Near Touch

Chapter 7: Leigh

Amy watched Leigh trace lazy patterns on the car's window, her tongue between her teeth, and her brown eyes intense. True to her promise, Amy had rushed home and was driving her little sister to Dr. Abernathy's house for her counselling sessions. For a long while, she hadn't participated in any afterschool activities so her timing was of little significance. Amy had spent a healthy part of an hour reassuring her mother constantly that she would drive slowly and cautiously. Leigh sat up a little straighter as soon as the golden trees lining their path cleared and they began their descent beside Lake Trent. The cliff overlooked sparkling cerulean waters and it was Leigh's favorite part of their weekly journey.

Amy rolled down the windows on either side of them and the crisp, bracing scent of the lake right after a shower filled their lungs. In the afternoon, the clouds had returned, bursting with water. Leigh giggled as the wind tickled her face and she looked unreservedly happy, not a care in the world. She mimed skipping over the ripples in the lake with her fingers. Amy lovingly ruffled her sister's soft hair. A small portion of the guilt knotted inside her heart alleviated. Leigh's curls had almost grown past her ears.

It was her fault that Leigh had to endure therapy.

For months, Amy had found herself waking up in the middle of the night, fading in between mottled levels of consciousness, cold sweat making her hair stick to her face, stumbling into her sister's room - only to find her sleeping soundly and cuddling with her beloved penguin plushie. Over and over again, she relived the same memory in her nightmares - Leigh standing on her little plastic stool in the bathroom, surrounded by a mess of her own hair, blood trickling down her chin and a pair of scissors clutched in her tiny fist.

Every morning after Amy's nightly torment, Leigh would squeal with glee to see her big sister snoring beside her.

Growing up, Amy had cherished the little pink bundle; from the very moment she laid eyes on her. Leigh had been in her mother's arms and then she was in Amy's. She had been immensely fascinated by how lumpy Leigh was. Promptly, the lump had pooped and peed in her arms. Amy often claimed she knew all about infants because she had studied her baby sister's every move exhaustively. She was Amy's very own pet project.

"Do you think the time you spend with Dr. Abernathy helps you?" Amy shot at her sister, injecting some of her own misgivings and fears into the question. Once again, the lofty ginkgos had enveloped them. They were nearing their destination.

Leigh mulled it over, timidly pulling at her seatbelt.

"Dr. Abernathy listens to me. I think she likes talking to me. I don't have anyone who wants to talk to me apart from you, Mom, Dad, Dr. Abernathy," she was counting them on her stubby fingers and her voice was like a sparrow's call. "And Georgie! I get to sit with him the whole time."

Amy pulled into the driveway of Dr. Abernathy's two-storied house. It was built like a faux log cabin, all dark timber with a grand brick chimney towering alongside the birches and the bald cypresses. The forty-five-year-old doctor waved in greeting from her front porch. She was wearing a floral cardigan and cream pants with a periwinkle woolen shawl wrapped around her frail body. Her close-cropped silver hair stood out against the puce woodwork on the outer walls of her house. Leigh hopped out of the Corolla and rushed up the stairs to hug her. Amy followed more reluctantly.

"I am writing a book," Leigh enthusiastically told Dr. Abernathy.

She smiled kindly down at her. "What is it about?"

"Pretty people doing stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"It doesn't matter. As long as they are pretty, people will read it."