the television. Laurie pulled away trembling when Marie and John asked her to sit between them. "She's frightened," Sarah warned. "Pretend she isn't here."
Her mother's eyes filled with tears, but she managed to look absorbed in the program. Laurie sat cross-legged on the floor, choosing a spot where she could see but not be seen.
At nine o'clock when Marie suggested a nice warm bath and going to bed, Laurie panicked. She pressed her knees against her chest and buried her face in her hands. Sarah and her father exchanged glances.
"Poor little tyke," he said. "You don't have to go to bed now." Sarah saw in his eyes the same denial she had seen in her mother's. "It's just everything is so strange for you, isn't it?"
Marie was trying to hide the fact that she was weeping. "She's afraid of us," she murmured.
No, Sarah thought. She's afraid to go to bed. Why?
They left the television on. At quarter of ten, Laurie stretched out on the floor and fell asleep. It was Sarah who carried her up, changed her, tucked her into bed, slipped the security blanket between her arms and under her chin.
John and Marie tiptoed in and sat on either side of the small white bed, absorbing the miracle that had been granted them. They did not notice when Sarah slipped from the room.
Laurie slept long and late. In the morning Sarah looked in on her, drinking in the blessed sight of the long hair spilling on the pillow, the small figure nestling the security blanket against her face. She repeated the promise she had made to God. "I will always take care of her."
Her mother and father were already up. Both looked exhausted but radiant with joy. "We kept going in to see if she was really there," Marie said. "Sarah, we were just saying we couldn't have made it through these two years without you."
Sarah helped her mother prepare Laurie's favorite breakfast, pancakes and bacon. Laurie pattered into the room a few minutes later, the nightgown that used to be ankle length now stopping at her calves, her security blanket trailing behind her.
She climbed on Marie's lap. "Mommy," she said, her tone injured. "Yesterday I wanted to go in the pool and Beth kept talking on the phone."
PART TWO
Chapter 10
September 12, 1991
Ridgewood. New Jersey
DURING THE MASS. Sarah kept glancing sideways at Laurie. The sight of the two caskets at the steps of the sanctuary had clearly mesmerized her. She was staring at them, tearless now, seemingly unaware of the music, the prayers, the eulogy. Sarah had to put a hand under Laurie's elbow to remind her to stand or kneel.
At the end of the mass, as Monsignor Fisher blessed the coffins, Laurie whispered, "Mommy, Daddy, I'm sorry. I won't go out front alone again."
"Laurie," Sarah whispered.
Laurie looked at her with unseeing eyes, then turned and with a puzzled expression studied the crowded church. "So many people." Her voice sounded timid and young.
The closing hymn was "Amazing Grace."
With the rest of the congregation, a couple near the back of the church began to sing, softly at first, but he was used to leading the music. As always he got carried away, his pure baritone becoming louder, soaring above the others, swelling over the thinner voice of the soloist. People turned distracted, admiring.
"'I once was lost but now am found...'"
Through the pain and grief, Laurie felt icy terror. The voice. Ringing through her head, through her being.
I am lost, she wailed silently. I am lost.
They were moving the caskets.
The wheels of the bier holding her mother's casket squealed.
She heard the measured steps of the pallbearers.
Then the clattering of the typewriter.
"'...was blind but now I see.'"
"No! No!" Laurie shrieked as she crumpled into merciful darkness.
SEVERAL DOZEN of Laurie's classmates from Clinton College had attended the mass, along with a sprinkling of faculty. Allan Grant, Professor of English, was there and with shocked eyes watched Laurie collapse.
Grant was one of the most popular
Her mother's eyes filled with tears, but she managed to look absorbed in the program. Laurie sat cross-legged on the floor, choosing a spot where she could see but not be seen.
At nine o'clock when Marie suggested a nice warm bath and going to bed, Laurie panicked. She pressed her knees against her chest and buried her face in her hands. Sarah and her father exchanged glances.
"Poor little tyke," he said. "You don't have to go to bed now." Sarah saw in his eyes the same denial she had seen in her mother's. "It's just everything is so strange for you, isn't it?"
Marie was trying to hide the fact that she was weeping. "She's afraid of us," she murmured.
No, Sarah thought. She's afraid to go to bed. Why?
They left the television on. At quarter of ten, Laurie stretched out on the floor and fell asleep. It was Sarah who carried her up, changed her, tucked her into bed, slipped the security blanket between her arms and under her chin.
John and Marie tiptoed in and sat on either side of the small white bed, absorbing the miracle that had been granted them. They did not notice when Sarah slipped from the room.
Laurie slept long and late. In the morning Sarah looked in on her, drinking in the blessed sight of the long hair spilling on the pillow, the small figure nestling the security blanket against her face. She repeated the promise she had made to God. "I will always take care of her."
Her mother and father were already up. Both looked exhausted but radiant with joy. "We kept going in to see if she was really there," Marie said. "Sarah, we were just saying we couldn't have made it through these two years without you."
Sarah helped her mother prepare Laurie's favorite breakfast, pancakes and bacon. Laurie pattered into the room a few minutes later, the nightgown that used to be ankle length now stopping at her calves, her security blanket trailing behind her.
She climbed on Marie's lap. "Mommy," she said, her tone injured. "Yesterday I wanted to go in the pool and Beth kept talking on the phone."
PART TWO
Chapter 10
September 12, 1991
Ridgewood. New Jersey
DURING THE MASS. Sarah kept glancing sideways at Laurie. The sight of the two caskets at the steps of the sanctuary had clearly mesmerized her. She was staring at them, tearless now, seemingly unaware of the music, the prayers, the eulogy. Sarah had to put a hand under Laurie's elbow to remind her to stand or kneel.
At the end of the mass, as Monsignor Fisher blessed the coffins, Laurie whispered, "Mommy, Daddy, I'm sorry. I won't go out front alone again."
"Laurie," Sarah whispered.
Laurie looked at her with unseeing eyes, then turned and with a puzzled expression studied the crowded church. "So many people." Her voice sounded timid and young.
The closing hymn was "Amazing Grace."
With the rest of the congregation, a couple near the back of the church began to sing, softly at first, but he was used to leading the music. As always he got carried away, his pure baritone becoming louder, soaring above the others, swelling over the thinner voice of the soloist. People turned distracted, admiring.
"'I once was lost but now am found...'"
Through the pain and grief, Laurie felt icy terror. The voice. Ringing through her head, through her being.
I am lost, she wailed silently. I am lost.
They were moving the caskets.
The wheels of the bier holding her mother's casket squealed.
She heard the measured steps of the pallbearers.
Then the clattering of the typewriter.
"'...was blind but now I see.'"
"No! No!" Laurie shrieked as she crumpled into merciful darkness.
SEVERAL DOZEN of Laurie's classmates from Clinton College had attended the mass, along with a sprinkling of faculty. Allan Grant, Professor of English, was there and with shocked eyes watched Laurie collapse.
Grant was one of the most popular
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