Willow (33 page)

"My poor mother," I said.
Thatcher put his arm around me and gave me a squeeze.
We returned to our seats to wait for her. About half an hour later, she came back to tell us basically what we already knew: they were preparing Linden for surgery. We moved to another waiting area. and Thatcher went to get us some coffee. The doctors warned us it could be hours.
I
sat beside my mother and tried to comfort her.
"I handled this very badly," she moaned. "I should have realized that someday it would all come home. Let this be a lesson to you. Willow. Secrets don't stay buried. They might hibernate like bears, but when their time comes, they'll appear again, and all you have done is delay the inevitable. A pain held off just builds and builds until it comes charging back at you, more furiously than before."
"It's wrong to blame yourself."
I
told her.
"Whom should I blame, you? For wanting to meet and know your real mother? Or your father, for loving me so? Maybe Linden is right to think fate toys with us sometimes." she said dejectedly. "Poor Linden, lost in a maze now, twirling about. Inside himself, he must be so terrified, so alone."
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"He'll be fine. You'll see, He'll be fine. We'll work it all out," I assured her.
She smiled at me. "You don't know how much vou looked like your father just then. It threw me back years."
"I'm glad," I said "I often think of him being with me, especially when I need him the most."
She stroked my hair and smiled through her tears.
Thatcher appeared with our coffee, and we settled down for the wait.
Hours later, as predicted. Dr. Thornbera appeared.
"The operation went well," he said.
"Will there be any aftereffects?" my mother asked quickly. The doctor and Thatcher exchanged glances.
"We'll see," Dr. Thoraberg said
noncommittally.
My mother nodded slowly. "Yes," she whispered. "We'll see,"
They let her see Linden, even though he was still under sedation. I stood in the doorway and watched her kiss him and whisper in his ear, and then
I
put my arm around her shoulders, and we left the hospital.
It was already morning. The sun was pressing back the blanket of darkness, and the stars were beginning their daily retreat. The estate was strangely still, the party decorations, the lights, the tables and chairs and dance floor not yet removed, streamers and deflated balloons drifting in the morning breeze.
"We all need some sleep." Thatcher said. He smiled at me. "I feel like my parents must feel coming home from one of their very late affairs. We'll all get up together. I'm sure."
"I'll just run up and get my things," I told him. "I won't leave her alone now."
He nodded. "I'll be by later. Call me if you need anything, Grace." he told her.
She thanked him, and he and
I
went up to the main house,
"I'm sorry about my mother, the things she said before," he told
"That's the least of my worries now, Thatcher."
"Right," he said.
I
went for my things, and we parted.
When I returned to the beach house, my mother showed me what she considered the most comfortable guest room, and then we kissed and hugged, and she went to her own bedroom. I thought I would drop into a dead sleep the moment my head hit the pillow, but I lay there with my eyes open, wondering how all this had happened so quickly and what
I
was to do next. A voice within urged me to rest and let the events to come show their faces in due time.
You can't deal with any of it now, anyway, Willow,
I heard a voice that sounded so much like my father's tell me.
Put your thoughts on pause control.
Don't worry.
Everything fortunate and unfortunate will be there to greet you
when you awaken.
You can count on that,
.
I felt the presence of someone and opened my eyes. My mother was standing in the doorway. her hands clasped against her breasts. She was already dressed.
"What is it?"
I
asked, sitting up quickly.
"I woke up. I thought I heard Linden calling for me. so I phoned the hospital, and they told me he was awake. but he was still very disoriented and confused. He must be very frightened.
I
have to go to him." she said.
"I'll be up and ready in ten minutes."
"I could just call for a taxi. You've hardly had any sleep," she said.
Indeed, only four hours had gone by.
"I'm fine. I couldn't sleep, anyway."
"I'll make some coffee so we can have that, at least," she said, and went off while
I
threw cold water on my face, ran a brush through my hair, and put on my clothes.
