Free September Canvas by Gun Brooke

Deanna’s back and dig up dirt on her, that wasn’t fair, but she would write down everything she felt and knew about her. She’d write it like a novel, like a drama documentary, and add little by little. This way she would get to know the true Deanna. She could still write down her own subjective— no, heated —thoughts about her. This was for her own eyes only.
    Faythe’s fingers flew across the keyboard. This was the second best thing to actually spending time with Deanna. She would discover the truth.

Chapter Nine
    "Dee.” Miranda rocked back and forth on her bed, her arms wrapped around herself. “Dee-dee-dee-dee…”
    “Honey. Honey, listen to me. I’m here now.” Deanna forced herself to sound calm and reassuring. Her little sister had regressed into a behavior she had displayed the first semester at the Tremayne Foundation and School. She looked so small and young where she huddled, barely coherent. Touching Miranda when she was this distraught was dicey at best. Either Miranda would cling to her or she would recoil like a wound-up spring.
    Carefully, Deanna placed a hand on Miranda’s shoulder. The rocking stopped for a moment, and she didn’t push Deanna away.
    “There you go, honey.” Deanna slid closer and wrapped both arms around Miranda. “You’re fine. You’re more than fine. You’re okay now. I’ve got you.” She kept murmuring in the monotone voice she knew calmed Miranda’s frayed nerves. That, together with slow, circular caresses along Miranda’s back, stilled the rocking motion, and eventually she curled up almost on Deanna’s lap. Her sister’s fresh scent of soap and mint toothpaste was familiar, and Deanna focused on that fact to keep any angry thoughts from showing. “There, you see. You’re doing fine.”
    The young man working nights at Miranda’s dorm had apologized profusely for disturbing Deanna in the middle of the night. Afraid that something serious had happened, Deanna had begun to dress with one hand while she was still on the phone. The night staff member told her that Miranda had been upset ever since her surprise visitors left earlier in the evening.
    “What surprise visitors? Why the hell didn’t you call me right away?” Deanna asked as she struggled into her jeans. “You know I’m only twenty minutes away.”
    “We thought we were handling it, Ms. Moore. Miranda looked calmer just before bedtime. But when she woke from some nightmare or something, we couldn’t reach her. She won’t let us near her, and I don’t want to have the nurse on call medicate her if we can avoid it.”
    “No, you’re right. Don’t give her anything. I’m on my way out the door as we speak. Tell her Dee’s coming.” Deanna drove as fast as she could through the empty streets of Grantville, her mind whirling with questions. Sometimes her mother decided to spring a surprise visit on Miranda, and this time she might have had her husband and any or both of his brats with her. Usually Miranda tolerated her stepfather fairly well, but the two teenyboppers were too much for her. If Deanna had been on speaking terms with her mother, she would have demanded that the superficial little horrors be banned from visiting, as well as making any surprise visits. As things were, the only communication between her and her mother was the notes they both made in the binder in Miranda’s room. Staff and next of kin communicated via the binder when it wasn’t possible to have a face-to-face meeting. It also functioned as a diary of Miranda’s progress.
    They were well into their twelfth binder after nine years now.
    “Dee?” Miranda pulled back. “Read.”
    “What, honey? You want me to read to you?”
    “Read.” Miranda removed a book from the shelf and placed it between them. She never gave anything directly to anyone, but it was still clear what she wanted.
    “Which one is this?” Deanna examined the book. “Aha. One of our favorites. Charlotte’s Web