Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

knew occupied his thoughts as much as mine.
    “What would it prove?” I said, breaking off a discussion of the weather. “If I did what you suggested.”
    He glanced at the couples and children around us, then leaned forward across the table and spoke quietly. “It’d prove she’s used hypnosis to control your memories.”
    “It seems so deceitful,” I whispered. “Dishonest.”
    “She’s not entitled to honesty. If she’s done what you think she has, then what the hell do you owe her?”
    I stirred my tea, twirling the straw around and around in the tall paper cup. “I owe her my life, my education, everything I’ve been able to do.”
    He sat back in his chair, threw up his hands, attracting startled glances from the young couple at the next table. “Okay. I won’t say another word about it.”
    He picked up his sandwich and started eating methodically. I gazed out the window. How unconnected the murky past seemed to this bright hot day, the sun slanting in across our table, the trees shaking their heads in the breeze.
    I lifted my iced tea to my lips, but set it down again without drinking. When I leaned toward him, he sat forward, waiting for me to speak.
    “I’d have to be really vigilant,” I said. “She might catch on that I’m pretending, or she might be able to put me under whether I want her to or not.”
    Luke considered this, then sighed. “If you really think you couldn’t control it, then you’d better not mess around with it. You don’t want her getting into your head like that.”
    Could I do it? If I pulled it off, I might find out for certain whether Mother was capable of the stunning deviousness I suspected. I might defeat her control once and for all.
    I said, “If I do decide to try it, I could tape the whole thing. Hide a tape recorder ahead of time. Then I’d know for sure what she did. What she said to me. I’d have the proof.” 
    ***
    Another two weeks went by before I found the courage to tell Mother that, yes, I would like her to hypnotize me and help me recover my early childhood memories.

Chapter Eighteen
    What I remembered afterward was Mother knocking softly at my door, then entering and coming to stand behind my chair as I sat at the dresser.
    I remembered the light touch of her hands on my shoulders and her affectionate smile in the mirror. “Look at us,” she said. “We’re more alike every day.”
    I remembered the feeling of words stifled in my mouth, the choke of unshed tears in my throat. Our images looked back at us. My face, hers, undeniably similar.
    She fingered the muscles of my shoulders. “You’re so tense. We’ll have to do a long relaxation sequence. You’re not afraid, are you? I’ll be with you all the way.”
    I couldn’t remember whether I answered. 
    I stretched out on my couch. It was just long enough; my head and feet pressed against its arms. Mother wanted to conduct the hypnosis session in her office, but I’d insisted on doing it here in my room.
    As her voice murmured soothing words, I felt myself relaxing into drowsiness almost against my will. Afterward I remembered how terribly sleepy I felt then, and how I fought against giving in and letting myself drift away.
    I was vaguely aware of getting into bed some time later, Mother tucking the sheet over my shoulders, saying, “Good night, sweetheart, sleep well.”
    Then it was morning and I opened my eyes to a slash of sunlight on the carpet by the bed.
    ***
    Luke cornered me at the medications pantry. “Will you tell me what the hell happened?” he whispered.
    I took a vial of brownish-yellow liquid from the refrigerator. “I have to get this vaccine ready,” I said. “My client’s waiting with her cat—”
    He caught my arm, made me look at him. “Rachel,” he said. “What did she do to you? Why are you suddenly treating me like poison?”
    Looking at his boyish, worried face brought a wash of bewildering emotions that I couldn’t begin to deal with. I squirmed my arm free. “I don’t know what you’re talking—”
    “Your mother, for God’s sake. What did she—”
    “Please let me do my work. Please.” Turning my attention to the vaccine, I inserted the needle into the vial and drew liquid into the syringe. I was surprised that my hands were so steady when I was shaking to pieces inside.
    I felt him studying me. I couldn’t meet his eyes. The urge to reach out and touch him was almost overpowering, but something held me back, something