Willow (9 page)

"I'm not going to do that just yet. Allan." I said. I moved his legs off my lap. They were getting heavy.
He sat up. annoyed. "Sure you are." he said firmly. "You'll get back into it. I'll see to it. I'll study with you, help you with any papers that are due, any research. There's no reason for you not to get right on track again. You know, when the going gets tough, the tough get going."
He downed the remainder of his beer,
"What you need is a little cuddling and loving, honey. Just listen to the love doctor himself." He reached around my shoulders to embrace me and pull me closer to him. He started to nudge my neck with his lips and let his hand drop down over my breast.
I put my hands on his chest and pushed back. "You don't understand what I'm telling you. Allan."
"Well, then, what are you telling me?" he asked with ribbons of anger trailing his words.
"I'm taking a leave from college. I decided on the way home."
"Huh?" He smiled, confused. "Just because your father died? Hey, let me tell you something. Willow. I didn't meet him but that one time. but I'm sure he wouldn't want you to do that. Besides, you can grieve only so long, and then you run out of tears and look around and realize you've got nothing intelligent to do with yourself. No, no, you'll stay in school. hear? Your father's gone. so I'll have to take over and give you the guidance he would have given you."
"I don't need a father figure. Allan. I'm capable of making my own decisions."
"Sure you are, but just not at the moment." He leaned toward me again, his smile widening with lust.
I
kept my hand out to hold him away. "I'm not taking a leave to mourn my father's passing, Allan."
"I don't understand." He shook his head. "Why would you leave college now, in the middle of a semester? Why would you leave me?" he followed, raising his voice.
"I told you, a great deal happened back home." I began. I sat back and looked at the floor as I spoke. "My father had left instructions with the family lawyer to give me a diary he had written years ago."
"A diary?"
"Yes, a diary, a love story, actually. In it, he revealed who my real mother was."
"You're kidding, right?"
"No."
He dropped his smile so fast I thought I saw it fall to the floor. "That doesn't sound very professional of him. Doesn't sound like good psychological practice."
It had nothing to do with that in the end."
"How did he know who your mother was? Did he get the information from the agency?"
"No. My mother was one of his patients."
"Patients?" He sat back and grimaced. "You're kidding. One of his patients?"
"Yes. I always knew that my mother was one of his patients," I said.
"I don't remember you telling me that."
"I was always sensitive about it. I didn't lie to you. I just wasn't able to speak about it. My adoptive mother never let me forget it and always had me thinking something would be wrong with me."
He nodded.
"I
see," he said, and then realized what I had said. But why did your father write a whole diary about it?"
"He wrote it because he wanted me to know and appreciate. that he was really my father." I said quickly.
Once again. Allan stared for a long moment as the information settled in slowly. "What are you saying-- your father had sex with one of his patients?"
"It wasn't just sex. It was a real love affair,"
I
said.
He grimaced. "I never would have thought that about him. He was pretty well known and respected."
"It wasn't what you're making it sound like. Allan. He didn't take advantage of a patient. They fell in love. It was not a onetime thing."
He looked skeptical.
"I'm telling you the truth." His truth." he muttered.
"The truth!" I cried. "My father couldn't stomach a lie. He was incapable of it."
"He lied to your adoptive mother, didn't he? Or did he tell her what he had done, too?" he asked.
I
felt the heat rising into my face. "That was different. That wasn't a lie. exactly."
"Well, what do you call it? Did he have some fancy psychological term for it?"
"You don't understand."
I
said. "They had a different sort of relationship after a few years."
He shrugged. "I'm not judging anyone. I'm just surprised to hear it, that's all." He thought a moment and then looked at me strangely.
"What?"
"What was wrong with your real mother? Was she a schizophrenic or something?"
"No. She suffered from acute depression." I said. "but she was cured enough to leave and return to her family, and that's why I'm taking a leave from my studies."
"I don't understand."
"I've decided to go to her, to find her, to get to know her," I explained.
"Well, why can't you do that later, after the school year ends?" he asked.
"I would just think about it all the time. It would be hard to concentrate on my work," I told him.
