’s time for me to take the toddlers out to the playground. Are the two of you going to be able to handle things here?”

  “We’re doing all right,” Karen said. “The problem will come at lunchtime.”

  “It will be hectic, for sure,” Mrs. Dunn agreed. “I’m sorry to overload you like this. Damn that Maria! Why couldn’t she have picked a more convenient time to find her Prince Charming?”

  Serving lunch in the Baby Room made the remembered task of feeding one lone Stephanie Zenner seem like nothing. Even back when Maria had been there to supervise, lunch hour had been known to stretch from late morning until early afternoon. Food had to be spooned in turn into first one
gaping mouth and then another, while the children who were old enough to feed themselves splashed and splattered and dumped their least favorite items off their trays. Slumbering infants woke and cried and were changed and given bottles, and older babies went down for or got up from naps, overlapping each other’s sleep schedules in rapid succession.

  “What a madhouse!” Deedee gasped. “And I thought that feeding twin brothers was bad!”

  “You’ll get used to it,” Karen said.

  “Not if I can help it, I won’t.” She was attempting to administer a bottle with one hand and unscrew the top of a jar of applesauce with the other. “How can you keep coming back here summer after summer?”

  “I enjoy it,” Karen told her. “I can’t explain it. It just feels like the right place for me to be.”

  At midafternoon things suddenly became more peaceful. By now, several parents had returned to pick up their children, and many of the remaining infants were sleeping. The others were resting quietly in their cribs, content for the moment to be hypnotized by the motion of the dangling mobiles and the shifting pattern of shadows they created on the wall behind them.

  With a sigh of exaggerated exhaustion, Deedee collapsed into a chair.

  “I’m dead,” she moaned. “How am I supposed to stay awake?”

  “There’s a convenience store across the street,” Karen said. “Since things have quieted down, I guess you could go get a Coke.”

  As if on cue, one of the babies gave a demanding grunt and began to haul himself to a standing position in his crib.

  “Oh, no!” Deedee exclaimed. “Now that one’s going to wake up all the rest of them! Doesn’t it ever stop? I’m going to have a nervous breakdown!”

  “You sit there and rest,” Karen told her. “I don’t seem to be as tired as you are.”

  She crossed to the struggling youngster, who was straining and puffing like a mountain climber attempting to scale Mount Everest.

  “Hello, there, Matthew,” she said, impressed by his perseverance. “You’re not much of a sleeper, are you?”