I drew the shape again, as if it were dangling from a chain, then thought of the heart necklace pulling against my neck. “There are knots that can be tied and tightened until they hurt you, even kill you. Like a hangman’s noose.”
“Keep going.”
“You can be bound and gagged, kept prisoner by knots.”
“Yes. Keep going.”
“Knots can be hard to untangle, so they could be a symbol of confusion. Sometimes a person will say her stomach is in knots — like before an exam.”
“And what does that mean?”
“That she’s anxious, scared, worried.”
“Keep going.”
“That’s all I can think of.”
Dr. Parker sat silently, chewing his sprout sandwich, sipping his tea.
“So,” he said at last, “knots can be positive and negative symbols. They can represent a whole spectrum of feelings, and even those that seem opposite aren’t really. For example, sometimes our ties with people support us and allow us to grow. But those same ties can restrict us, strangle us.”
It was like that with my mother, I thought, but I would never tell him that. “So you’re saying that Nora can be feeling any of these things and this is how she expresses it?”
“If she’s the one tying the knots,” he replied.
“But the strange thing is — I probably didn’t make this clear-she’s not always — that is, I haven’t seen her — I mean sometimes things seem to move when—” I broke off.
“She’s not touching them?” The psychologist picked up a honey scoop and slowly twirled the golden liquid off the stick and into his tea. “Lauren, do you know what RSPK isrecurrent spontaneous psychokinesis?”
I tried to string together the meanings of the words. “No.”
“Do you know anything about poltergeists?”
“Poltergeists? I’ve seen the movie.”
He poked the honey stick back in the jar. “Spielberg’s, I assume. Well, that gives you a sense of what some poltergeist activity is like, objects moving around without being touched — sliding across the floor, flying through the air. It can also be noises, knocking, or voices calling outsome activity for which there doesn’t appear to be a physical cause.”
Things that move with no hands touching them, I thought. It was what my mother had described, what I had seen.
“In the movie,” Dr. Parker went on, “a group of dead people were causing the commotion. In cases investigated by parapsychologists, this kind of activity has been attributed to recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis, RSPK.
That is, we think it is caused by the recurring and spontaneous mental activity of a person who is alive.
“Many of the documented cases are traceable to an individual who is profoundly disturbed or under great stress.
Some are children, a majority of them are adolescents. It’s rare to find such ability in adults. The subject may have a history of mental problems, but not always. In any case, during a crisis of some sort, the phenomenon suddenly appears — it can be quite spooky. It disappears after the stress subsides, when the mental conflict is resolved.”
“Can Nora control this thing?” I asked.
“I’m going to rephrase your question. Can the individual who is responsible control it? Some who have been studied in the laboratory can, but to a limited extent. Many are totally unaware of what they are doing. It is often an unconscious response to trauma in their lives. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, that in a sense, Nora is telling the truth when she says someone else broke the lamp and tied the knot. She really doesn’t know she’s done it.”
“Not exactly. What I’m saying is that if Nora is doing it, she may not know; if Holly or you are doing it, you may not know.”
“But I—” He held up a finger, interrupting me. “I haven’t written down the poltergeist events you have related, but you should do that, noting who was in the area during the time each one took place. I’m suggesting you three girls because seven years ago and now, you have spanned early to late adolescence and, as far as I can tell, you have all been in the area of the activity.”
“Is there a limit to the distance in which it can work? The night I saw the plants move in the greenhouse, Holly was at the prom.”
“That would be stretching it,” he said, “but it’s possible.”
“But it’s got be Nora,” I insisted, picking up my bottle of water, swirling it.
“She is an obvious candidate,” he conceded. “But sometimes the individuals who appear the calmest on the surface don’t know how to deal with their emotions and therefore express them unconsciously this way.”
“So it could be Holly,” I said.
“And it could be you. From what little you have told me, I gather you felt loved by your mother, but also bound by her, your freedom choked when she accompanied you to Wisteria. Those conflicting feelings could have, in a sense, tied you in knots. And returning to the scene of her death for the first time, especially after putting it off for seven years, has got to be stressful for you.”
I rested my elbows on the table, my head in my hands, my fingers shielding my eyes from him. I didn’t want it to be me.
I didn’t want Nick to be right when he said “get over it.”
“I still believe it’s Nora.”
Dr. Parker finished the food on his plate and drained his teacup. “It could well be,” he said, wiping the side of his mouth, missing the crumbs. “I have just one piece of advice.
Keep an open mind, Lauren. A quick theory is a dangerous way to answer important questions.”
Dr. Parker offered me a ride home, but even at midnight, Wisteria was a safe town to walk through. When I arrived at Aunt Jule’s, the music was off, the torches out, and the cars gone, all but Nick’s. Only Aunt Jule’s sitting room light shone from the street side of the house. Since Holly was always turning off unused lights, I figured she and Nick were cleaning up on the river side.
Halfway along the path that ran between the two gardens I discovered I was wrong. Nick and Holly stood just beyond the roses, kissing. I stopped, transfixed, watching where Nick put his hands on Holly’s back, studying how she put her arms around his neck. I tried to read the expression on his half-hidden face to see if this was the most spectacular kiss he’d ever had — the way his kiss had felt to me. I noticed he didn’t suddenly pull back and look at Holly surprised. She was good at it, and he kept kissing her.
Her long dark hair looked gorgeous next to his blond. I saw him softly touch her hair. I felt as if I had swallowed glass, my heart cut into a million sharp pieces. Thankfully, they were too immersed in each other to notice me. Then Rocky barked.
Holly and Nick turned quickly and caught me staring.
Rocky bounded toward me, his tail wagging, pleased he had spotted me. Holly smiled. Nick seemed stunned to see me and pressed his lips together. I could feel his displeasure from fifteen feet away, and I focused on Holly.
“Lauren,” she said, “I was worried about you. We both were.”
Both? I winced at the white lie.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“Nowhere special. I just went out for a while.”
She studied my face. “Is everything okay?”
“sure.”
Holly’s arm was around Nick’s waist, her thumb hooked in his belt loop. “After you went in,” she said, “I was afraid I had been insensitive, that I should have realized the boys were going too far. You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
“To see a friend. Listen, I’m going to bed. We can clean up tomorrow.”
I turned my back before she could detain me with further questions. Once inside the house I rushed through the hall and up the steps, slowing again when I reached the top to walk quietly past Aunt Jule’s room. When I reached my own, I eagerly reached for the doorknob and turned it, but the door wouldn’t open. Remembering that I had let out Rocky, then locked both the porch door and this one, I pulled the old-fashioned key from my pocket and inserted it.