Mrs. Carmichael was waiting in the family room for Abbie when she returned from Alex's. She patted the seat next to her and Abbie sighed but obediently lowered herself onto the couch beside her mother.
"How was the sleepover, honey?" asked Mrs. Carmichael.
Abbie shrugged. She didn't want to tell her mother about crying in her sleep and she hoped she wouldn't ask. "We had fun."
Her mother squeezed her shoulder. "That's good. Did you sleep okay?"
Abbie sighed. She'd known this was the true purpose of the conversation. But she nodded anyway, even though it wasn't true, and her mother knew it wasn't true, and she knew her mother knew it wasn't true.
"Did you take the medication Dr. Picard prescribed?"
"No, of course not," snapped Abbie. "Sleepovers aren't for sleeping and that stuff gives you a full eight hours. It would have scared the shit out of them if they tried to wake me and I didn't."
"Watch your mouth," said her mother sharply, then in a gentler tone, "I understand, Abbie, but you need to take the medicine. You need to sleep."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Abbie got up and flounced out of the room. She couldn't do this. She couldn't.
"Abbie!" her mother called after her, but Abbie ignored her.
She stalked to her bedroom and slammed the door, blasting her iPod to block out the images that plagued her. The two of them laughing as they watched a chick flick, her head resting on his shoulder, his gentle hands rubbing her back. And then his hand down her shirt, cupping her breast, even though she told him to stop, that she didn't want it. The hazy memories of that horrible night, undressing her, ever so gently, until she came to and started to fight. Then a smack, another, another, and his hands were all over her. She hadn't wanted it. But that was the price she had to pay for being such a slut.
She heard such an insistent banging on her bedroom door that wondered vaguely if it was an emergency. "Go away," she growled.
Her older brother, Graeme, opened the door anyway. "Could you turn down that stupid music?" he asked moodily.
"No." She looked around for something to throw and came upon her science notebook. Good enough. She picked it up and chucked it at him.
Graeme flipped her off but easily avoided the flying object. Her aim was good, but his reflexes were better. "I'm trying to study," he complained.
"Not anymore," she told him. "Out!"
"I'm going to tell Mom," he whined, sounding more like a petulant six-year-old than the sixteen-year-old he was.
"Be my guest," she replied, burying her head in her pillow. "Get out!"
Graeme ignored her. Instead, he sat down beside Abbie on the bed. "What's wrong?" His contempt had turned to concern, and that just made Abbie angrier. She hated it when he tried to be brotherly, protecting his baby sister. She could take care of herself. She much preferred when he was teasing her or annoying her or doing one of those things big brothers were just supposed to do.
"Nothing," she replied, not meeting his eyes. "Go away."
"Is it –?"
"No!" screeched Abbie, not wanting him to finish his sentence. "Get out! Out!" Adrenaline coursing through her veins, she shoved her brother off the bed and pushed him out of the room, slamming the door after him.
She flopped back onto her bed, breathing hard. She didn't want to discuss him with anyone, not her mother or her brother or even Olivia. Not now, not ever.
On Monday, Olivia wasn't at school. Abbie spent lunchtime with Alex, Trevor, and Elliot, studying in the library. No one knew where Olivia was, not even Elliot or Alex, but Abbie had her suspicions. She considered going to see her friend after school, but she had an appointment with her therapist. Ugh. More torture.
"We're going away on Wednesday," said Alex, startling Abbie from her thoughts.
"Oh, am I invited?" asked Trevor.
Alex laughed. "I meant me and my parents."
Abbie feigned shock. "My parents and I!"
"Yes, that." Alex waved a hand dismissively. "We're going to Chicago until Monday," she explained to Alex. "My dad has some business there."
"So lucky," said Abbie with a sigh.
"Can I come with?" asked Elliot. "You can put me in your suitcase. I won't make any noise; I promise."
Alex laughed. "No."
"Aw." He made sad puppy eyes at her. "Why not?"
Alex looked down her nose at him. "Olivia does that better than you."
Then silence fell over the four of them, all lost in thought, worrying about their absent friend.
"I'm going to see her after school," said Elliot.
"Don't," Alex advised him. "She'll bite your head off."
"She needs her homework."
"It's just as well she doesn't have it. She won't want it."
Elliot sighed. "Does everyone always do what you say?"
"Yes," replied Alex decisively.
"Why?"
"Let's see . . . because I'm always right."
"True that," agreed Trevor.
Alex laughed. "If you're trying to sound ghetto, you're not doing a very good job of it."
