Package Deal(58)

“I want to tell a story now—from Misty of Chincoteague,” Cecelia announced when the lady came back into her room.She reached for two of the ponies on the table. While the lady sat nearby, she acted out finding Misty and her mother, the Phantom, and swimming them across the channel on Pony Penning Day.

“They have to swim across the water so the little ponies can go to new homes,” she explained, her eyes wide. “But it’s kind of sad, because if they take Misty, she’s so little. She still needs her mother.”

“I see,” Mrs. Connor nodded. “Then what happens?”

“Everything turns out just fine! Misty gets to stay with the Phantom and while she gets bigger, the boy—I wish it was me—gets to ride the Phantom in a race and they win and make enough money to keep Misty. Isn’t that a great story? Marcus read parts of it to me, and I read other parts to him,” Cece said, joy in her voice.

“That’s a lovely story. I’m glad you told it to me,” the nice lady replied. “Would you like to tell me another story?”

Cecelia shook her head. “No. I’m tired. I don’t want to do any more stories.”

That afternoon, she asked her mother about the lady.

“What does Mrs. Connor do, Mom?”

“She talks to children. She said she might be able to help you not have nightmares anymore. That’s why I asked her here. Do you like her?”

“She’s nice. Did you see how long her braid is? All the way down her back. I guess she’s never cut her hair for years and years.”

“Maybe not. You could ask her about that when she comes back next week.”

Cecelia didn’t tell any more stories during the next few visits with Mrs. Connor. She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure what the lady would say. Maybe she would get upset like her mother had. She remembered when her mom had cried after she was hit by the car. She remembered when Marcus had come over and talked with her mother. They thought she was asleep, but she wasn’t. Cecelia knew her mother was worried that she wouldn’t tell her about what woke her up, but she just couldn’t do it. It was too scary. She kept hoping if she didn’t talk about it, maybe she wouldn’t see that nasty man’s face at night or feel his hands holding her down or trying to touch her where he shouldn’t. And if she didn’t say anything, her mother wouldn’t cry anymore.

The next week, the nice lady dumped out the story animals, and set some puzzles to one side. “Time for me to get some tea, Cecelia. I’ll be right back,” the lady announced.

Cecelia looked at the stuffed animals and lined up the horses and dogs along one side of the table. She picked up a boy doll, and placed him in a chair. She rummaged around for a girl doll until she found the right one. Cecelia pointed to the girl doll. “I like this one best—she has yellow hair, just like me.” Today she needed people to tell her story.

The lady nodded and smiled while she sipped her tea.

Cecelia picked up some tiny books and arranged a small desk for the girl doll to use. It took her a while to get everything in place with only one hand to pick up the toys. She took her time when she placed a book next to the boy doll. Every night it seemed harder trying not to remember what had happened. Her mom had said she might feel better if she said what was bothering her. Maybe she was right. But it was so scary thinking about the story she wanted to tell.

She moved the girl doll with the yellow hair to the side of the boy doll and her tummy felt too full, like her insides might explode. She began to whisper to the girl doll. She knew she had been bad when she didn’t do what her mother told her to do, and she didn’t want her to be mad, or cry because she was sad. She looked over at the nice lady who seemed to like her stories, the ones they told together and the ones each of them talked about. Mrs. Connor always smiled and laughed when she told stories. But would she like this one? It wasn’t nice like the other stories.

Cecelia placed the girl doll on the male doll’s lap. She shivered. She wanted to keep the girl doll safe, but she wouldn’t be safe if she stayed in the boy doll’s lap. She leaned close to the doll and started whispering, one foot kicking against the chair as she talked, one hand waving in the direction she wanted the girl doll to go.

“Get away, scream, run away, do what Mama says. He’s being bad, he’s going to do bad things. Run!” She pushed the girl doll away from the boy doll, across the room. The toy bounced onto the floor and she put her head down on the table. Through her tears, she whispered, “Don’t be hurt, little girl, please don’t be hurt.”