me so.

And I remember

from the pictures.

Sure,

I say now.

I can’t look him in the eye.

Yeah, sure

I feel safe with

her.

That afternoon,

all the long way home with Momma,

I notice something about

me.

I watch her

side-eyed.

And when she lights

up a cigarette,

I flinch.

91.

I’ve been sitting

in Dr. Marino’s office

for nearly fifteen minutes

and neither one of us has

said much of anything.

He’s asked me

again

to think what has scared

Lizzie so much

she wants to

die.

I’m trying to think

what I should say.

I come up with a dream.

Not the alien one.

This one’s different.

Maybe things were

haunted at our place,

I say.

I’m not sure why I say this.

I don’t believe that one bit.

All the crying Liz did

would scare away the

worst ghoul.

Haunted?

Dr. Marino says.

I tip my head, thinking.

The crying,

I say.

What crying?

He knows about Lizzie’s crying

all night

but this one is different.

This one

is dreams.

I heard it at night

at the other place,

I say.

This soft stuff.

Like a kitten or something.

But the kittens, I know,

are all gone now. Not one

left.

Dr. Marino takes off his

glasses and wipes at the

greasy spots on his nose.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight.

Tell me,

he says.

It happened a lot

right before school

got out,

I say.

These crying dreams I had.

I thought it was something

outside, but it must be in

my head.

And it didn’t

happen all the time.

Only once in a while,

when I slept alone.

When Liz slept with Momma.

Dr. Marino says nothing.

He does nothing.

I asked Momma,

I say,

and she said it was me dreaming.

She said she was trying to

keep Liz quiet

at least once in a while

by having her in her bed.

In your mother’s bed?

Dr. Marino says.

His glasses are back on now,

and his face has changed,

like he’s onto something

like a little bulb

small as a night-light bulb,

has gone on behind the skin

of his face.

And what do you think?

he says,

like I might really know.

That Momma’s right,

I say, shrugging.

It was me dreaming.

Hasn’t happened,

not even one time,

in the trailer.

(Neither has Lizzie’s crying with me.)

All at once I’m caught

off guard with

the feeling that washes

over me

during this crying dream

and what I have

just said.

It’s cold, this feeling,

and prickly

and the hair

on back of my neck

stands up straight.

My ankle joints

freeze.

We’re both quiet

for a long moment

and then Dr. Marino says,

You say the dreams have

stopped now that Elizabeth

is gone?

I would nod,

but my neck feels stuck

in place.

92.

I have it.

Went and got it.

Brought it back.

Even though

Momma isn’t home I

stick that old diary

under my shirt and