"Lawrence," she said, "is unable to perform today. Everyone gets his money back."

"That wasn't very nice," I told her.

She smirked.

"As Mrs. Kleckner says, if we baby each other, none of us will get better."

"And what's wrong with you then?" I demanded, still feeling sorry for Lawrence.

"Me? I'm . . . unable to have significant relationships. I don't trust anyone. Can I trust you?" she asked, her eyes growing watery. "Can I trust you?" she asked Mary Beth. "What about you, Lulu?"

"I'm writing to my father," Lulu said with a smile, "telling him about our new friend."

"Oh great. Another letter to the dead. I have to go to the bathroom," Megan said, rising. "Will everyone please excuse me?"

She folded her arms over her breasts and walked out.

"Megan is not a very happy person," Mary Beth said. "So she's not satisfied until everyone around her is unhappy, too."

"I can see that," I said. My stomach rumbled. "I think I'll have some tea. Would you like some?"

"No," Mary Beth said quickly. "I never eat between meals."

"Tea isn't really eating," I said.

"I've got to go to my room and get something," she said with a voice of panic. "I'll see you at dinner." She rose and left quickly as I got up to go to the stove and pour hot water into a cup with a tea bag. I took one of the cookies and looked at Lulu. She was so sweet, so dainty. How could her parents let her be here and not with them? I wondered. When I returned to the sofa, she looked up from her notepad.

"How do you spell acquaintance?" she asked me and I told her. "I'm describing you as a new acquaintance," she explained and wrote on. "Is that all right?"

"Of course," I said.

"I like making new friends and my daddy likes to hear about them. He told me to write him a letter every day. Sometimes, I write two a day. And I have piles and piles of letters from him," she said. Then she paused, put the notepad down and looked at me. "I think I'll have a cookie, too."

When she got up, I leaned over and looked at her pad. I went from surprise to shock and confusion.

There wasn't a word written on it, just lines scrawled in every direction.

At Mrs. Kleckner's directive, Miss Cranshaw took me out to the gardens and walkways to get some fresh air.

"We like you to stay on the pathways," she said. "You can sit on the benches, even on the grass or under a tree, as long as you remain in this area," she added, gesturing at the boundaries.

The grounds were beautiful, with beds of flowers, birdbaths, some stone and marble statuary, and tall, thick oak and maple trees. The hedges, the grass, and the gardens were all well maintained. A groundsperson was weeding in one of the gardens as we walked through. None of the other patients at the clinic were outside, as far as I could see.

"I'd like to just sit here for a while," I said, moving to a wooden bench halfway down the long, center path. The sight of the soft clouds, the scent of the grass and the flowers, and the touch of the breeze on my face was deliciously familiar. I liked being outdoors; I liked nature. What else did I like? It was strange, discovering such basic and simple things about yourself.

"You have about an hour before dinner," Miss Cranshaw said. "I have to look after a few patients and then I'll come get you when it's time to come in," she said.

I thanked her and sat back, watching two songbirds flit from the birdbath to a statue of a cherub. They paraded on the small angel's shoulder and then gazed at rue before lifting off to fly toward the oak trees.

It's so quiet, so beautiful and fresh here, I thought. It was a perfect place for recuperation. The only problem was I didn't know from what I was recuperating and now a part of me was afraid to know, afraid to go back. If it was something so terrifying that it would cause me to forget the most basic things about myself, it must be horrendous, I thought, too horrendous for the doctors or nurses to want to tell me.

A movement near one of the sprawling oak trees caught my eye and I turned to see Lawrence Taylor emerge from the shadows and step onto a path. He walked slowly with his head down. When he drew closer, he looked up and saw me and he stopped quickly.

"Hi," I said. "It's so pretty out, I wonder why there aren't more people outside."

For a second he looked like he might run off. Then he took a deep breath and replied.

"No one comes out here this time of the day. It's too close to dinner," he said. "Everyone usually follows a strict routine here," he added. He looked to his right and then glanced at me as if he had to steal each and every look.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Logan Horror
Source: readsnovelonline.net