"Please stop talking! I read books, okay? I know . . . everything I need to know."
I could imagine. "The Eighteenth Century Guide to What Every Young Girl Should Know." I hoped it was at least in English. I patted her hand and let her off the hook, changing the subject back to the trivial. I couldn't help but wonder how much Cicero had to say about puberty, in Latin no less.
As we were leaving, I suggested she buy a get well card for Mrs. Doberchek. She put me off but I pressed her, concerned at her hesitancy.
"She doesn't like me and I don't like her. I told you that. She'd think I was being a wiseacre."
Another term unused since Queen Victoria had her period. "You should tell your father your feelings."
"What? That I hate Mrs. Doberchek? No way! Don't you tell him either!"
"Why? This is something I think should be discussed with him."
"Don't tell! He thinks I think she's a saint but she's the opposite."
It was after two o'clock before we started for Karen's Newton home. It was a good thing the vehicle had a tracking device because neither of us knew the way. On route, I broached the subject that had bothered throughout the day.
"What else don't you want me to tell your father?"
She bit her lip. "That we stayed together."
"Why is that a problem?"
"Because he'll think I was scared to be alone."
"It was natural to want to be with someone else. You had a very traumatic time. Your brother was seriously hurt. Mrs. Doberchek collapsed in front of you. You're a young girl who has every right to be anxious. You had a terrible night mare."
"Don't tell him I have bad dreams either!"
"Do you have them often?"
"You don't understand. Leave it alone, please." She added, "It's none of your business."
I disregarded the rebuke. "There are lots of things about your life I don't understand but I do know you've done nothing wrong and there's no reason for you to be ashamed. Your father is a very understanding man."
"He thinks I'm brave and I can't disappoint him. He needs me."
"He doesn't need his daughter lying to him. Nothing good can come of that."
"Everyone lies."
"No, they don't!"
"Adults lie."
"I don't. Why do you do it?"
"I tell him what he wants to hear. Please don't tell him I stayed in your room or I hate Mrs. Doberchek or sometimes I have bad dreams."
"What happens if Thatcher asks him about his wanting you to babysit me today? That was a flat-out lie for no reason. Lies have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass."