Rachel Goddard 01 - The Heat of the Moon

nice stranger’s voice, her smile, her attention to us and concern for us.
    “But you never took us home.”
    My eyes saw Mother and myself in this kitchen, but my mind was moving through a house filled with packed boxes, boxes stacked higher than my head. I heard her soothing voice. It’s all right. Sit down and drink your milk and everything will be all right.
    “Michelle—Stephie—she didn’t seem to care, she was playing, she was happy, but I kept asking questions—”
    Mother shook her head back and forth, back and forth.
    “What did you do to me?” I said. “Give me pills to make me docile? Then you hypnotized me. You confused me, you made me doubt who I was, you made me think I was your daughter—”
    A savage swing of her arm came nowhere near me but startled me into stumbling backward.
    “You’ve always fought me!” she cried. “Michelle was so good, she knew I loved her, she was grateful, but you fought me every inch of the way.” 
    I barely recognized her twisted tear-wet face. “Why did you do it?” I said. “Why did you take us?”
    “You should thank me! I’ve given you a good life, I’ve been a good mother. She didn’t take care of you, she was always leaving you alone on that playground. You were both so small, anything could have happened to you.” Mother dragged in a raspy breath. “Michelle was so frightened, out in the storm—I couldn’t bear it.”
    She covered her face and sobbed. Seeing her broken, knowing I had broken her, I felt a stirring of pity and guilt. I crushed it.
    “She was the one you wanted,” I said slowly. “Because she looked like your little girl who died in the accident.”
    “That woman had no right to her!” The words were muffled behind Mother’s hands. “She had no right to have her child when mine was dead.”
    The truth unfolded in my mind, like pages being turned back. “You didn’t want me at all. I just happened to be there.”
    Her hands dropped from her face. Her anguished eyes pleaded. “I’ve been a good mother to you, haven’t I? I do love you, Rachel, I’ve tried so hard—”
    “You’ve tried hard to control me.” I felt cold, and utterly calm. “You tried to make me forget who I was.”
    “It was for your own good, so you could be happy—”
    “But I never forgot. Not completely. Do you know I had an imaginary friend when I was little? A girl named Kathy, who looked like me. She was with me all the time. But she wasn’t imaginary. She was me.”
    Mother moaned, a hand to her mouth. “Oh, good God, I never knew. I had no idea.”
    A movement behind her caught my attention, and I shifted my gaze to the doorway that led in from the hall. Michelle slumped against the door frame. I could see that she’d heard everything or close to it.
    “I’m going to tell Michelle the truth,” I said to Mother. “I’ll make her believe it somehow.”
    “No! No, you can’t, please, I’m begging you—”
    She reached out to me across the counter. I stepped back.
    “You’ll destroy her!” she cried. “Is that what you want? Don’t you love her at all?”
    “I love her enough to save her from you. You ought to be locked up! I’ll tell her, I’ll make her believe—”
    “No! I won’t let you take her away from me.”
    Her hands scrabbled on the counter, found the long thin knife she’d used to slice the chicken. Then she was around the counter and coming toward me.
    In my surprise I froze for an instant, and she was at me, the knife raised. I threw up both arms to shield myself.
    Cold steel sliced through my left forearm. When I jerked away the blade ripped open the back of my hand. Searing pain nearly knocked me off my feet.
    Mother raised the knife again.
    “Mother!” Michelle screamed. She lunged and threw her arms around Mother from behind.
    Mother struggled to break free and get at me again but Michelle held on. “Mother, it’s me, it’s Michelle, listen to me, stop, please, Mother, please stop.” 
    Abruptly Mother surrendered and went limp in Michelle’s arms, her low moan mixing with my sister’s sobs. The knife clattered to the floor.
    My arm and hand were awash in blood. I fumbled for a dishcloth on the counter and pressed it to my arm. Blood soaked through the cloth in an instant and spilled in large drops to the floor.
    With Michelle still holding her from behind, Mother began to weep. Her words came out in gasps. “I wanted my baby back. I just wanted to be happy again.”
    I met her eyes