She had the coffee waiting for me.
"I just made us some toast." she said.
"I
thought we should have something in our stomachs."
I
nibbled on a piece with some jelly and swallowed some coffee. A few minutes later, she and I got into my car and drove out of the estate.
Linden was still critical. of course. and they wanted only one of us to go in. I sat and waited. getting myself some more coffee from the coffee machine. She was in the intensive care unit only a little more than twenty minutes before she emerged looking very distraught.
"How is he?"
I
asked immediately.
She shook her head. "He didn't seem to recognize me. There was nothing in his eyes to indicate he had. One of the nurses said he mumbled something very strange."
"What?"
"He wanted to know why there were so many skeletons walking about, including her. It's as if he thinks he's in one of his own paintings or something."
"Don't think anything terrible about this. Mother. He's just out of surgery. Wait until you get a chance to speak with the doctor."
She nodded, suddenly looking terribly exhausted and weak. "We should go home, and you should try to get some real rest." "I'll rest here," she said. "You go back."
"No, I won't leave you like this."
She smiled, "We're still practically strangers to each other. Willow, and yet you've already been kinder to me than people I've known my whole life."
"Get used to it," I said, and she widened her smile to a small laugh.
I did talk her into going to the hospital cafeteria for some hot food, which restored both of us somewhat. When we returned to the ICU, the doctor was there. He stepped out to speak with us.
"If S too early to tell the extent of it." he began, "but your son will be experiencing some posttraumatic stress in reaction to his accident. I'm not going to stand here and give you a laundry list of everything that might occur. Suffice it to say," he added with a tone of supreme authority. that there will be some effects, and he will probably need some therapy. In the final analysis, it might be nothing much. really"
"Or it might." my mother said.
"Or it might be more extensive. yes. Let's get him functioning again and take it all a step at a time. Mrs. Montgomery."
He glanced at me. "I'm his sister," I said.
"Well, that's nice. He has support. He's going to be fine eventually. That's the important thing."
He smiled quickly and started away.
"Thank you. Doctor," I called after him. He just lifted his hand and continued.
"I don't know if I could ever be someone who treats people's troubles as day-to-day work," my mother muttered. "I told that to your father once. too."
"What did he say?"
"The secret is not treating it like day-to-day work. The secret is treating every cure as if it was a miracle in which you were lucky enough to have played a role. There aren't many like him, though." she added with a deep sigh.
She went back in to spend time with Linden. and
I
collapsed on the settee in the waiting room, closing my eyes and getting myself some rest. I woke up when I felt someone nudging me and looked up to see Thatcher standing there.
"I thought you two might be here. after
I
saw your car was gone. How is he?"
I
told him what the doctor had said.
"At least he's being honest. The rest, as Shakespeare says, is in the womb of time."
"Aren't we all?" I muttered.
I
was tired and cranky and disgusted with everything.
I
had a sudden urge to go home. I longed to be in my own home, walking my own grounds, feeling closer to my father.
I
suddenly remembered that
I
had called and Miles had not answered,
"I've got to make a phone call."
I
told Thatcher, and he handed me his cell phone.
I'll get myself some coffee," he said.
I
called and waited as it rang and rang and rang. Now I was convinced something was not right, so I sifted hurriedly through my purse until
I
found Mr. Bassinger's phone number. Thatcher returned while
I
was calling Bassinger's office. His secretary put me right through.
"Willow, I've been waiting to hear from you," he said immediately.
"Did you call me?"
"Yesterday, midafternoon, Didn't you get the message?"
"No," I said, looking up at Thatcher, "What's happening. Mr. Bassinger?"
"I'm afraid its not good news. Miles is gone." "Gone? You mean he left the property?"