"So take a weekend or something and go introduce yourself to her."
"You don't get to know your real mother and her family over a weekend. Allan."
"It's a start."
"I feel it's something I've got to do. I was hoping you would be understanding and even supportive," I said.
His eves grew small. dark. "Maybe you shouldn't give in to these impulses, Willow. Maybe it's not healthy."
"What do you mean?"
"Mental illness can be inherited. right? You could have inclinations, chemical imbalances like your real mother has. Maybe you should go see a psychiatrist now yourself."
I
stared at him. Was he serious?
"Who else would decide on the spur of the moment to stop pursuing her career and go searching for a disturbed woman?" he continued.
"I'm not starching for a disturbed woman. I'm searching for my mother, the woman my father loved with all his heart. The man who wrote that diary was almost another man. I wish
I
could have known him that way, and I want to spend time with my mother because, through her. I think
I
can."
"He's dead. gone. What difference can it make now?"
"All the difference in the world to me," I said, the tears now burning under my lids.
This is sick." He shook his head. "What am I supposed to do, wait around here while vou go playing psychological detective all over the country? I thought we had a relationship," he moaned. How small he suddenly sounded to me, the man I once thought resembled my father, the man of strength and confidence and intelligence.
"I can't believe you don't understand." I said.
I
ground away the tears with my small fist. "I'm disappointed in you."
"You're disappointed in me? That's a laugh." He stood up and paced for a moment, glanced at me, and then stopped. "You'll feel differently in the morning," he decided, "It's all too traumatic at the moment."
"I don't think so. Allan."
"We'll see." I recognized the little smirk that invaded his face whenever he was becoming sexy. He stepped closer and reached out for me.
"I'm really very tired. Allan,"
"So? Let me help you revive yourself." "I just need a good night's sleep, I think."
"You always sleep better after we make love, Willow," he reminded me.
I
started to shake my head when he seized my hand and pulled me up and into his arms.
"Allan, please," I said. He gagged my next words with a kiss and kept his lips hard against mine to drive down any resistance.
"C'mon," he urged, tugging me toward my bedroom. "Let the doctor take over. Dr. Love Machine."
That was his nickname for himself.
He pulled me along.
"I don't feel right doing this now. Allan. It's too soon."
"Nonsense. The only way to get back with the living is to live."
"My heart won't be in it. Allan."
"That's all right. There are other parts of you that will," he said smugly.
"Stop it. Allan. I don't like you when you act like this."
"Like what? Loving you? Wanting you? What is wrong with you?"
He paused. and I pulled my hand from his.
"Nothing is wrong with me except I just lost my father and I'm feeling terrible about it. It takes time to get over a great sorrow. Fortunately for you, you haven't experienced anything like this yet. Your family is intact."
"Practicing your amateur psychology on me already, huh?" he said with a cold grin. "Just practice it on yourself. Tell yourself how much you need this, need me, want me, and let go." he urged.
He embraced me again, kissing me on the neck and lifting my sweater at the same time until his hands were over my breasts. He moaned and then dropped his arm under me and lifted me, holding me like a child.
"Allan. don't..."
He placed me on my bed, and before
I
could turn away, he was beside me, kissing me and fumbling with the zipper of my skirt. I seized his wrist.
"I don't want to do this now. Allan." I insisted.
He ignored me and tried to kiss me. but I turned away, and he froze.
"All right." he said suddenly, and backed away. He stood up and brushed down his shirt and his pants. "Fine. Soak in your misery and your sadness if you like, and don't let me try to help you."
"I appreciate your helping me. Allan, but let's just sit with each other and talk and--"
"Fight. Sit and talk about adoptive mothers and real mothers and mentally ill mothers."
"Allan!"
"You know. Willow, it just might be that you really have inherited some of your mother's problems, that your terrible fears are justified. Maybe you even like being like this. I would certainly worry about having children with you." he added.
It was as if he had slashed me with a razor. I felt the blood rise to the surface all over my body and especially up my neck and into my face.
I
sat up and stared at him hard.
"Don't worry about it. Allan. You'll never have that concern. You and I will never have a child together."
