Apparition Read Free Page A

you know I hardly slept last night, Matthew? I was so upset with you
. I don’t feel like eating. I don’t feel like talking to Morgan, even when she calls a third time. I don’t feel like dealing with my grandmother, who wants to check on me constantly. Jack knocks gently and asks through the door a couple of times if he can get me anything. He’s a good brother. (Though maybe Morgan put him up to that. He’s got a crush on her.) But I’m okay. I’m really not feeling anything at all. Everything seems too far away. Even my own body. So far away I can’t move my arms or legs. Without turning my head, I study my bedroom wall. I look at cracks I’ve never noticed before. The pale green lines in the drapes, some thick, some thin. And at some point late in the night, when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, I curl up on my side and go to sleep.
    I open my eyes the next morning and it slowly dawns on me that I slept in my jeans and sweater on top of the bedspread, with the light on. Otherwise everything is normal. It’s Monday, and that means school.
    Joyce knocks on the door and opens it a crack, and then a bit wider. She sticks her head in.
    “Amelia, you’re going to have to eat something. I know you might not feel like it, but I’m going to bring you a bowl of cereal. Or even better, you can get up and eat it at the kitchen table.”
    Joyce thinks cereal is the answer to everything. She just waits, looking at me. She’s not leaving.
    I finally tell her I’ll get up. I’ll eat some cereal in the kitchen. But I don’t think I want to go to school.
    She starts to say something, then stops. She nods and says, “No problem,” and shuts the door behind her.
    Matthew, you’ll have to go to history class without me. You’ll have to lend me your notes
.
    It takes me a while to get up off the bed. In the kitchen, Joyce has set a bowl and the carton of milk and the cereal box at one end of the table. She’s sitting at the other end, a cup of tea in front of her.
    “The boys left already,” she offers, like she’s looking for something to say.
    I sit down and look at the bowl, then pick up the box and pour some cereal. I feel a little hungry, but after only two spoonfuls I’ve had enough. Joyce asks if I’d like to eat anything else. She asks if I’m okay. I’m thinking that I must remember to ask Matthew why a loving God allows so much pain in the world.
What’s his problem, Matthew? Does he love us or not?
    Joyce says she’s going to start packing up the dining-room hutch. That’s a big job. All the china, the crystal, the silverware—it’s all Mom’s stuff. Joyce is not really a “fine china” person. I tell her I’ll help, even though I feel sick.
    We sit at the dining-room table, wrapping the fragile pieces in thin foam sheets and stacking them in empty boxes she got from the liquor store. I’m trying hard not to break anything, though my hands are shaky. Mom loved this pattern, turquoise and blue with delicate little gold scrolls. I keep my eyes on the colours, wrapping each plate and bowl and saucer and teacup in its own tissue, fitting it snugly into a box.
For you, Mom. You have such beautiful china
.
    After a while, Joyce wants to take a break for lunch. I follow her into the kitchen and she puts some chicken vegetable soup in front of me. I try a bit, but it tastes weird and I’m not hungry. When the doorbell rings, she leaves the kitchen to answer it while I look down into my soup. I hear her greeting someone, then saying that the timing isn’t very good. She’s whispering in the hallway.
    I get up to see who it is. Maybe it’s Matthew? But it’s a man in a suit and tie who says he’s come for a little chat with me. Joyce stands in the hallway between us.
    “Amelia, this is Detective Grierson. He’s working on the … the case involving Matthew. Detective Grierson, this is Amelia. She’s not feeling well today, so we’re taking it easy. Doing some packing. We’re getting