"No. He's passed away, Willow. Apparently, your aunt Agnes had someone look in on the house regularly. Fortunately, I should say. He wasn't dead long, not quite a day. I got there just after the police and the ambulance had arrived. He was found in your father's office, clutching a pile of blank paper, his eyes open wide like someone who's died of shock. It was confirmed as heart failure. Ironic how they both went the same way, but in Miles's case, it isn't so hard to understand, considering his life and all he's gone through, that is.
"I
have people in the house, cleaning it up. There were prospective buyers set to visit it yesterday, but we had to put that off, and now we have to disclose Miles's death. Where are you? What are your plans?"
"I'm staying someplace else for now," I told him, and gave him my mother's phone number, "I'm not sure how long, but I'll call you very soon. What about Miles's funeral?"
"Your father had all those things prearranged. We'll do it day after tomorrow.
I
expect they'll release the body today. Sorry about all this happening, all this bad news on top of bad news."
You have no idea, I thought.
"My father's death broke his heart. My father was his only friend.
I
should have realized," I said.
"You can't save the world. Willow. You have an obligation now to take good care of yourself and fulfill your and your father's dreams. Stay in touch, and call me if you need anything, anything at all," he said.
I thanked him and ended the call.
Thatcher took one look at my face and knew it wasn't good. "What?" he asked. and I told him about Miles,
"Why did he die clutching blank paper?" he wondered.
"I think he saw something on it that no one else could see. That doesn't mean it wasn't there." I added.
"Huh? I don't understand."
"Me, neither," I said, and rose to greet my mother.
"He's resting comfortably, but he is still disoriented. Nothing he says at the moment makes much sense, I'm afraid. It's going to be a long journey back," she added with a deep sigh.
"Then you had better take good care of yourself. Grace Thatcher said. "You'd better get some real rest and be strong:"
"Yes. Yes, that's sensible advice." She looked at me. "For you, too."
"I have to leave for a while. Mother," I said. "I have to go home." I had already told her about Miles and described how close he and my father had been.
"Miles?"
I
nodded. "He's passed away."
"Oh. I'm sorry, You have too much to carry on those young, fragile shoulders. Willow. You go home and straighten out your legal matters and everything. You should return to college, too. I'm sure your father would not approve of your throwing it all aside," she said.
"I'm not. but..."
"I'm not going anywhere, and from the looks of things, neither is Linden. It would only make me feel more miserable to know you were sacrificing so much because of me."
"I'm not doing anything I don't want to do,"
I
said.
She smiled. "I know, but that doesn't mean it's good for you or right. Pretend your father is sitting there listening to us," she said, nodding at an empty chair. "What do you think he would tell you to do? Listen to that voice," she advised softly, "that voice inside you."
I
took a deep breath and looked at Thatcher. He stared at me a moment, and then he looked away.
"Take me home," my mother said. "I do need some more sleep."
"Okay."
"I just have to check on some things at my office," Thatcher said quickly. "I'll come by as soon as I can."
His cell phone rang, "I'll see you later." he promised as he answered the call.
I
threaded my arm through my mother's, and we leaned on each other as we walked to the elevator.
"You haven't known Thatcher very long," she said. "No. I haven't."
"He's a very bright man and,
I
always thought, a very nice man, despite the world he comes from and lives in, but we're sometimes too weak to do battle against all that, and it changes us."
"I know."
She smiled. "I think you're a very smart young lady. I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. Sometimes, it doesn't have to take that long to know there's magic there.
"But," she said, looking off into her own world of memories, "often magic isn't enough. Just remember that, and you'll be fine."
Would I?
I
wondered.
Would I really?

17
Coming Home
.
After realizing that there wasn't much more
I

could do here at the moment.
I
called and made reservations for my flight home. I wouldn't let Miles be buried with no one there to mourn his passing. My mother arranged for transportation to and from the hospital for herself and assured me she would be fine.

"You would be surprised at how many people here do look in on me from day to day." she said.
"I don't think I would be so surprised."
