Chapter 3

Hillary couldn't help but notice how withdrawn Phoebe had become. She wasn't quite in reality, but she wasn't out of it either. And she hadn't gone to Wonderland. She couldn't bring herself to, even though she wanted to.

Middle School didn't have a theatrical program, so Phoebe didn't engage in any extracurricular activities.

"I think it would benefit Phoebe if she took up a sport or activity outside of the classroom. She needs an outlet where she can express herself," Mrs. Avon told Hillary and Peter Lichten at one of their weekly meetings.

"No—no Phoebe isn't athletic. I don't see how she can express herself by kicking or throwing a ball."

"I just feel she is burrowing all these emotions she doesn't know how to control or cope with. If she took an art class, or, say, ballet, either one has a way of bringing out that emotion. Her focus is on what she is doing, which relieves tension and ticks. I feel she is more comfortable outside of the classroom, and this would enable her to make more friends. She needs a carefree atmosphere with children her age."

"Where things aren't so fixed," Hillary mumbled this to herself, but Mrs. Avon heard her.

Phoebe had been waiting in the hall. She tapped her heel and observed the picture on the wall in front of her. It was a strange painting with colorful squares on the right and grey squares on the left. All were contained within a circle. The average mind might see this particular piece of art as meaningless, but Phoebe somehow appreciated it. The meaning was simple for her. The left side was reality and the right side was Wonderland. She associated almost everything with Wonderland. It was understood when Hillary was writing her book. She thought Phoebe did it to get close to her. But Hillary began to think her daughter had taken her obsession too far. She thought Phoebe wanted nothing to do with the real world, and absolutely everything to do with Wonderland.

"Do you think we should force her?" Hillary glanced back to make sure Phoebe wasn't listening. She wore earbuds, but she could hear them.

"Not force her. We won't have to force her."

"Yeah, I think we will. She's lost interest, Peter—she doesn't want to engage in anything. Why do you think she mopes around every day? Why do you think she doesn't want to make any friends? Her only interest is that rabbit—that rabbit and Wonderland." Hillary whispered now.

"Okay, then we'll force her."

"I don't want to force her."

"So you think we should let her continue moping in seclusion with built up emotion?"

"I'm not saying that—did I say that?"

"If we let her do what she wants, that's the outcome."

Hillary combed her nut brown hair from her face with her hand.

"I just don't—I don't want to upset her."

"How do you know it will upset her?"

"It might."

"It might not."

"Peter! Let's just talk to Phoebe, first, before we make assumptions."

"Did I start the assumptions?"

"We both did, alright?"

"Stop!" Phoebe tugged on her earbuds and tossed her iPod on the seat. She didn't exactly know what they were talking about or why they spoke of forcing her, but she did know they were arguing, and they were arguing about her.

Phoebe left abruptly from the car, as became her habit. She bounded the staircase and went to her bedroom. For a time, she lay on her bed almost lifeless, her face planted in the blankets. White Rabbit began gnawing at his cage. It was then when Phoebe bounced up to gather him in her arms. She remained in her room for an hour on the floor with her pet against her chest. She kissed and petted him. He soothed her. She had her arm around him and her cheek pressed against his. Both thoroughly enjoying this.

When she finally left her bedroom, she went to the kitchen. Phoebe took an ornamented, orange glass plate and set it on the counter. Hillary was in the process of chopping up celery and carrots. Phoebe went to the fridge and took out a bag of kale and a container of lettuce. She washed each and she separated them on the plate. Peter stepped in as she was arranging.

"Why can't they touch?"

"Because," Phoebe took three carrots from the wooden cutting board and set them between the kale and lettuce.

She created a circle. It looked like the painting outside her therapists' office. After, she brought it to her rabbit and watched him eat.

"You should know that by now," Hillary said when Phoebe left.

"How? I'm not with her at every meal."

"You're not with her at all."

"Because she doesn't come out of that room," Peter took Hillary's arm, "Yes, I know I'm not home as often as I should be, but it's for the better."

"Is it? Will we ever solve anything if you keep leaving? Go to her, Peter—go to your daughter and ask her about school—about anything. Ask her how she's feeling—watch a show with Olivia. Help her with her homework," her eyes quickly filled with tears, "Before the arguments, Peter, you were never home." Hillary watched as her husband left out the back door.