Run Ch. 02

"You're sick!" Gail interrupted.

"That doesn't matter," Pat whispered. "You don't know my . . . you don't know Mr. Baker."

Gail felt a chill. What was going on in that house? "Surely your dad wouldn't mind you taking a break because of your headaches."

"He doesn't know about them," Pat confessed.

"What?! You have to . . ."

"I can't tell him. And neither can you," Pat almost hissed, then got herself under control. "He can't know."

"Does your mom know? Or Buddy or Tobias?"

"No. Please don't say anything," Pat said. "I'll live. It's just a headache," she reiterated, still trying to convince Gail as well as herself. Pat felt the medicine kick in, and her face became noticeably calmer. "Better," she said. She looked Gail in the eyes. "Thank you," she said.

Gail began to wonder what else was going on in this pretty girl's mind, and if she even had anyone else she could talk to. "Anytime," she replied.

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A few hours later . . .

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"So what happened in the bathroom?" Keith asked after they had dropped Pat off. By the time the two girls had returned, Pat had been in control again. Only Gail had any idea of the girl's true state.

"We just had a talk. I . . . I can't tell you everything. She made me promise not to, and I want her to trust me."

"Is it bad?" Todd asked.

"Yeah, I think it is. We need to get Tobias . . . or maybe this uncle of hers . . . to talk. Someone's got to know what's going on in her head."

"She's still talking to Dr. Martin at school. Think there might be some kind of record in there?"

"We can't," Gail replied. "We can't violate her trust. Just be nice to her and treat her with respect. She'll open up to use eventually. I know it," she said. She really hoped that wound up being true.

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Back at Pat's house . . .

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Buddy walked down the stairs, decked out in his favorite pajamas and wanting a glass of water. He shuffled towards the kitchen. Strangely, Tobias was awake and in the main house rather than his own quarters out back. He was peeking through a crack in the kitchen door. Tobias held a finger to his lips, and Buddy knew to be silent. He may have only had the intellectual development of a ten-year old, but he saw and understood more than many people thought.

At a glance, he saw his sister standing at the kitchen island, bags of ice on her hands and a wet cloth draped over her head.

Tobias shook his head. He had heard her hitting the heavy bag in her room as soon as she got back from her outing. He thought she was simply engaged in her obsession of trying to make her father happy, but when he had heard and seen her come into the kitchen, he knew it was worse. He had found the headache medication in her room once, though he had never told her. And he guessed that she sometimes worked out and trained until her whole body hurt, hoping it would dull the pain of her migraines. Even now, she was icing everything and meditating, convincing her body that the pain was an illusion. It was a remarkable and, in Tobias's opinion, often self-destructive ability of mind over matter. She didn't eat as much as she should, she certainly didn't get enough sleep, and she expected more out of herself than anyone had any right to ask.

But no matter what Tobias or Buddy did, she just kept pushing. Every morning, she woke up and exercised and trained before school. She went to school, went to Buddy's running practice, came home and did homework, then worked out and trained some more. Her father didn't notice that she was working herself to the bone, and her mother didn't much care. She loved her son, but despised her daughter for being her father's obvious favorite. 'As if that were her fault,' Tobias thought, shaking his head.

Tobias and Buddy wanted to comfort her, but knew she would react defensively. She was a warrior in an old and true sense. She would endure her pain . . . isolated and silent. She would wake up the next day and do it all again. Tobias only prayed that these new friends might be her salvation.

Buddy sighed and shuffled into the room as Tobias made himself scarce. His sister looked up and, as her brother wrapped an arm over her shoulder, she did what she always did. She put on her brave face before her brother and forced herself to smile.

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To be continued . . .