Willow

  "Yes." she said, and then brightened with the thought of calling Ashley and telling him about all the relatives who would attend their wedding.

  I excused myself and headed back toward Daddy's office. Aunt Agnes followed.

  "Just a minute. Willow," she called after me. I turned and waited for her to approach.

  "Yes. Aunt Agnes?"

  "I had a brief conversation with Mr. Bassinger and, of course, a long conversation with Mr. McRae. Your father set up some intricate financial programs, trusts and corporate pensions and insurance policies. It's all very complicated. I want you to know I'll remain here for a few days and review it all with you," she said.

  "I'm not remaining here for a few days. Aunt Ames."

  "What?"

  The morning after the funeral. I'm seeing Mr. Bassinger for a few hours, and then I'm heading back to college," I said, avoiding any mention of visiting the clinic.

  "That's absolutely out of the question," she declared, "There is simply too much left to do."

  "Miles will look after the house, and all the paperwork that is required will be completed. I have full faith in Mr. Bassinger to have it all laid out for me. There is no need for you to bother. Whatever my father left to you, you'll get," I said dryly.

  She pulled her shoulders back sharply. "I am certainly not in any way dependent upon anything he might have left me, nor am I some parasitic relative hovering over the bones. I can assure you that I am well off on my own. However, there are a number of things that were dear to my father and mother. and I would like to lay claim to some of that, if you don't object. They belong with me now. They should go with the relative who is truly tied to them," she added, which was her way of reminding me that I was adopted.

  "Feel free to shop," I said, waving at the walls. "Just don't touch anything that was my father's."

  I heard her suck in her breath as I turned and left her standing like a statue of ice in the hallway. Right after I entered Daddy's office. I locked the door again. I then proceeded to make a thorough search of his files and papers, hoping to find more references to Grace Montgomery.

  Sifting through fat files filled with charts, evaluations of psychological studies. notes Daddy used for his own papers, and piles of articles and clippings he had hoarded over the years took hours. but I had the hope that there would be something well hidden, something sandwiched between documents.

  After nearly two hours. I was about to give up when I separated an article on paranoid-schizophrenia from an article about the side effects of some new mood-enhancing drug and saw an envelope yellowed by time. It had no return address and had been sent to Daddy at the clinic. On the bottom of the envelope, however, was the word Personal.

  I sat on the floor in front of the file cabinet and stared at the envelope, my heart suddenly tripping. Footsteps outside the office door made me hesitate a moment. Then there was a knock,

  "Yes?"

  "I'm going to sleep now," Aunt Agnes said. "Is there anything you would like to know about tomorrow?"

  "No," I said sharply, probably too sharply, She was silent.

  If you think of something, you can ask me in the morning, I'll be up early."

  "Thank you," I said.

  Once again, there was a pause, and then I heard her footsteps trail away down the corridor.

  How I hated to have to be so secretive in my own home. but I had painfully discovered that this was a house in which shadows hovered in corners like small creatures embracing those secrets and keeping them in the dark for as long as they could. The walls were like sponges. soaking up the whispers. burying the sadness as deep down in the very foundation as possible. I felt as if I were peeling away one deception after another and drawing closer and closer to the truth. Would it free me, or would it chain me to an identity that was so heavy with trouble that I would be dragged under as well?

  My trembling fingers opened the envelope and pulled out the tissue-thin letter within it. I opened it gently, afraid it would suddenly, through some magical curse, crumble into dust in my palms. The writing was nearly faded and gone. I had to move closer to the light to read,

  Dear Claude,

  I know we agreed I would not write or call you, but I had to thank you for the pictures of Willow and the letter you wrote describing her.

  You were right. She is so beautiful.

  Of course, I was worried about her, aboutwhat she would be like. You know my fears better than anyone, but fromwhat you tell me about her, I feel confident I can put those fears aside. And thiswoman you described, this Isabella (or, as Willow calls her, Amou), sounds wonderful. I'm so happy you have her.

  Of course, I have the pictures hidden where only I can see them.

  How insane it sounds for me to tell you how much I miss the Willows. I suppose you and I turned it into a fantasyland, and I know how you feel about not facing reality.

  I want to assure you I am doing fine.

  I have my ocean to comfort and inspire me.

  And I have our memories.

  I am truly a wealthy woman again.

  Love always,

  Grace

  .

  I read and reread the letter four times. When you read things written by people you know, you can hear their voices. It's as if they are speaking to you. However. I had no idea what my real mother sounded like. I thought if I kept reading. if I studied each and every word. I might get some hint, some indication, some inflection. I was that desperate to know every detail about her.

  Frustrated but fascinated. I put the letter in with my father's diary, taking great care to keep it as hidden as it was before, and then I went up to bed, growing increasingly anxious with every step I took that would bring me closer to morning and the funeral,

  .

  The funeral was even bigger than I had anticipated. Daddy's large obituary in the newspapers alerted not only his associates and businesspeople who had known him for years but also many of the families of his patients. I don't think I truly

  appreciated just how loved and respected he had been. It was quite overwhelming to see the seemingly endless line of cars, the crowd of mourners that spilled out of the church. Arrangements had to be made to put speakers on the doors so the mourners who couldn't get in could listen to the minister and to the eulogy delivered by Dr. Price.