She laughed and then grew serious. "Strange how people have to hide their good deeds, their sincerity. They're afraid the Eatons might fire them if they found out how they took care of my immediate grounds or shopped for me along with shopping for them. I would hate anyone suffering because of me." she added. 'but I can't talk them out of helping me."
"That's good."
Before my early evening flight, she and I had a light dinner. We ate on the patio and talked and talked. I continued to describe my early years and the house and the property back in South Carolina.
"Your father loved it," she said. It sounded beautiful to me then, like some forbidden paradise."
"I know. I have mixed feelings about selling. It's too much for me alone, and it's full of memories, but I almost feel like I'm betraying him by selling."
"No. I'm sure he would want vou to be comfortable and live your own life. Like you said, it won't be the same to you with him gone, and now Miles gone. too. Cut yourself loose. Willow. Let go." She looked out over the beach and the grounds. "That was something I regret
I
was never able to do. If I had, maybe it would have all turned out very differently.
"I hate regrets, don't you? Regrets haunt, Do all that you can to avoid them, even if it means making little mistakes, losing a little money or some time. Satisfy yourself that you tried this or that. Explore, and never be afraid. It's so hard to be timid in this world, especially here: but
I
suspect it's not much different anywhere else.
"Unfortunately, aggressive, self-centered, obnoxious people get their way too often. Don't be afraid to put them in their place." she said, looking toward the main house. "They'll turn you into another one of their possessions if you don't stand up to them right from the start."
"That will never happen to me." I vowed. She smiled. "I believe you."
I
kept waiting for Thatcher to show, but he didn't, nor did he call. Finally, I thought I had better call him and let him know my flight arrangements immediately. His phone service patched me through.
"I got tied up in one of those endless meetings." he explained. "Something I thought was settled was not. I'll get there as soon as I can."
I told him my flight time,
"Oh. really? Well, you'll be back," he said lightly-- was it to ease his disappointment or something else?
"I'll be back to see my mother. yes," I said pointedly.
"Good. I've got to return to the meeting. Have a great trip." he said.
The conversation left me a little cold. but I didn't let my mother see.
Next. I called Mr. Bassinger and told him of my plans. He said he would be at the airport to pick me up and drive me home.
"Oh, you don't have to go to any trouble." I told him.
"No, no On the way. I'll review some of the legal matters I've completed." he said.
I thanked him, and then, on my way out to say goodbye to my mother. I paused and glanced into the room that Linden had been using as a studio. There was a black sheet over the easel, and I was very curious about whether or not it covered the painting he had been doing of me. I felt a bit guilty sneaking about and looking at the picture without his approval, but I was leaving now, and I couldn't help myself.
I went into the room and lifted the sheet away. For a moment. I just stared. It didn't look like me at all. It looked like my mother. It was as if he had known the truth all along, had seen it with his artistic eve, as if when he worked, he had a prophetic vision.
I covered it quickly and hurried out.
"Well. I'd better be off." I told my mother. "I've got to return the rental car and all."
"Call me."
"Every day."
"If I'm not here. I'll be at the hospital until he's released."
"Please take care of yourself." I told her.
"You do the same." she said.
We hugged and held onto each other as if we were never going to see each other again. Neither she nor I wanted to be the first to let go, but she finally let go and kissed my cheek. She smiled and went back inside quickly.
With tears streaming down my face. I carried my suitcase up toward my car. Halfway there. I heard Bunny call to me. She came down from the rear loagia, a glass of "shampoo" in her hand.
"Leaving us?" she asked, her voice back to sounding childishly joyful.
"Yes, for a while. I have things to take care of back in South Carolina."
"It's probably much better for you back there, anyway," she said. 'Everyone knows the story by now.
I
had to tell them why my party was ruined. didn't I?" she followed, defending herself. "Anyway, what's done is done. Leaving is smart. You'll only be tainted by your family's history here, and a young woman like you doesn't need all those disadvantages and burdens."
'Thanks for the silly advice." I told her.
She pulled up as if
I
had snapped a whip beside her.