"Ah, c'est la vie."
Alex frowned. "That's my line!"
"Deal with it."
The bell rang, and the boys departed for their lockers to grab their textbooks. Alex and Abbie started for their English classroom together. "Are you doing okay?" asked Alex, obviously noticing how unusually quiet Abbie had been throughout lunch.
Abbie nodded. "Fine." She hesitated. "Just worried about Olivia."
"She'll be fine," said Alex, then almost sadly, she added, "She always is."
"That doesn't make it okay."
"No, but she's strong. She can take care of herself."
"Strength has nothing to do with it," said Abbie sharply. And then she wondered if she was referring to Olivia or to herself.
Abbie was in a brooding, irritable mood when her mother picked her up after school that day, and when Mrs. Carmichael asked her how school was, she just sighed and rested her head against the window.
"That bad, huh?" said her mother sympathetically.
Abbie rolled her eyes. She knew her mother was trying, but Mrs. Carmichael just didn't understand her. No one did.
Abbie's mother dropped her off at her therapist's office. "Do you want me to come in with you, sweetie?"
"No. I'm not a baby." Then she realized how harsh her words sounded. "I'll see you in an hour," she said more gently.
"Love you, Abbie."
Abbie sighed. "Love you, too."
She climbed out of the car and walked into the office, sitting down in a chair and flipping through a six-month old Seventeen magazine.
Dr. McKenna came out into the waiting room a moment later and greeted Abbie with a smile. "Hi, Abbie. Come on in."
Abbie forced herself to smile back and went inside, settling on the couch and filing through her mind, trying to decide what she could tell her therapist and what she should omit.
"I'm going to make myself a cup of tea. Do you want some hot chocolate?"
Abbie shook her head. "No, thank you." This was their routine; every week, Dr. McKenna made herself a cup of tea and asked Abbie if she wanted hot chocolate, which Abbie always declined. It was almost annoying that Dr. McKenna continued to ask, but it was also a bit comforting to know that things were going to be the same, week after week.
Her therapist gave her another smile and sat down across from Abbie with her cup of tea. "So, how was your week?"
Abbie shrugged. "Fine."
"How about we try to be a little more responsive this week?" suggested Dr. McKenna.
"What does that mean?" asked Abbie unenthusiastically.
"Giving answers that don't include 'yes,' 'no,' 'fine,' or any variations of the above."
Abbie smiled in spite of herself and parroted Olivia. "I respectfully decline." Olivia. She didn't want to think about Olivia right now.
Dr. McKenna caught the look that flitted across her face. "What was that?"
Abbie quickly made her face blank. "Nothing."
"Responsiveness also means not saying 'nothing' when I ask you a question."
"I thought we just agreed that I wasn't going to be responsive," said Abbie sharply.
Dr. McKenna was clearly trying to disguise her amusement. "You know, Abbie, your coming here is pointless if you're not going to talk to me."
"I talk to you," replied Abbie sullenly. "I don't talk to you about everything, but I do talk to you."
"You don't talk to me about anything important," amended her therapist.
Abbie sighed. "Look, can we leave it for today? Let's play checkers or something."
Dr. McKenna didn't ask her anything for another few minutes and they sat in a pregnant silence. Finally, the doctor said, "Abbie, Dr. Picard called me."
"What did she say?" asked Abbie quickly, her heart pounding in her chest.
"That you had an appointment a few days ago and you haven't been taking your medication."
"Oh." Abbie stifled her sigh of relief, then tried to cover it up by pointing to a pack of sweet peppermint gum on Dr. McKenna's desk. "Can I have a piece?"
"Sure." Her therapist handed her a piece of gum and she put it in her mouth. "So, Abbie, how did the appointment go?"
Abbie shrugged.
Dr. McKenna sighed. "Responsiveness, Abbie. Can you give me something here?" Seeing Abbie's reluctance, she added, "I can't help you if you don't let me."
That made Abbie angry. "Who says I want to be helped?" Then she realized how silly that sounded, even though it was true. "Who says I want your help?" she amended.
The doctor didn't miss a beat. "I don't care if you want my help, but you need it. That's what I'm here for, Abbie."
"I don't need anyone."
"Yes, Abbie," said Dr. McKenna. "You do. Everyone needs someone."
"You have no idea how corny that sounds." Abbie knew she was being rude, but it was her defence mechanism and she couldn't help herself.
Her therapist was used to Abbie by now and didn't seem particularly offended. "Back to your appointment with Dr. Picard . . ."
