Free September Canvas by Gun Brooke Page B

day, written in dynamic letters, and Deanna’s trained eye immediately detected that Irene had pressed the pen hard against the paper, a sign of her displeasure.
    Miranda’s mother and stepfather visited and brought Miranda’s stepsisters. 
I tried to advise against it, since it has yet to benefit Miranda to be around children her own age, especially if they show very little concern or appreciation toward her. Angela Moore Bodell insisted that it is in Miranda’s best interest to learn to interact with her entire family, and when I tried to suggest that it might be too much for her to meet both girls at the same time, Mr. Bodell interfered, clearly feeling I had criticized his daughters, which was never my intention. It didn’t take the Bodell teenagers long to make Miranda mute and fidgety. She eventually started rocking and tugging at her eyelashes, a familiar sign that she’s  under significant stress. Luckily, the Bodell family left before things escalated, but I had to remain isolated with Miranda in her room for an hour, brushing and braiding her hair over and over to calm her. I’ve seen her sister Deanna do this on several occasions, and it seemed to work after a while. Miranda is still not talking now when my shift is over, which is never a good sign.
    Irene Costa
    Deanna set her jaw and gripped the pen hard in turn. She had to force herself to not use the harsh language and profanities that first came to mind as she wrote.
    I received an emergency phone call from Tremayne’s tonight, when they risked having to sedate Miranda if I couldn’t manage to calm her down. I held her and later read to her, and it is obvious to me that our mother’s selfish way of thinking, and her husband’s all-too-great faith in the benevolence of his daughters, caused Miranda to regress into old behavior when subjected to stress. If our mother can’t see this and keeps acting in ways that are not in Miranda’s best interests, I’m afraid that Miranda will suffer further setbacks that will ultimately become obstacles she can’t overcome. This type of spur-of-the-moment visit cannot be allowed to occur again.
    Deanna Moore
    Deanna replaced the binder on a shelf and tiptoed out of Miranda’s room, leaving the door slightly ajar and the nightlight on, as always.
    She walked up to the day room where the two young men who had the night shift were watching TV with the sound barely audible.
    “Hi, guys. She’s calmed down and gone to sleep now.” Deanna put her jacket on. “Can you make sure Irene Costa knows about what happened tonight?”
    “Absolutely, ma’am. She’s working the day shift tomorrow, so she’ll get the report right away.”
    “Excellent. Well, don’t hesitate to call me if Miranda has another setback. Good night.” Deanna nodded briskly and walked down the corridor. The night air cooled her temper somewhat, but now she had room for other, more confused feelings—about Faythe. Their morning together, paddling the canoe, and the way Faythe managed to coax words out of her that Deanna never thought she would utter. The entire experience flooded her senses as she drove back to her cabin. They had almost alienated each other.
    At one point, Deanna felt so cornered she lashed out, wanting to distance herself from Faythe, to go back to the status quo where she felt safe. She hadn’t counted on Faythe’s innate ability to bypass her apprehensions. Why did her smile make Deanna forget everything about her resolve— about my need for self-preservation —and go completely mushy?
    The empty streets did little to distract Deanna as she drove through Grantville. The way Faythe hugged her when they said good-bye after their picnic preyed on her mind. Meant only as a hug between friends, it had been like pouring water on a withering plant. Afterward, in her panic, Deanna pulled back quickly, since she knew in her heart that such touches would endanger her peace of mind.
    The sweetness of the memory overshadowed