Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

doesn’t she want to make sure his children don’t forget him?”
    “Oh—” Michelle looked faintly annoyed, as if she’d had an automatic negative reaction to my question. “It’s her way of coping.”
    “To blot him out of our lives? To blot out the first few years of our lives?”
    “Rachel,” Michelle said, slipping her arm in mine again. “Why are you bringing all this up now? You were talking about Daddy just recently. What—”
    I pulled away. “I’d like to remember those years and I’d like to remember our father. I was old enough. I don’t understand why I can’t remember him clearly. Something’s missing, and I want to find it. Don’t you ever feel that way?”
    She shrugged. “I was too young to remember. We’ve talked about this before—”
    “I tried to have myself hypnotized so I could remember,” I blurted.
    “Hypnotized?” She looked confused. “By Mother? Why would she—”
    “No. Another doctor. But I couldn’t go through with it. I panicked during induction.”
    “Oh, Rachel,” she said, touching my arm, concerned. “When? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
    I told her now, in as much detail as I could remember.
    She sighed. “Mother wouldn’t like this if she found out. She’d be hurt that you went to someone else for help.”
    “Don’t tell her,” I said. Why had Michelle’s first thought been for our mother’s feelings?
    “I won’t,” she murmured. Then, curious, studying me, “Did you remember anything—”
    “No, I didn’t get that far, I told you.”
    She chewed her bottom lip, an old habit when she was thinking.
    I said, “Mother thinks I shouldn’t try to remember because I was so traumatized by our father’s death. I gather I had some kind of breakdown.”
    Michelle’s eyes widened. “What? She said that?”
    I told her what Mother had said about my destroying the pictures. Michelle’s expression went from surprise to a kind of concerned acceptance. “I don’t remember that at all,” she said. “Well, I can see her point. Mother’s just looking out for your emotional well-being.”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I cried, and the loudness of my voice startled a couple of chickadees into angry chitters. “Let me look out for my own emotional well-being. What right does she have to keep our father a mystery to us? What right does she have to tell us what to think and feel and how to act and who to see and—Why do you let her dictate who you’ll see, Mish? Why did you let her stop you from seeing Kevin when I know you wanted to?”
    She took a couple of steps back, and her face was a cold mask. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I made my own decision about Kevin. This is the busiest time of my life, finishing my degree, planning my future, and I don’t need the distraction of—”
    “She told you to stop seeing him, didn’t she? She sat you down when I wasn’t around, and talked you into it, just like she’s been trying to talk me into breaking it off with Luke.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Michelle said. “You’re imagining things. She did no such thing.”
    “Don’t use that voice with me! That patronizing therapist voice. You’re my sister, my baby sister, don’t talk to me like a stranger.”
    She spun away, marched raggedly along the path, back toward the house. I caught up and took her arm. She faced me, and I was startled to see tears on her cheeks. “I’ve seen Kevin a couple of times,” she said in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard even here. “I’ve been wanting to tell you. But I’m not dating him. It’s just been lunch. I made the decision not to date him, I explained to him why.” She closed her eyes briefly, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Please don’t let Mother find out—”
    I took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Michelle, you’re a grown woman. You can see anybody you want to.”
    She let out a long sigh. “It’s just easier if she doesn’t know about it.” Then she shook her head, making her blonde hair whip around her neck. “Rachel, I wish you’d stop dragging up all this about Daddy. It upsets her, she doesn’t want to talk about it. And it’s obviously hurting you, it’s got you confused and torn. Can’t you let it be?”
    “Is that what therapists are telling patients these days? You’re better off if you let the past be?”
    “You’re not a patient!”
    “No, I’m your flesh and blood, and I deserve at least as much