Page 69 of Fear of Flames
Moving her arm and staring up at the ceiling in Fletch’s bedroom, other memories returned. As part of her attempt to avoid formal charges, Michelle agreed to court-mandated counseling. She recalled she liked the counselor at Purdue. Her name was Naomi. The last name was lost to her. A scene came back, during the second semester of her sophomore year.
The office in the Purdue Counseling and Guidance Center was simple with light gray walls and darker gray carpeting. There was a large round bright-white rug in front of the sofa. The bookshelf behind the counselor’s desk was filled with books with colorful spines. The windowsill was lined with multiple thriving plants despite the gray winter skies beyond. Her standing appointment was every week after her economics lecture.
Naomi sat in a chair, and Michelle lay back on the sofa.
“What are some of your first memories?” Naomi asked.
Michelle was used to the routine. Sometimes it was cathartic as if she was regaining her ground. Other times it was sobering, making her feel melancholy when they were done talking.
She sighed at Naomi’s question, trying to take her mind back in time. “I’m not sure what I recall from pictures and stories and what was real.” She’d looked through scrapbooks her mother made. Though now after the explosion, those too were only memories.
“It’s all right. Let’s set the stage. What did your bedroom look like?”
“I probably had a nursery, but what I remember is a room with pink wallpaper. There was a border with princesses.”
“Tell me more,” Naomi said.
“There was a small chandelier over my bed. My bed was white wicker. There were two beds.” She shook her head. “No, that’s not right. Just one. My bedspread was frilly—girlie. I had one of those big dollhouses in the corner.”
“Is anyone with you in your room?”
“Sarah.” Michelle’s answer surprised even herself. Catching herself, she sat up and smiled. “My mom told me I had an imaginary friend named Sarah.”
Naomi peered back in her notes. “Wasn’t that your sister’s name?”
“Yeah, but I never knew her.”
“You don’t remember her?”
“My parents never said anything about her until a few years ago.”
“All right. What are you doing in the bedroom?” Naomi asked.
“Playing with the dollhouse.”
The opening of the bedroom door brought Michelle to the present. Startled, she sat up, watching as Fletch entered.
“Peterson is here.”
The announcement didn’t fill Michelle with optimism. “He saw the press conference?”
Fletch nodded.
“He wants me gone.”
Fletch offered her his hand, his large palm facing upward.
She laid her hand in his, sensing his warmth as his long fingers enclosed hers.
“No. You’re staying. Come, let me introduce you.”
Michelle looked down at her blue jeans and sweater. Fletch may not feel the need to dress appropriately for important meetings, but Michelle did.
It was as if Fletch read her mind. “You’re perfect the way you are.”
“What do I say?”
The glint in his brown eyes offered support. “Be honest. Say whatever you want to say.”
