Chapter 23

Charlotte

I could not sleep for the rest of the night. I lay awake in my bed and stared at the ceiling. I could tell Juan could not sleep either, although we did not speak.

I had freaked out my entire family. In my panic, I had told them that a hand had grabbed me, and they had looked at me as if I was delusional. I felt scared, alone, and humiliated.

The next morning, I was tired. I tried to sleep during the car ride home, but could not. We drove in an uncomfortable silence, and I knew my parents were dying to talk to each other in private about the previous night.

Amore, who picked up on the tension, lay quietly on my lap. Once we reached our house, I carried her to my room. I took a nap and enjoyed the comfort of my familiar bed.

I woke late and thirsty, and left my room—I wanted to go to the kitchen to get a drink. Then I heard my parents talking. I walked to their room so that I could hear better.

“What if there is something seriously wrong with her?” Andrea asked.

“There is nothing wrong with her.” Ned sounded uncertain.

“You are not a doctor. You don’t know that,” Andrea said. “You saw her—kicking and screaming. She thought a hand reached out of the earth to grab her!”

“It was a nightmare,” Ned said. “You used to sleepwalk.”

“I never sleepwalked like that,” she said. “I never thought something was out to get me.”

“She’s just a more severe case.”

“In sixteen years, Charlotte has never sleepwalked.”

“Maybe we have just never seen her do it.”

“We live with her, Ned.” Andrea was irritated. “We would know if she was sleepwalking.”

My chest felt tight. My parents hardly ever fought, and I hated being the reason for their stress. This was exactly why I never talked to them—the truth would do more damage than good.

“I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“You don’t think it’s that bad?” Andrea’s voice was getting louder. “Didn’t you see what I saw? It was horrible!”

“It was just a bad dream that she had . . . ”

“Was it?”

“What else could it be?”

Andrea paused. “You do know that my family has a history of mental illness?”

Aunt Abigail had told me that. My stomach turned, and for a moment I considered screaming at them that there was nothing wrong with my head.

“She’s not mentally ill,” Ned said firmly.

“Is she not? Or don’t you want her to be?”

“She’s not,” Ned mumbled. “She’s fine.”

“I’ve had suicides in my family . . . ”

“She’s not suicidal. She is a happy girl.”

“Is she?” Andrea wondered. “She does not have any friends. She does not do any sport or school activities. She is always in her room . . . ”

“She’s not suicidal.”

“Maybe not yet, but she is showing a lot of symptoms of depression. I’m telling you I’ve seen people with it. They become distant and keep to themselves. Then one day they take their own lives.”

“It won’t come to that,” Ned told her. “You’re just scared.”

“I have the right to be scared!”

“I never said you did not.”

“Then why are you so calm? Why aren’t you reacting?”

Did Mom not know Dad at all? He pretended to stay calm on the outside while his insides were turning.

“Freaking out won’t make the situation any better.” Ned sighed.

“I’m not freaking out!” Andrea snapped. “I’m in control of my emotions. I just want to help her. Why has she never come to us for help? Maybe she does not know how to ask . . .”

“Andrea, what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to find her a psychologist. The best psychologist you can find.”

“She will be reluctant to go.”

“I’ll talk to her.”

I had heard enough. I slipped away without my parents noticing and went to the kitchen, where I drank two glasses of water.

My mother thought I was mentally ill . . . Could life get any worse? My heart was hurting, and I felt like I was only problematic to everyone around me.

I crawled into bed, next to my dog, and wished that Dimitri would visit me.

He did not.

I was too sad to read, so I switched on the television. I watched the screen blankly and paid little attention to the story. My thoughts were elsewhere.

We had a quick supper, but I was too unhappy to eat. This seemed to upset my parents even more, so I ended up forcing a few bites of noodles down my throat, before excusing myself and going to bed.

I fell asleep at three o’clock in the morning then woke at seven o’clock to get ready for school. In the kitchen, my parents acted as if everything was normal. I wondered when my mother would speak to me.

That night, a knock sounded on my bedroom door.

“Come in.”

Andrea opened the door and came in slowly. “You are in bed early.”

“I’m tired,” I said.

My mother stood at the foot of the bed. She looked out of place, and I could tell that the conversation we were going to have was difficult for her.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m good.”

Andrea sat down on the bed and took my hand in hers. “Charlotte, do you know that you can talk to me about anything?”

I knew I could talk to my mother about anything. I also knew my mother would not understand anything. It was sometimes better to just keep quiet.

“Yes,” I said, “but there is nothing I want to talk about.”

“You’ve skipped school a few times,” Andrea said.

“How did you know?”

“Your teacher called me.”

