© 2007

VOICES.

Megan could feel the muscles of her stomach knot and she tried to block the fear. Don't let Mama know. She had been so happy and relaxed this afternoon. She didn't need Megan spoiling it for her.

"Why so quiet?" Her mother started packing up the picnic basket. "What are you thinking about?"

Voices.

Megan searched wildly for an answer. "I was just wishing that Neal could have come along. Did you invite him?"

"Heck, no. I wanted a mother-daughter time together. Neal tends to dominate the scene when he's around." She smiled teasingly. "He gets all your attention. Not that I blame you. The first time I saw him he reminded me of the portrait of a Renaissance prince I saw once in a museum in Florence. Very elegant and slightly intimidating."

Close out the voices. Lord, how she wished she could make them go away. "There's nothing intimidating about Neal. How can you say that?"

"Hey, I'm not attacking him. It's just an idle comparison."

Voices.

What had they been talking about? Megan wondered. Concentrate. That's right, Neal. "I like having Neal around. He's fun."

"When he wants to be. Though I'm glad that you like him. I do too. He's been a good friend to me." Her smile faded as she studied Megan. "You're not listening. What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing."

"Megan."

"Voices," Megan whispered. "I don't like it here, Mama. I hear the voices."

"Nonsense." Her mother quickly looked away from her. "I've told you that's your imagination." She tossed the plastic cups back in the basket. "And there's no reason for you not to like it here." She knelt back on her heels and gazed at the setting sun casting its red-gold glow on the waters of the quarry below them. "It's beautiful. We've had picnics up here on the hill a dozen times and you never mentioned those silly voices. Have you heard them on this spot before?"