"If you think that's silly advice, you're not half as intelligent as
I
thought you were. Let me give you some advice that's definitely not silly." she continued rapidly. "Don't think that Thatcher will be here waiting for you, feeling sorry for you or otherwise. I would never permit him to throw his life away, his wonderful reputation and his career, by marrying a Montgomery woman."
"I am not a Montgomery woman."
I
said, closing on her, my spine a steel rod. "My name is Willow De Beers, and my father was one of the nation's most prominent psychiatrists. What happened to my mother was tragic, but that doesn't make her in any way inferior to you or anyone in your family. Bunny,
"And as for Thatcher, if he doesn't have a mind of his own when it comes to his own life and who he wants to be with and love. I wouldn't want him calling me. anyway.
I
certainly wouldn't chase after him."
"That's ridiculous, Why any woman would give her--"
"I'm not any woman. Bunny, at least any woman around here,"
I
said firmly as
I
pulled up my shoulders. "Have a good night, or should
I
say good party?"
I
turned sharply and walked on, my heart pounding. I hoped I could live up to all
I
had told her.
Don't you believe you can?
I heard my father ask.
Yes,
I said.
Then you can. Challenge every doubt about yourself as soon as it rears its ugly head.
I
got into the car and drove away without looking back, even when
I
reached the gate and waited for it to open. I wanted only to look forward now.
The flight was delayed at takeoff but afterward was quick and uneventful. Mr. Bassinger was there at the arrival gate to greet me. He took my bags, and we went directly to his car.
I
could tell immediately that he had something to reveal,
"You didn't just come here to pick me up. Mr. Bassinger. What's wrong?"
"I didn't want you to be surprised." he began. "but your aunt Agnes is at the house. She knew about Miles, of course, and she had her attorney call me. There's no legal grounds for her to have a say in anything, but that doesn't mean she can't cause a commotion. She's been digging around, trying to find out why you went to Palm Beach and what you are doing there." he continued. "I'm not asking you to give me details. but I don't want her challengingevery action we take with your estate."
"I'd like to tell you what
I
was doing. Mr. Bassinger.
I
think my father intended for me to do that after
I
opened the envelope and read his papers."
"If you feel it has nothing to do with any of this. I don't have to know." he said.
"It's fine, You were his trusted friend, and that makes you mine. too."
"I appreciate that, Willow," he replied, and I told him everything,
"1 knew your father didn't have a happy marriage." Mr. Bassinger said after listening, "I'm not passing judgment on anyone. None of that changes anything here. Willow. Don't let your aunt convince you otherwise," he advised.
Before we arrived home, he gave me all the details about Miles's funeral and told me he would be by in the morning to pick me up and take me to the funeral parlor. It seemed so odd to arrive at the house and not find Miles waiting for me at the door to greet me and carry in my bags. There were lights on throughout, but there was still a sense of desertion, emptiness, as if the heart of it were gone and it was only a shell now. Mr. Bassinger helped me carry my bags to the door.
"I'll be fine now," I told him. "Don't worry. Thank you for everything."
He smiled and said good night.
I
opened the door with my key and entered, "Aunt Agnes?"
I
called.
A moment later, she appeared at the top of the stairway. "Well," she said, "it's about time you came home."
She was wearing a hair net and a robe. Her face was covered in some rejuvenation cream, which made her look ghoulish under the overhead chandeliers.
"I had people here all day today cleaning." she continued as she descended. "You have no idea what a mess things were, what that deranged man had done."
"What had he done?"
"What had he done? There was food left everywhere, even on trays up in your father's bedroom, as if he had brought it to someone. We're lucky we don't have rats here. Your father's office was a shambles, books and papers strewn about, and the kitchen... the kitchen had dishes piled sky high, bits and pieces of food all over the floor, things rotting on the stove. I practically had to have the house fumigated. The pest control left only a few hours ago. When I arrived here. I found windows open and doors open. Any sort of creature could have come inside, including snakes!