Abbie sighed and gave in. "She cut it short."
"Fine, but that wasn't my question. I didn't ask what happened during the appointment. I asked how you felt about it."
Abbie scowled. "I'm trying, okay? I'm doing the responsiveness crap."
"Okay. So why did Dr. Picard cut your appointment short?"
Abbie looked at the ground. "I was uncomfortable," she admitted.
"Good. We're getting somewhere. Why were you uncomfortable?" asked Dr. McKenna.
Abbie sighed. "She had me take off my shirt so she could do the stethoscope thing. I kept –" She took a deep breath, then continued in as strong a voice as she could muster, "I kept feeling his hands on me and I couldn't stay still."
"That's normal, Abbie," said the doctor gently. "We can –"
"I know, okay?" cried Abbie. "I know!" She took another breath and lowered her voice. "But that doesn't make it any easier."
Dr. McKenna nodded. "Okay. Let's leave that for a moment. How's school going?"
Abbie shrugged. "Fine." Then she grimaced. "My classes are mostly easy," she offered.
"Very good," encouraged her therapist. "Have you made any friends yet?" She misinterpreted Abbie's hesitation and added, "It's okay if you haven't. These things take time."
Abbie shook her head. "I've made friends."
"Tell me about them."
Abbie sighed. "Alex and Olivia. Alex is in my French class and my English class. She's really smart. And Olivia's in my science and my geography. She's –" Abbie struggled to remember the word she had used – "contumacious."
Dr. McKenna smiled indulgently. "Ah."
"Alex taught her that," explained Abbie. "And you should know better than that. Your 'nonverbal prompting' doesn't really work with me."
The doctor quirked an eyebrow in amusement. "I wouldn't have expected anything less. Tell me more about Olivia."
Abbie locked eyes with her. "No."
"Okay, why don't you want to talk about her?"
"If I didn't want to talk about her, why do you think I'd want to talk about why I don't want to talk about her?"
"Well, what do you want to talk about?"
Abbie thought about it. "Did you know the longest word in the English language is pneumono-ultramicroscopic-silicovolcano-koniosis?"
"You're changing the subject."
"If I recall correctly, there wasn't a subject. You asked me what I wanted to talk about. I wanted to talk about pneumono-ultramicroscopic-silicovolcano-koniosis."
Dr. McKenna sighed. "That wasn't what I meant. The purpose of you coming here is to deal with your own emotions and actions, not to demonstrate your knowledge of obscure medical conditions."
"Okay." Abbie considered a safe topic. "When Graeme and Jordan and I were little, we used to do puzzlemania. We had twenty or so different puzzles and we would put them all together and time ourselves. They used to take up the entire basement and we would leave them for weeks, sometimes, until my mom made us take them apart." She smiled in nostalgia. "We were close when we were younger. I miss it."
There was something that Dr. McKenna couldn't argue, at least. Abbie had said something about herself and had gotten relatively close to confessing an emotional reaction, which was something she'd always found difficult to do. Which she figured was the entire point of her meetings with her therapist.
Dr. McKenna smiled too. "That's nice. How come you aren't close anymore?"
Abbie shrugged. "Well, Jordan's away at university and Graeme is just . . . I don't know. I guess we grew apart."
"Do they know about –?"
"Why do we keep coming back to this?" exclaimed Abbie, then said in a more measured tone, "Can we please not talk about it? I'll tell you about anything – anything – else."
"Okay. Tell me about Olivia."
She was a sharp one, for sure. Abbie groaned inwardly. "Anything but that."
"You seem to have a lot of off-limits topics," commented the doctor mildly.
"Damn right," growled Abbie.
Dr. McKenna sighed. "Tell me more about your brothers."
"Well, Graeme is already studying for his SATs, even though he still has over a year before he has to take them – sorry, fourteen months, as he's fond of reminding us."
"Does he know what he wants to do yet?"
"No," said Abbie. "He changes his mind every other week."
"What about your oldest brother?"
"Palaeontology. He's been practically obsessed with dinosaurs since he was a baby and he knows everything – well, a lot – about them. He loves it."
"Do you know what you want to do?"
Abbie considered. She'd never really thought about it before – two months ago, if she was going to grow up had been the question, not what she was going to do when she grew up. "A lawyer," she decided. "A district attorney." And in true Abbie Carmichael fashion, the moment she said it, she knew it was true. She was going to be a prosecutor when she grew up. When she grew up. Not if. When.
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