  After Daddy was laid to rest next to my adoptive mother, members of our family returned to the house for what would be their final expressions of sympathy and their goodbyes. The way my adoptive mother's brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews talked about the funeral, someone would have thought it had been a theatrical event. It was as if they had to offer their reviews, from the flowers to the church service-- even to how well the cars were organized along the funeral procession.

  Later in the afternoon. after I had said goodbye to people I really didn't know, despite their relationship to us. Mr. Bassinger, Aunt Agnes, Margaret Selby, and I gathered in the living room, and he, went through the main provisions of the will. He explained how Daddy had wisely set up trusts and protected the estate. I had inherited more money and property than I had anticipated, every added number widening Aunt Agnes's eves until she looked as if her eyeballs would pop out and roll into her lap. Margaret Selby, on the other hand, was so bored she actually excused herself to make a phone call.

  I was happy to see that the clinic would continue. that Daddy had carefully provided for a smooth transition. Dr. Price explained to me how there would be someone to fill Daddy's place, although, he emphasized, no one would ever do it as well as he had.

  Not completely to my surprise. Aunt Agnes drew out a list of items she felt my father would have wanted her to have.

  "Since they really were hand-me-downs from our parents," she emphasized.

  It was quite an extensive list, even including some furniture. When she was finished reciting it, she looked up at Mr. Bassinger, who calmly said it was completely up to me. None of it legally belonged to her. She spun around, prepared to make
a vigorous argument. when I smiled at her and said. "It's fine, Take it all, and enjoy it."

  She was left speechless.

  Mr. Bassinger bid me goodbye and promised to have all the paperwork prepared. We hugged, and he left. Not more than a half hour later. Margaret Selby and Aunt Agnes were at the front door as well. Their car had come to take them to the airport.

  "I'll see to a van to take the items I have listed." she told me.

  Almost for the fun of it and just to show her I was capable of being as cold and impersonal as she could be. I made her wait while I made a copy of her precious list.

  "Miles will have this," I told her when I returned to the entryway. "He'll be sure it's all taken care of for you."

  She took back the list and folded it into her purse. "My advice to you is to put the house on the market." she snapped.

  "Thank you. Aunt Agnes. Actually, thank you for being here and doing all that you did," I added sincerely.

  It warmed her eyes.

  "Mama, can't we get going?" Margaret Selby begged. "We have so much more to do."

  "Yes, yes, go on," she said, waving at the door. Margaret Selby started out.

  "You could say goodbye to your cousin, Margaret Selby. I know I've taught you proper manners."

  "Oh. Sorry. I'm so occupied," Margaret Selby told me. She gave me a perfunctory kiss and hug and flew out the door.

  "Do call me if you have any problems whatsoever. Willow." Aunt Agnes said.

  "I will. Thank you."

  She looked back at the house, and for a moment, I felt sorry for her. There were real tears in her eyes.

  "It's very difficult to be the last one alive in your family. All the memories are painful.'

  "Weren't there goad memories, precious memories, Aunt Agnes?"

  "Yes, but they just make you realize how lonely you really are," she added prophetically. "Goodbye." She hugged me tighter than she ever had and then turned and hurried out after Margaret Selby. I stood in the doorway and watched their limousine go down the driveway.

  Now that I was alone, I was able to retrieve Daddy's diary and my real mother's letter from the hiding place in Daddy's office. I brought them up to my room to pack with my other things for my return to school. Early in the evening. Allan called, and I described the day, the funeral, the way it all had ended. He listened patiently and assured me that when I returned tomorrow night, he would be there for me.

  I mentioned nothing yet of my father's secret love and my real mother. I wanted to see Dr. Price first and learn whatever else I could from what was at the clinic. I hadn't decided what I would do with the information. anyway.

  Before I went to sleep. Miles and I had some leftovers to eat. Over the last dozen or so years especially, he had become my father's most trusted companion. He talked about him with such affection I wondered if he were capable of staying there without him.

  "Oh, don't worry none about that." he said. "Far as I'm concerned. Dr. De Beers is just away and expecting me to have everything in tiptop shape when he comes home as usual." he declared, bringing a smile to my face. "But don't you worry about me and my future. either. When you want this house sold, you sell it. I'm fine. The doctor took good care of my future for me."

  "I can't imagine this house without you in it, Miles, no matter who gets to own it."

  "Well. I can't abide the idea of strangers in it, someone else in his office. I couldn't stay on, no matter what they offered me."

  "I know." I gazed around the dining room. "Aunt Agnes might not be all wrong about it. Coming home and knowing he won't be here when I arrive is going to be hard."

  Miles nodded. "I understand." he said. He did a areat deal for me and the memory of my poor baby."

  "I know you did a lot for him as well, Miles." "I'd like to think that." he said.

  He was surprised and happy with the intensity of the hug and the kiss I gave him before I went up to sleep. Somehow. I felt I could touch my father through the people he had touched.

