said, after awhile. "It's not true, it can't be."

Dr. Gower shrugged. "I'm sorry, Abby, it is. It's not Linda you're worried about, it's yourself; you're afraid to face reality."

"Get out," Abby said slowly, hating him for that. Her voice rose the least bit. "I won't listen to these lies."

"I thought it might help. Say goodbye to Linda for me." The door closed behind him with a click.

Abby stared at the closed door, a small portion of her was calm, the rest chaotic. The calm portion wondered why she should be so disturbed by something so obviously impossible. All these years she'd been wrong about Dr. Gower, trusting him as a friend. For what he said was untrue, of course. It had to be. And yet why couldn't she remember things? It was only eighteen years ago and important things had happened in that year, but somehow her memory bypassed their happening. It was like reading a book with several pages blank; you knew from later pages what had happened, but the actual experience of the events was lost. Could it be—the thought came despite her—could it be that she'd had amnesia, that Dr. Gower had really told her the truth, that someone had actually—

"No. He was lying," she told the room.

"He never lied before," Linda said quietly from the doorway.

"You—heard?"

Linda nodded.

Abby tried to smile. "I'm afraid, dear, that Dr. Gower is like all men. When he couldn't have what he wanted—" her face clouded at the thought—"he tried to shock me, to hurt me, to make me ashamed...."

"Would it make you ashamed to have me for a daughter?"

Abby's heart beat quickly. "Of course not, Linda. But the circumstances—"

"I see," Linda said slowly. "They have a name for children like me; that's what you're ashamed of. Or maybe, as Dr. Gower said, you're afraid for yourself!"

"But it's not true, Linda, don't you see?" Abby insisted.

She put her arm on the girl's shoulder. Linda shook it off; tears welling in her eyes.

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