Echoes Between Us - McGarry, Katie Page 0,73
open, a warm spring breeze blowing in.
There’s a girl my age at a desk reading. I pause at her door, walk in and read what she does.
Saturday March 23: Took a whole day today with Peg and Sade. We went out this morning and got a ride in a Ford. Oh, it was great outdoors. I hated to come in and go to services, but I did.
Had a date with Harry for tonight, but he sent word that he was sick. Now, Diary, he wasn’t sick at all but he just wanted to go to the Match Pool Game. Never mind, he’ll get one grand bawling out from me.
She glances up at me. “She’s lying to you.”
My forehead furrows. “Who? Who’s lying to me?”
“She is. You like to visit here.” She scans the room then out into the hallway. “The hospital, I mean. Not many people like to come here. Why do you like to visit? Aren’t you afraid?”
Feeling discombobulated, I shove my hands into my pockets. “Afraid of what?”
“Death.”
I don’t know. Am I? Is that why I’m drawn to Evelyn’s diary? Am I scared of death? I’m scared of hurting Lucy and my mom, but do I fear death? Naw, that doesn’t feel right—at least it’s not why I read the diary. I read it because … “Reading about Evelyn … I don’t feel alone in all my problems. What I face sucks, but what Evelyn faced was worse and yet she still tried to find a way to be happy.”
The girl jumps as if startled and grabs my hand. “You need to get to Lucy. She’s not safe.”
My eyes snap open, and I shoot up with Lucy’s shout. “Sawyer!”
She screams and the sound sends a sickening chill down my spine. I’m out of my room and into hers. My little sister sits in the middle of her princess bed, drenched in sweat. Her hair sticks to her face, her light nightgown clings to her body. Tears fall down her face.
Nightmares. Like clockwork, they hit her at midnight. That crap got old the first week here, but there’s not much I can do other than be here for her. Mom suggested giving her sleeping pills, and I reminded Mom that the only way that was happening was if she got the certified approval of the American Academy of Pediatrics. That doctor’s visit would mean another day off for her, so that was a no-go.
Lucy sniffles and chokes on the sob, and when she doesn’t put her arms in the air for me to hold her, I realize she’s still in the middle of the dream, but living it out in our reality. At least this time, she stayed in bed.
I smooth her hair back from her face and gently ease her onto the pillow. “Shh. It’s okay, Lucy. I’m here.”
Lucy allows me to mold her back into bed, and she grabs on to the covers as I lift them to her chin. “There’s a … a monster.” She hiccups midsentence.
“And I scared it away. Just like I always do.” Just like I always will.
She takes in a quivering breath, and I’m encouraged by the longer exhale and how she snuggles down into the pillow and closes her eyes. I sit on the edge of the bed and mumble-sing the wrong lyrics to a lullaby because I never tried learning them right. Lucy reaches out, places her hand over mine, and for a moment the constant barrage of chaos stalls. She loves me, and I love her back.
Taps on the wall of her room, and my head jerks up. Another tap, then another, and my eyes follow the sound as it continues along like it’s making its way to the front of the house. Something dangerous coils within me as I realize—those aren’t taps, but footsteps in the foyer.
Careful not to wake Lucy, I creep to the window and spot nothing moving outside. More steps rap along the opposite side of the wall, a door closes somewhere in the apartment, and I whip my entire body around to spot nothing in the room.
I’m on the move and out into the living room. My bedroom door is open, the bathroom door open, the closet doors still closed. I make my way down the hallway and dim light shines from beneath Mom’s closed bedroom door. She murmurs something I can’t make out, and I shake my head. Great. She’s probably talking in her sleep now, too.
Footsteps upstairs and the creaking of the