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their heads.
    â€œVroom! Vroom!” They zoom around the living room like a pair of Tasmanian devils, then tear down the hall.
    Beth-Ann grins. “Billy and Bobby are here!” she says, her eyes dancing. How wonderful. “Hey, wait for me!”
    This is all I need. Billy and Bobby are wild animals, always running and fighting. Each time they come over they head straight for my bedroom and pull it apart. Nobody seems to care about this, only me. And it’s only me that ever cleans up the mess they leave behind. Well, if they destroy my room again today, I really think I’m going to lose my mind.
    I push through the kitchen door where Aunt Kay sits at the table, nursing a cup of tea.
    â€œHi, Maureen. You girls home already? I didn’t even hear you come in.”
    Probably because your boys are making such a racket. “Hi, Aunt Kay. How’s Mom? Is she in her bedroom?” Then I remember about ballet and plunge ahead, not waiting for answers to my questions. “Oh, Aunt Kay, are you going to be here awhile? I have ballet this afternoon and if I miss it again, I won’t know the routines for the recital next month. Debbie said her mom could pick me up, so you wouldn’t even need to drive me.” I pull a box of chocolate chip cookies from the cupboard and plunk down at the table next to her.
    â€œOf course, your ballet lessons. We seem to have forgotten about that, haven’t we? No, you go on to ballet.” She nods her head slowly, like she’s thinking it through. “What I’ll probably do is bring Beth-Ann back to our house and have your father pick her up there. You shouldn’t have to miss class again today; you’ve missed enough already.”
    â€œOh that’s excellent, thanks a million!” I smile and jump up. That was easy! “I’ll call Debbie right away.”
    She catches my arm. “Maureen, before you do, just sit down for a second. There’s something we need to talk about.”
    My throat tightens. What now? I sit down slowly and eye Aunt Kay. “It’s Mom, isn’t it?”
    â€œYes honey, it is. I don’t need to tell you that your mom’s not getting any better; in fact she’s probably getting worse. Dr. Sullivan feels she should see a specialist, someone trained to deal with these sorts of problems. So after lunch your dad came home from work and took your mother to see a psychiatrist.”
    A psychiatrist? I feel like I’ve been struck with a bat. “But Aunt Kay, psychiatrists are for crazy people. Mom’s not crazy—she’s just feeling sad ’cause Gran died.”
    â€œThat’s true, she’s not crazy. But she’s very, very sad. So sad, she can’t cope with anything. You know, Maureen, your mother’s always been a little high-strung. But nothing like this has ever happened before. She just can’t seem to snap out of it. To be honest, your father and I are at our wits’ end.”
    â€œBut Aunt Kay, I don’t understand. Mom looks fine. It’s not like she’s got a fever or a disease or something. Why can’t she just get up and get going like the rest of us and start doing the things she used to do?”
    â€œIt’s funny, your father said the exact same thing this morning. I can’t pretend to have any answers, because I don’t understand it either. All I know is that your mother desperately wants to get herself dressed and make dinner and do all her everyday things again, but for some reason she can’t. So that’s why she’s seeing a psychiatrist.”
    I slump back on the kitchen chair, turn my head away. The sunlight pouring through the kitchen window picks out the grime on the glass. It looks dirty and neglected. Why hasn’t somebody cleaned it already? I bite my lip hard as tears burn behind my eyes. “What will everyone say?” I whisper, my voice cracking.
    â€œNo one needs to