He nodded. "Right," he said. "Okay. Go on Quit school, and chase your madness all over the country."
He turned and stormed out of my bedroom. A moment later. I heard the door to my apartment open and slam closed behind him. Then there was a deep, heavy silence.
How many other doors would be slammed on me in the days, months, and years to come?
I
wondered.
I fell back onto my pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Allan had made me feel terrible, but
I
was doing what I had to do. I thought, and besides. what
I
feared would happen once he had learned the truth about me had happened. Maybe it was for the best Maybe
I
was lucky to learn what he was really like now before it was too late.
That seemed reasonable, but it didn't help me to feel better. I cried as if another person I loved in my life had died, and then I got myself ready for bed.
I was up most of the night, tossing and turning over my decision and then planning how I would go about this search for my real mother. I looked wild and exhausted in the morning. Even a shower didn't help. Nevertheless. I had made up my mind and drove to school to see the dean of students. Anthony Thorne. Mrs. Schwartz made sure he made time for me.
Dean Thorne was a tall, dark-haired man with a great deal of charm and personality, the sort of man who seemed created for his position: smooth, politically astute, and as comfortable in his suit and tie behind his desk as he would be in a warm bath. I remembered thinking no one smiled with his eyes as well as he did-- nor flirted with the coeds. either.
"Willow," he said, rising and extending his hand to me. 'Please accept my sincere condolences. I read your father's obituary in the paper the other day. What an impressive man he must have been. I'm sure a great many people will be missing him."
"'Thank you."
"How can I help you. Willow?" he said, and indicated
I
should take the seat in front of his desk.
"I want to take a leave of absence. Dean Thorne."
He nodded as he went back to his chair. He confronted so many student problems and complaints that he looked as if he wore the desk between him and the student like a suit of armor.
"At the end of the semester?"
"No, right now.
I
need to get excused from my classes without any penalty."
I
said.
"I see. You're not quite halfway through with the semester. but
I
suppose if you have a great deal of family business, family affairs to look after..."
"Yes," I said quickly.
"Well, I'm sorry about this. You're doing so well. I hate to see that interrupted for any reason. Isn't there any other way?"
"No,' I said firmly.
He held his gaze on me a long moment and then leaned back in his chair, flashing that soft smile that showed a set of perfect white teeth, a mouth made for television toothpaste commercials.
"If it's a matter of some counseling. Willow, I can arrange for something."
"I don't think I'd have trouble finding
psychological counseling if
I
needed it. Dean Thorne," I said, perhaps too bluntly. He actually winced.
"Of course. That's logical. Well, then, if it's a firm decision on your part. I'll write it up for your teachers and expect to see you here at the beginning of the next semester."
"Thank you," I said. rising.
He stood up and reached over the desk for my hand. He held it tightly. "Is it truly a firm decision?
I
have to be a little persistent," he explained with that famous smile, "or I'm not doing the job
I
was hired to do."
"It is.'"
I looked at his hand over mine, and he released it and stepped back, his head nodding and bobbing like those puppets people sometimes keep in the rear window of their automobiles. Ile held the smile until I walked out and closed the door softly behind me.
It was over and done.
I
was on my way to meet my mother for the first time in my life. Even thinking it seemed weird.
And frightening.
I
wondered if it would be just as frightening for her.

5
Welcome to Palm Beach
.
All I knew was that she had lived in Palm

Beach, Florida. I didn't know if she was still there. If she was. I didn't think I could just knock on her door and announce. "Here I am, your long-lost daughter." This was something I had to do slowly, gradually, sensibly. It would be too much of a shock for both of us to do it any other way.

I didn't know anyone in Palm Beach and certainly no one I could trust to help me, I did know the name of the psychiatrist who had recommended my mother to Daddy. Dr. Anderson. whom I intended to see as soon as I arrived. I had concocted a cover story, and now I wondered if I was capable of carrying it off. I was going to pretend that I was on a work-research project for my studies. That way,
I
thought
I
might get him to help me without my having to tell him the truth and Daddy's secret.
I
would soon discover how good an actress I could be. I supposed, how much I had learned from my adoptive mother.