  As I was preparing for bed, my phone rang. I expected it was probably Allan calling back to see if I was all right, but it wasn't. It was a greater and even more welcome surprise.

  It was Amou. calling me from Rio de Janeiro.

  "Willow," she said, "my cousin Tina called me a little while ago because she saw the story in the newspaper. I'm so sorry. He was a great man."

  "Amou, how are you?"

  "Eu sou bem, I am well for a velha senhora," she said.

  I laughed. "You'll never be an old lady to me. Amou."

  "I wish you could tell my bones that," she said. "How are you now. Willow?"

  "I'll be all right, Amou."

  "You go back to college?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." she said.

  "You were here. Amou. Voce esta sempre em meu coracao," I told her. It was something she always said to me. It meant "You are always in my heart."

  She laughed. "Maybe someday when you are graduated, you come to Brazil,' she said. "You almost speak the language."

  "I will. Amou. I will."

  "That will be a happy day for me. I know how hard it must be for you without a mama and a papa now,"

  I hesitated, and then I said it. "I am not without a mama. Amou."

  She was quiet.

  "You always knew that, didn't you. Amou?'"

  "Who told you this thing?" she asked.

  "My father left me letters, his diary. He wanted me to know. He must have trusted you very much."

  "He was afraid for you. You must be careful. Willow. A truth buried so long will not be the flower you wish or expect it would be. Some seeds are better left buried," she warned.

  "Maybe, Amou. Maybe not."

  "I worry for you," she said.

  "And I worry for you," I replied.

  She laughed. "Va con deus," she said. "You go with God. too," I told her.

  After I hung up, all the tears I had kept inside broke out. I thought I could soak the bed.

  Somehow, I managed to get myself settled down and in bed under the blanket. And then. just as my Aunt Agnes had predicted, I shut off the lights and began to face the loneliest night of my life in my house of memories.

  4

  A Fateful Decision

  .

  The Willows was Daddy's baby from the

  beginning. He had been a practicing psychiatrist for nearly five years before he learned of a rather sophisticated rest home that was going out of business not more than fifteen miles from our estate in Spring City. He brought the investors together, and they visited the facility.

  What attracted Daddy immediately was the location. The home had been constructed on a hill overlooking the Congaree River. The structure was surrounded with open field but also at least eight hundred acres of open pine woods composed of longleaf, labially, and pond pine. The woods contained a wide variety of ferns, legumes. and wildflowers.

  It had always been a linchpin of Daddy's philosophy concerning therapy that nature and the immediate environment had a dramatic effect on the mental well-being of his patients. There was a peacefulness, calm and tranquility about the Willows that made it so attractive to him.

  What gave it its name and what was so unique about it were the six wonderful weeping willow trees in the front that rose to heights of close to forty feet. The original owners considered them to be the most romantic trees because of how gracefully they bowed and stirred with the breeze. The branches were full of olive-green leaves that hung in pendulous curtains to the ground.

  Behind them, the building loomed. It was eclectic in style, with a number of Italian Renaissance features and a unique recessed porch that always made me feel as if I were entering a tunnel or some dark, mysterious world. It was a three-story building that had been expanded over the years.

  Mainly because of the way my adoptive mother characterized Daddy's clinic as a building full of insanity, I had always been afraid to go there. My heart would pound just approaching the
property. Daddy was very careful to keep me away from any direct contact with patients who had severe problems. And despite what my A.M. said, the people I saw enjoying the lounge, watching television, playing board games, or just reading generally didn't look any stranger to me than the people I saw on the outside. Still. I was afraid to look directly at them for long. Once. I caught sight of a young girl, probably no more than fifteen, marching through the hallway angrily, her long black hair stringy and knotted, her hands clenched into fists, and her arms extended and locked at the elbows. She turned her head toward me as if she could feel my eyes on her. and I gasped because her eyes were wide and furious. The attendant moved her along, and as she disappeared around a corner. I could see her shoulders lifting as if her whole upper body were going to break away and float to the ceiling.

  I had a nightmare about it and woke up crying. My adoptive mother bawled out Daddy, warning him that he would only nurture the disturbances within me if he brought me back to that world. She loved to say that. "back to that world." as if I could actually recall my birth in the clinic.

  Even now, even after all these years, I could feel the trembling in my body as I drove into the parking area. I actually had trouble breathing and had to sit in the car for a moment after I had turned off the engine. I took as deep a breath as I could and stepped out. With my head down, just like when I was a little girl walking toward that entrance. I started for the building.

  For as long as I could remember. Edith Hamilton had been the receptionist. She sat behind a horseshoe-shaped desk, now covered with computer equipment. The sixty-year-old woman smiled at the sight of me. She had dark brown eyes and hair that was becoming completely Confederate gray. She kept it styled short and neat, almost like a helmet. At the funeral yesterday, she was crying harder than most, I recalled how my adoptive mother had accused Daddy of encouraging Edith to have a crush on him.

  "No woman dotes on a man as much as she does without fantasizing about him in bed," she declared.

  Of course. Daddy denied it all. Now. I thought to myself how ironic it was that my adoptive mother had accused Daddy of harboring romances in his clinic. If only she had known how close to the truth she was. I thought.