"What do you suppose would have happened if a prospective buyer had been brought here this morning?" she cried, throwing up her arms. "How could you have left him alone here? What were you doing down in Palm Beach? Why is it such a big secret? Why did you leave college?" She fired her questions in shot-gun fashion in the hopes of getting me to answer anything.
"Well? Why are you standing there looking at me as if I am the crazy person?" she demanded when
I
continued to stare at her in silence.
I realized now that the Eatons knew who I really was and why
I
had gone to Palm Beach, it wouldn't be long before it was public information. Who knew how fast it would spread? It might even be a front-page story in their precious social newspaper by now. There was no point in my keeping any of it to myself anymore, and I actually felt that it would bring me some relief to open the doors of the vaults of secrets. With almost sadistic pleasure. I smiled at my aunt.
"You and I have to talk. Aunt Agnes. We might as well do it right away and get it all over with. I'm actually happy you decided to put your nose in my business this time."
"I guess you are." she said, still quite swollen with pride in all she had managed since she had arrived. "Maybe now you'll pay more heed to my advice."
"Maybe. I have a lot of advice to get." I said cryptically. "Why don't we go into the sitting room right now and talk?"
She looked at me suspiciously.
"You're not going to tell me you went ahead and married someone in Palm Beach, are you?"
"No. Absolutely not. Nor am I engaged."
"Good," she said. "very well, let's talk. I hope to have things well in control here in a day or so and then return home. We have Margaret Selby's wedding hovering over us, and goodness knows how much I have had to carry on my shoulders. Young people today are far too flighty to do things correctly. When I was her age. I was already married and managing a home and a husband. There wasn't time to be flighty." she continued as she sat in what had been Daddy's chair. She looked so small in it, like a child tying to be an adult.
It
brought a wide grin to my face.
"What are you laughing about?"
"Nothing," I said. I took off my jacket and sat on the couch,
"Well?" she asked when I let a long pause fall between us. "I would like to get to bed soon. I'm exhausted from all that I had to do and exhausted just thinking about what is left to do."
"As you know." I began. "and know well and never failed to remind me of, either through innuendos or direct remarks. I am an adopted child. My mother was a patient at Daddy's clinic."
"Of course, I know all that. Do you think your father would have kept such information from me? I was his only sibling, his trusted sister. He told me more than he told your mother. What of it?"
"Adoptive mother." I corrected.
"Whatever. What's the point of plowing up the same dirt again and again?"
No point, except it's not the same dirt, as you say, Aunt Agnes. It's new dirt."
"What are you talking about. Willow De Beers?"
I
smiled. "You don't know how much you sounded like my adoptive mother just then, reminding me of my given name as if it were branded an my forehead so I couldn't see it unless I looked in the mirror."
"Well, she had some good qualities. Despite her poor family losing its inheritance, she had breeding. I would have made more of an effort to prevent the marriage otherwise. And what of it? Reminding you that you were given a cherished, well-respected old family name is not a fault. You were very fortunate my brother had so much charity in his heart."
"Oh, you think it was simply his charity, then?"
"Of course it was simply that," she said, straightening out her robe. She looked as if she were sitting on needles the way she shifted in the chair nervously. "I have to get upstairs and wipe off this cream. It's set long enough. Please, move to the point," she demanded.
"Well. I'm happy to tell you that it was far more than simple charity for my father to bring me here to live. As it turns out. I wasn't given the name De Beers as a benevolent gift.
I
wasn't given anything.
I
was a De Beers at birth," I concluded.
She simply stared at me. Her eyelids fluttered a bit, and then she pursed her lips and tightened her cheeks until they dipped like saucers. It was as if the air within were being drawn down her body,
"What is that remark supposed to mean?" she said in a hoarse whisper.
"It means that my father, your brother, was really my father and not just in name," I said.
She seemed to shrink before inflating again. Even under the cream.