"Patrick, don't! Stop!" I screamed.
He continued bouncing. If he fell and struck his head or neck, he'd kill himself.
I rushed around the corner of the pool and climbed up on the board. The sun glared off the ice below, nearly blinding me as I made my way along the board. Patrick kept jumping, swinging his arms to propel himself higher, landing precariously on the edge. I felt seasick, the flexing board dropping and rising beneath my feet.
I had to think fast. If I caught him from behind, he might lose his balance and throw mine as well. But calling his name drew no response. As soon as I reached him I sat down on the board, straddling it, for the lower my position, the easier it would be to stay on the board. I reached up and grabbed him by the waist. Pain shot through my injured shoulder as I jerked him back against me. "Patrick! Don't fight me."
He pulled forward to get away from me. I yanked him back. "Be still!"
At last he stopped resisting.
The easiest way to get back to the pool's deck was to crawl, but I wasn't about to let go of him and tell him to follow. Who knew what instructions he heard besides mine?
"Don't fight me," I warned, then slid back on the rough surface of the board, pulling him with me. I continued to slide back and pull him toward me, slowly making our way to the pool deck. As soon as my feet touched the cement, I climbed off the diving board, then struggled to remove Patrick. On solid ground again, he wrenched away from me.
"You can't hurt me!" he said.
"Hurt you? What are you talking about?"
He turned his back to me, hunching his shoulders. "You can't hurt me."
"Patrick, you know that I won't. What is going on with you?"
"November hates you," he said.
"I'm not fond of November, either, after what happened last night."
Patrick turned his head to look questioningly at the cat. "Why? What did he do?"
"He came in the house, don't you remember? He wouldn't leave your room. I was going downstairs to get some bait, when I fell and hurt my shoulder."
Patrick turned all the way around to face me. He eyed my shoulder. "Does it hurt a lot?"
"No." I studied him, perplexed, trying to read the expression in his eyes. "We talked about it already this morning, remember?"
He bit his lip and nodded, but I wasn't sure that he did.
"Patrick, you could have killed yourself falling off the diving board. Why did you do that?" I had to ask, though I knew before he answered what he would say.
"You'll get mad," he replied. "You won't believe me."
"Because Ashley dared you?"
He nodded.
Twelve years ago, as in my dream the other night, she had dared me to do the same thing-to jump up and down at the end of the board, to entertain her with a stupid, risky game.
"I do believe you."
I believed in and feared something at Mason's Choice that was as dangerous as the people currently living here-a mind and force that I had never known how to handle: angry, vindictive, careless Ashley.
What did Ashley want, I wondered, as Patrick and I ate lunch. Justice? The company and friendship of another child? Friendship that would ultimately mean death?
Patrick was quiet during the meal, not like a child enjoying a school holiday, nothing like the little boy who had danced in the falling snow the night before. I feared that Ashley was changing him, and I didn't know how to stop her. Though Adrian would listen, he wouldn't believe me if I told him Patrick was haunted. I could tell him that I had found Patrick playing on the diving board, omitting my own experience with Ashley and fears about what was happening, but that wouldn't keep Patrick safe from her.
And it might backfire. I sensed that Emily was turning against me, jealous when Adrian supported me, upset when Patrick wanted to be with me. She could charge me with incompetence for letting her son wander off to the pool alone. If she had me dismissed, Patrick would have no one to watch over him.
I set down my half-eaten sandwich. At the same time, Patrick pushed back his plate. "I'm not hungry."
I immediately picked up my roll again and took a hearty bite. "Try just a little more. You want to have energy to play in the snow."
He didn't respond.
"Do you want to play outside after lunch?" "I guess."
"We can make a snowman. How about a snow fort?"
He shrugged. "Okay."
The Eastern Shore was mostly flat, and there were no hills on Mason's Choice for sledding. The drop of land down to the bay was too steep. "Do you know of a place around here where children like to sled?"
"No. That's okay."
I took a long sip of tea and made up my mind. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere. I want to see three more bites out of that roll."
I didn't want to make the phone call in front of Patrick and build up his hopes only to crush them. Standing close to a window in the dining room, hoping I'd hear or see him if he decided to slip out the kitchen door, I pulled out my cellular and punched in Sam's number, the one Elaine had given me.
Someone picked up at the other end.
"Hi," I said after a moment of silence.
"Hi, Kate," he replied.
"How did you know it was me?"
"The way you said hi, as if you weren't sure you wanted to, as if you might hang up."
Was I that obvious? "You have Caller ID," I guessed.
"That too. What's up?"
I issued an invitation to play in the snow. "Patrick would love to see you," I added. Realizing that I was pacing nervously, I made myself stop.
"Can't do it."
"Not at all? Not even for a half hour? Twenty minutes?"
"Would you love to see me?" he asked.
"Uh,"-he had caught me off guard-"yes, I'd like it, of course."
"Okay, then. I don't want to hang out with two people when one of them doesn't want me there."
"I didn't realize your ego was that sensitive," I said.
"Neither did I," he replied with a sigh.
"So… we'll see you in a bit. Do you know how to get here?"
"I can find the gates."
"They open automatically. Come straight up the road to the house."
"By the way, I have to leave by three o'clock," Sam said. "Even though school is canceled, we have hockey practice."
"Lovely. I mean, it's lovely that you're coming, not that you have to leave at three o'clock."
He laughed and I signed off quickly, wishing I could stop the burn in my cheeks. At least we'd be out in the cold where my cheeks always got pink-and my ears looked like roses stuck on either side of my head, I remembered.
When I told Patrick the news, he perked up. We found Emily in her sitting room, working on sketches for an art course she was taking, and received official permission for Sam to visit. Twenty minutes later, as Patrick and I headed to the kitchen to pull on our boots, we passed Brook in the hall.
"Anybody you know drive an old heap?" Brook asked. "One just pulled up in front of the house."
Patrick ran to the front window. "He's here!" he cried, as if Father Christmas had just arrived.
Mrs. Hopewell called down sternly from the top of the stairs: "There is company, and I wasn't informed."
"She has a boxful of eyeballs," Brook whispered to me. "She puts one in each window of the house."
1 walked to the foot of the stairs and spoke loud enough for both him and Mrs. Hopewell to hear. "The guest is a friend of Patrick and mine. We had permission to invite him." There was no need to say permission from whom or that we secured it after I issued the invitation.
Patrick yanked open the front door. "Hey, Sam!"
"Hey, buddy. How are you?"
"Good! Come in. I'll be right back. I have to get something upstairs."