Fox River. Emilie Richards

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СКАЧАТЬ afraid for Callie.” Julia stretched a hand in front of her and was disconcerted to discover that she wasn’t as close to the wall as she’d expected. She inched forward until she could touch it before she spoke again.

      “He says my…condition is confusing and upsetting her, that she feels somehow to blame—”

      “Ridiculous.”

      Julia faced her, or thought she probably did. “How would you know?”

      “Because I’m her grandmother. I’ve called her every day since the accident, and we went out for ice cream after school yesterday. Callie knows it isn’t her fault that Duster balked at the jump and you took it headfirst without him. Those are the chances anybody takes when she’s training a new horse.”

      “Right after the fall Callie told me she was sure Duster balked because she’d startled him with her pony.”

      “But didn’t you explain that Duster had balked half a dozen times in the past and would again? That’s what she told me. I don’t think she feels guilty anymore, she just feels lonely and afraid you aren’t coming back.”

      Julia swallowed tears. “Did you tell her I’m coming back as soon as I’m well?”

      “She’s eight. At that age a grandmother’s word isn’t quite as good as a mother’s.”

      “The fall had nothing to do with this…this condition. Did you tell her that, too?”

      “I did, but that’s harder for her to understand.”

      “How can she? I don’t understand it myself. One minute I can see, the next I can’t. Only there’s nothing wrong with my eyes. There’s nothing wrong with any part of me except my mind.”

      Maisy was silent, waiting, Julia supposed, for her to bring herself back under control. One thing mother and daughter did have in common was a mutual distaste for emotional fireworks. Julia began to prowl the room, hands extended. She found a desk chair and held on to it. “I’m not crazy,” she said at last.

      “Are you afraid I think so?”

      “Bard says it’s all about mind over matter. He wants me to be a big girl, square my shoulders and go about my business. If I put my mind to it and work hard while I’m here, I’ll see again.” She thought she managed a wry smile. “That’s what he would do, of course.”

      “He might be surprised. There are some things in life that even Lombard Warwick has no say in.”

      “I close my eyes, and every single time I open them again, I expect to see, but I can’t. I’ve fallen off horses plenty of times, but this was different. When I flew headfirst over that jump, I remember thinking about Christopher Reeve. His horse balked, and now he’s confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life. When I hit the ground I was afraid to move, afraid I might not be able to sit up or walk again. I must have blacked out. When I woke up…”

      She felt her way around the desk, then over to the window. She faced her mother again. “When I woke up I didn’t open my eyes. I raised a leg, then an arm. I was so relieved. I can’t tell you how relieved I was. I hadn’t even broken anything. Then I opened my eyes.”

      “And you couldn’t see.”

      Julia had told her mother all this in the hospital where she’d been taken after the accident, but she continued, needing, for some reason, to repeat it. “I thought, how strange. I must have been here for hours. Callie must have ridden back to get help and they can’t find me. I thought it was night, but such a black, black night. As it turns out I was unconscious for less than a minute.”

      “Does it help to go over this again and again?”

      “Nothing helps. The fog doesn’t lift. It doesn’t even waver. And you know what the worst moment was? Worse than waking up blind? When they told me there was nothing wrong with my eyesight. Conversion hysteria. I’m a hysteric.”

      “You’re a wonderful, sensitive, intelligent woman. You’re not a psychiatric label.”

      “I’m in a psychiatric clinic! Maybe it has fireplaces and antiques, but it’s still a clinic for the mentally ill.”

      “You shouldn’t be here.”

      Julia realized she had to tell Maisy the rest of it. “There are things you don’t know.”

      “Well, you’re not the first to say so.”

      Julia tried to smile but couldn’t. “Before this, before I even saddled Duster that day, things hadn’t…hadn’t been going well.”

      Maisy was silent. Julia knew that if she could see her mother, Maisy would be twisting her hands in her lap. The hands would be covered with rings. Maisy loved anything that sparkled. She loved bright colors, odd textures, loose flowing clothing that made Julia think of harems or Polynesian luaus. She was a focal point in any crowd, the mother Julia’s childhood schoolmates had most often singled out for ridicule, a bright, exotic flame in a community of old tweeds and perfectly faded denim.

      “You don’t want to hear this, do you?” Julia asked.

      “Julia, I’m sitting here waiting.”

      “You never want to know when things aren’t going well, Maisy. If you wore glasses, they’d be rose-colored.”

      “No doubt,” Maisy agreed. “Cats’-eye glasses with rhinestone frames, and you would hate them. But trying to keep a positive attitude isn’t the same as refusing to see there’s another side of life.”

      Julia felt ashamed. She loved her mother, but there was a gulf between them as wide as Julia’s twenty-nine years. She had never quite understood it and doubted that Maisy did, either. How two women could love each other and still be so different, so far apart in every way, was a mystery.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to criticize.” Julia started back toward the bed, or thought she did. “It’s just that I don’t want to make this worse for you….”

      “Let’s make it better for you, instead. Tell me what’s been happening. And move a little to your left,” Maisy directed her.

      Julia adjusted; her shin contacted the bed frame. “I’m going to need a white cane.” The last word caught.

      Maisy took her hand and helped her sit. “Has Dr. Jeffers given you a prognosis?”

      “No. He rarely speaks during our sessions, and when he does, he just asks questions. Why didn’t I seek help when the problems started? Why do I think I’m being so defensive? Why don’t I want my husband involved in my treatment?”

      “Would Bard like to be involved?”

      “I doubt it, but I’m sure he’s never told the doctor outright.”

      “Tell me about the problems you mentioned before.”

      “I was having blinding headaches.” She smiled grimly. “Pardon the pun.”

      “The doctors know this?”

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