Free Her Daughter's Dream by Francine Rivers Page B

airless, silent.
    Craving the sound of a human voice, she turned on the television. Every channel covered the assassination. She saw the joyful scenes before the shooting—people holding up welcome signs, others watching from windows and rooftops, the smiling president and his pretty wife waving from the car. Then three shots. A Secret Service man getting out of the car behind the president. People in the crowd screamed and cried; policemen looked up to see where the shots had come from. Shaking, she wanted to scream. She wanted to put her foot through the television. Instead, she shut it off and went into the kitchen.
    Mom had filled the cookie jar with Oreos. Leftovers filled the refrigerator. A roast defrosted on the counter, blood pooling in the plastic wrap. Carolyn pictured Jackie with her husband’s blood on her designer suit.
    She went over to the cottage, wandered through Oma’s flower garden, and then took the key from under the mat and opened the door. The cottage felt like an empty shell without Oma, even with sunlight coming through the windows. But it smelled familiar and felt cozy. She went to the bedroom and crawled under the covers of Oma’s bed, wishing she could curl up against Oma as she’d done when she was a little girl. It was the only time she could remember feeling truly safe as a child.
    Only a moment seemed to pass, and she heard someone call her name. She heard a door open.
    “Carolyn.” Mom’s voice came closer, voice hoarse with worry. “Carolyn!” Carolyn felt someone shaking her. “We’ve been looking all over for you!”
    “I’m here,” Carolyn mumbled, mouth dry. Her head felt strange. What was she doing in Oma’s bed? Then she remembered. The president had been shot. Despair engulfed her.
    “Didn’t you hear us calling?”
    “I didn’t hear anything.” She felt sick. “I don’t want to hear anything.”
    “Come on home, Carolyn.” She pulled the covers down. “You can sleep in your own room.” She stood in the doorway. “Be sure to make the bed before you come.”
    Inexplicably angry, Carolyn yanked the covers up again. “I’m not coming! I’m sleeping here tonight!”
    Mom sat on the edge of the bed. “Carolyn, we’re all upset. . . .”
    Carolyn shifted away. “Dad will have the television on. He’ll want to watch the news over and over again. You know he will. And you’ll be mangling something.” She started to cry. “I don’t want to see Kennedy shot again and again. I don’t want to keep hearing about it!” She covered her head with the blankets. “Just go away, Mom. Please. Just let me go to sleep and pretend it never happened.”
    Mom rubbed her back and sighed heavily. “You’re not the only one who feels that way.” She stood. “Are you sure you’re okay here alone?”
    Carolyn wanted to scream at her. Of course she wasn’t okay. She had never been okay. What kind of a mother would leave her vulnerable little girl alone every afternoon? A mother who didn’t care, that’s what kind. Why should her mother care now?
    No one was ever home when she got there. What difference did it make if she spent the night in the cottage—or anywhere else, for that matter? It wasn’t like Dock would come back after more than ten years. Even he hadn’t wanted her in the end. “I’m fine, Mom. Go away.”
    “Well, if you’re sure . . .” Her mother sounded hesitant. Something in her voice caught Carolyn’s attention. She pulled the blankets off her head, but her mother was already heading for the door. As it closed behind her, Carolyn wept. She lay in the darkness, wishing her mother had argued a little. She wished she’d sat on the bed for a few minutes longer.
    But then, she’d have to care to do that.

8
    1965
    While everyone else in her class grew more excited with the approach of graduation, Carolyn dreaded it. It meant she would have to leave home. She didn’t have any great desire to go to college, but it seemed to be what