Page 86 of The Vanishing Place
July 2005
The next week,back at the hut, Effie woke to the sound of rain and Aiden’s wheezing.
Her brother’s breathing was getting worse. Louder and more labored. Like a fish gulping for air. He had gone to bed early the day before, feeling a little sore, he’d said. His face had been a bit sunken too, his cheeks sort of scooped out and his skin grayish. But something was real wrong with him that morning.
“Aiden?” Effie placed a hand on his clammy forehead.
Something real bad.
2025
Effie pushed thesupermarket door open and held it wide.
Anya walked under her arm, moving with the hesitation of a small deer, then she stopped after a few steps. She turned and looked back at Effie. For a moment there was no hate in her face, no flight, just the uncertain expression of an eight-year-old child looking for reassurance.
“It’s okay,” said Effie. “You can go in.”
Anya pointed to the ceiling and squinted.
“They’re called strip lights,” said Effie. “They’re very bright, but they last a long time, so shops often use them.”
Anya frowned and shielded her eyes with her hand. “I don’t like them,” she said.
It wasn’t all the time, and it wasn’t consistent, but Anya had started talking to Effie. In the past few days since they’d come back from the bush, she had opened up slowly. Nothing about the bush. Nothing—Effie had quickly realized—about the past. But Anya had started to talk about her surroundings, asking questions and commenting on things.
Blair had been great, providing lots of late-night advice and helpful medical jargon.
“Just because she’s not talking about it, doesn’t mean she isn’t thinking about it.” Blair had paused, letting Effie process. “It might also be that Anya doesn’t fully understand or even remember what happened to her, and that can be extremely overwhelming for a child. Without solid, factual information, Anya is likely speculating. Filling in the empty spaces to try and make sense of things.”
Effie frowned. “So she could be lying? Making it up?”
“Not lying intentionally, no. But sometimes, without complete memories of a traumatic event, children will search for the truth. And if necessary, they will create one. But to them, it remains very real.”
Effie had gripped the phone tighter at that.
“The other possibility,” Blair ventured, “is that she’s now responding to her trauma by dissociating—mentally detaching from the past. As a consequence, her brain is altering the way it preserves memory.”
“So,” Effie asked, “should I question her about it? About this Hana person?”
“For now, just listen and reassure. You need to go at her pace. You don’t want to spook her or threaten the trust between you. But yes, at some point you will need to initiate the conversation again.”
“Can’t wait.”
Effie let the shop door close behind her and followed Anya into On the Spot. A handful of customers wandered around, filling carts and reading food labels. Lewis said he’d found Anya near the fridges, covered in milk and dirt.
“Which flavor is the best?” asked Anya.
She stood at the ice-cream freezer, her nose to the glass.
“I don’t know. It depends what you like.”
Anya looked at her, her brow gathered, like she’d misjudged Effie’s intelligence.
“How would I know what I like? I’ve never had one before.”
“Right. Of course. I wasn’t…”
The expression of skepticism stayed on the girl’s face. “June said you were smart.”
