Now the two of them sat at the kitchen table sipping the cocoa Janet had made, while Shadow sprawled contentedly on the floor. "Well, what do you two think?" Janet asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them. "Did we do the right thing?"
Shadow's tail thumped appreciatively against the floor, but Michael only glanced up at his mother, then away, his serious eyes roving restlessly over the kitchen. "I guess so," he said at last, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "You don't sound very sure. Is something wrong?" Michael opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it abruptly. Puzzled, Janet repeated her question, "Is something wrong?"
Michael fidgeted in his chair, suddenly interested in the gummy layer that was forming on the surface of his untouched cocoa. He touched it with his spoon, watching it wrinkle, then reached down and carefully picked it up with his thumb and forefinger. "Ryan's mad at me," he mumbled at last.
Nonplussed, Janet stared at her son for a moment. "Mad at you? But why?" Suddenly she frowned, as she realized that it had been a while since she had seen Michael with his cousin. On the occasions Janet had been to visit Laura, still weak and bedridden from the stillbirth, Michael had not accompanied her, and she had chosen not to press the point. Now though, her anxiety was aroused. "Did you two have a fight?" she asked.
Michael shrugged. "I-I don't know," he mumbled. Then he looked up at her. "Is it okay if I go to bed now?" Without waiting for a reply, he scurried out of the kitchen, and she heard him hurtling up the stairs to his room. A moment later, Shadow followed his master.
Janet finished her cocoa, then slowly cleaned up the kitchen. At last she wandered through the downstairs rooms of the little house, locking up, and eyeing the mass of boxes that still waited to be unpacked. Finally turning out the lights, she went upstairs, but paused uncertainly outside the closed door to Michael's room. Though no light showed through the crack at the bottom of the door, neither did she hear the regular sound of her son's breath as he slept. She waited a moment, listening carefully, then tapped softly at the door. When there was no answer, she opened the door and peeped in. Michael, still fully dressed, sat on the floor beside the dormer window, staring out into the night. Shadow lay beside him, his big head cradled in the boy's lap.
"May I come in?"
There was no answer, so Janet stepped into the little room, closing the door behind her. She crossed the tiny alcove and joined her son on the floor. She let her eyes follow his and, in the distance, saw the dark outline of Findley's barn silhouetted against the star-filled sky.
She frowned, remembering her conversation with Ben Findley that afternoon, then decided the view had nothing to do with the crotchety old man. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
"I like it," Michael replied in a neutral voice.
"Would you like to tell me what happened between you and Ryan?"
"He didn't believe me," Michael said. "He said I was crazy."
Janet's frown deepened. "Didn't believe you about what?"
Michael turned, his eyes searching his mother's face in the gloom. "I saw something that night," he said, and Janet knew instantly the night he was referring to.
"You mean something besides the car that almost ran over you?"
Michael nodded.
"I see," Janet said. "Would you like to tell me what you saw?"
Michael shrugged. "You won't believe me either. It sounds crazy."
"Try me," Janet offered, gently stroking Michael's hair.
"Never tell them the truth."
The words resounded through Michael's mind, and though he tried to ignore them, he couldn't. He wanted to tell his mother what he remembered, but he couldn't. Twice, he opened his mouth to tell her about Nathaniel. Each time, he felt Shadow stiffen under his hands, and thought he heard the dog growl softly. Twice, he closed his mouth without speaking, and felt the dog relax.
Finally, an idea came to him. "I-I think I saw Abby out in the field that night."
"Abby? You mean the ghost Grandpa told you about?"
Michael nodded uncertainly. "I-I think so. Anyway, I saw something out there."
"Maybe you only imagine you saw something," Janet suggested, but Michael shook his head.
"But I can't remember it very well anymore." He looked puzzled. "I can sort of remember what happened, and sort of remember what I saw, but I can't really remember how it felt anymore. You know what I mean?"
"Of course," Janet told him. "It's like a dream. You can remember every detail when you first wake up, but then, a minute later, it's gone, and all you can remember was whether it was a nice dream or a bad dream. Is that how it is?"
Michael nodded. "And I had a headache that night. But when I saw-" He hesitated as Shadow tensed, then: "When I saw her, it went away." Shadow's body relaxed. "Ryan thinks I'm crazy." He stared at her now, his large eyes frightened and appealing. "I'm not crazy, am I, Mom?"
Janet got to her feet, thinking hard. He hadn't mentioned having a headache before. Could that be the explanation? She reached down and touched his head, stroking his hair with her fingertips. "Of course you're not crazy. Don't ever think that. You just thought you saw something that wasn't there, that's all. It was probably the headache. They can do that to you, you know. Was it bad?"
Michael hesitated, then nodded. "It was a throbbing in my temples."
"'Did you take anything for it? Did you ask Mrs. Simpson for some aspirin?"
"No. I didn't get it 'til I was on my way back to Grandpa's house."
"Have you had headaches like that before?"
Again Michael hesitated before he said, "A few. But they aren't too bad, and they don't last very long."
"Well, that's good, anyway. But I think tomorrow we'll go have a talk with Dr. Potter. Maybe you're just allergic to something in the air. In the meantime, you just get a good night's sleep tonight. All right?"
Michael stood up and switched on the light that hung suspended from the center of the ceiling. The glare from the naked bulb filled the room with a harsh light that made Janet squint, but as her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she studied Michael's face. For a moment, his eyes met hers, then drifted away, back to the window.
"You don't believe me, do you?" he said quietly. "You don't think I saw anything."
Now it was Janet who hesitated, and when she spoke, she chose her words carefully. "I believe you think you saw something, and that's what counts."
Then, in an instant, a searing pain slashed through Michael's head, and his eyes, frightened only a second earlier, suddenly turned furious. "I saw him," he shouted, his face twisting into a visage of anger. "I saw him, and I talked to him, and he's my friend. I don't give a fuck what anybody says."
Without thinking, Janet stepped forward and slapped her son across the face. "Michael! Don't you ever speak to me that way!" From the corner of her eye, Janet saw Shadow's hackles suddenly rise and felt a sudden pang of fear. What would she do if the dog decided to defend his master?
But as quickly as it had come, Michael's fury was gone, and as he calmed down, so also did the dog. Dazed, Michael stared at his mother, his left hand massaging his stinging cheek. "What did you do that for?" he asked. "Why'd you hit me?"
"You know why," Janet replied, her voice coldly controlled. "Now go to bed and go to sleep, and we'll forget all about this. But it won't happen again. Is that clear?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned and left Michael alone in his room, pulling the door shut behind her.