“I am an A-grade student,” I said. “I don’t think it matters if I skip school as long as I keep my grades good.”

“Do you like your school?”

It was such a childish question that I felt as if I were in kindergarten and my mother was asking me about bullies.

“Yes, why?”

“I just never see you with any friends.”

“I have friends,” I said and tried to think of names. “I have Dimitri.”

I could not think of another friend. I was a loner. Maybe I was the school weirdo.

Andrea nodded. “Your teachers like you.”

“What is this really about?” I already knew the answer.

“Have you ever sleepwalked before?”

“I don’t sleepwalk,” I said.

“Charlotte, I want to trust you. I can’t trust you if you lie to me.”

“I’m not lying!”

Andrea looked down. “Your Aunt Abigail told me you were sleepwalking in her house.”

I had not been sleepwalking. I had followed the Red-eyed Lady downstairs. I remembered that night clearly.

“That was a misunderstanding,” I told my mother.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Andrea said. “I used to sleepwalk all the time.”

“You tell me that I can talk to you, but you never listen to me,” I snapped. “I’m not sleepwalking. I am not depressed, and I am not suicidal, either.”

Andrea’s face drained of color. “I said nothing about depression or suicide.”

“You did say it to Dad,” I mumbled.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Andrea said sadly.

“But I did hear it,” I said, “and I am telling you that you are wrong.”

Andrea looked away, and I wondered where her thoughts took her. “I am just worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

Andrea paused. “Do you think we have a good relationship?”

“Yeah.” This question had caught me off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“I always swore I would not have the kind of relationship with my daughter that I have with my mother. Your grandma and I can’t get along, and we can’t talk to each other about anything.”

“You and I talk,” I said, “and Grandma May would talk to you if you ever contacted her again. She misses you. She’s always asking me about you.”

“You and I never talk about the important things,” Andrea said. “You never tell me about what’s going on in your head. You never ask for my advice. You don’t talk to me about your dreams or fears or boys.”

“Mom, you are very opinionated. It’s hard to talk to you,” I said. “Unlike Grandma May, I just gave up a long time ago.”

I could tell I’d hurt my mother’s feelings. I had not meant to do so and instantly felt guilty.

“You are acting out,” Andrea stated boldly. “Why are you acting out? Are you not receiving enough attention?”

“Oh my—” I almost cursed. I let go of my mother’s hand and felt my anger boiling. “I am not acting out!”

“You are,” Andrea argued. “You are skipping school. You ruined your bedroom floor—”

The bedroom floor had been ruined because the Red-eyed Lady had dragged all of our gardening tools into my room.

“I told you I did not ruin the floor!” I yelled. “The problem is you never believe me. That’s why I can’t talk to you. I tell you the truth, and you think I am a liar!”

“Charlotte, who else would have done it?”

“A ghost!” I said before she could stop ~myself~.

“I hope you are not being serious,” Andrea said. “Have you been visiting May lately? I know she can fill your mind with nonsense.”

“Grandma May is not the problem here. You are!”

“I am trying my best to be a good mother!”

“Try less!”

“Charlotte, don’t yell at me!”

“~You’re~ making me depressed!”

Ned came into the room. “Stop it. In this house we don’t yell at each other. Andrea, calm down and walk with me.”

My parents left the room, and I jumped up and slammed the door. Then I buried my face in my pillow and screamed as loudly as I could.

Amore hid in my bathroom. She was not used to her family fighting. She only came out when I called her.

If Andrea and Ned were fighting, I could not hear them. I turned up my television’s volume. Thirty minutes passed before a knock came at my door.

“Yes?”

Ned opened the door. I was thankful Andrea was not at his side. He approached my bed.

“Please don’t come in here and ask me a lot of stupid questions.”

Ned sat down on the bed. “Your mother is only worried because she loves you.”

“Don’t defend her,” I said. “I did nothing wrong. Nothing. Why are you choosing her side?”

“This is not about choosing a side,” Ned said. “This is about the mental wellness and happiness of our family.”

“Dad, I’m fine. Why do I have to tell everyone I’m fine?”

“Charlotte, you scared us this weekend. You scared all of us.”

“I did not mean to.”

“I know, and I am not angry with you.”

“Good,” I said.

“But I do have one thing to ask.”

“Yes?” I looked into my father’s eyes.

“Dr. Nick is a well-known psychologist. I have made an appointment for you for tomorrow. I want you to go to him directly after school. Your mother and I want to come with you.”

“Dad, I’m not ill.”

“It will give me peace of mind. Please do this for me.”

I took a deep breath. “Fine. But afterward, you and Mom owe me an apology.”