Too Far Under by Lynn Osterkamp Page B

were racing. She was persuasive, but she was also ten
years old. And the police hadn’t thought her mother was murdered.
And in the clear light of day this situation looked like trouble.
Even though my gut was telling me to do what they wanted, my head
and my sensible friends were warning me to stay away—especially
from Lacey, who anyone would agree was a loose cannon. Some of my
most difficult clients have been people like her, who thrived on
drama.
    Finally I said, “I’d like to help you, but
I’m not sure the Contact Project is right for this situation. It’s
about resolving grief, not solving murders. Also, like I told you
the other day, I can’t do private work with one of my
students.”
    Lacey flew out of her chair and began pacing
the room, waving her arms. “I can’t stand any more of this,” she
screeched. “You don’t want to help us. If you did, you would. We
have nowhere else to turn. My dad and Judith think we’re crazy.
They don’t believe Angelica is an Indigo child—they don’t even
believe there is such a thing as Indigo children. Instead of
respecting Angelica as a highly evolved spiritual being, they
accuse her of being fanciful and not knowing the difference between
what’s real and what she makes up.” Lacey was standing right in
front of me by then and I felt like covering my ears to mute her
yelling.
    Instead, I stood up and faced her. “Enough,
Lacey,” I said, managing to keep my voice calm. “You’re not going
to bully me into helping you. So please sit down.”
    Lacey deflated as quickly as she had blown
up. “Sorry,” she mumbled, heading back to the couch. She sat down,
scooted closer to Angelica, and gave her a big hug. Then she turned
to me, tears streaming down her face, hands clasping and unclasping
rapidly. “I told you that we had another sister Kari who died two
years ago of anorexia. That almost killed Mom, but she finally
managed to get through it. No thanks to Dad and his girlfriend,
Judith. Then just when Mom was getting her life back together,
someone drowned her. It’s so unfair. All we want is justice for
her.”
    Angelica remained calm, quietly stroking
Lacey’s arm. “I feel what you’re feeling, Lacey,” she said. “But I
know in my heart we will find out what happened to Mom.” Angelica
seemed surprisingly centered and calm, especially for a
ten-year-old who had recently lost both a sister and her mother.
The more extreme Lacey was, the calmer Angelica became. I worried
that she was comforting Lacey instead of the other way around.
Apparently this was their typical behavior pattern.
    Lacey’s genuine expression of grief spoke to
the therapist in me. Yes she was difficult, but she was hurting and
at some level I wanted to help her. Then I mentally flashed on the
girl I had seen in the mirror at The Stanley. Was she the dead
sister Kari?
    I continued to watch Angelica. Despite her
calm demeanor, I noticed three tiny tears trickling down her cheek.
She said nothing, nor did she move her hand from Lacey’s arm to
wipe the tears away. I felt tears welling up in my own eyes. I
could make myself stand firm against Lacey’s histrionics but this
little girl reached deep into my heart. Only ten years old and
she’d already lost two of the most important people in her life.
And the others weren’t doing much to help. Her father was more
interested in his mistress than his daughter. And her older sister
went off the deep end every other minute.
    It looked like Tyler was right about Angelica
being out there alone and needing my help. How could I walk away
from this child?
    “Yes,” I heard myself saying, “I’ll do what I
can to help you contact your mother. But Lacey, you’ll have to drop
my class. You’ll also have to restrain yourself when we’re working
together. The contact process requires focus. Also, you both need
to know that the contact process doesn’t always work and sometimes
you reach someone other than the person you’re trying