"If they're too comfortable, they'll never want to leave." she retorted.
She could be a hard person, but she was so efficient and so competent. I couldn't think of letting her go.
Afterward, I walked your mother out and tried to get her to relax a while, watch some television perhaps, or read in the recreation room, but she complained about being too tired and just wanted to sleep. Of course, she was in a deep depression and people who are often choose sleep over anything or everything else. I suppose it's a form of escape. (I could write an and on about this and have to keep reminding myself this isn't an article for a psychology magazine,)
I escorted her to her room again. I do try to give each and every one of my patients as much personal attention as I can. but I recognized that I was trying to find every way possible to remain with Grace,
"Your room has one of the nicer views. It looks toward the Congaree River. I can walk to it from my home, but because of our height here, we can catch glimpses of it. I know you had the ocean to look at, but it's nice to have water nearby, even if it's only a river." I told her.
She looked at me with what I thought were smiling eyes. She could sense my struggle to keep talking, to find a way quickly to break through the dark curtain she had dropped between herself and the world.
"I don't look outside much anymore." she said.
"Well, we'll just have to help you do that. then," I told her.
She seemed to sink inside herself, retreat into those dark places that sadly had become her comfort zone. I wished her a goad night just as Nurse Gordon came down to dispense her medication.
"Still here, Doctor?" she asked, a bit surprised.
"Just on my way out." I said and said good night to Grace. She didn't look at me. I exchanged a quick, doctor's-mask look with Nurse Gordon and then left.
About a year before your mother arrived at the clinic. I hired a former patient of mine to be my driver and to fulfill same of our household chores which involved mainly looking after the grounds. His name is Miles Porter. and I imagine he will still be with us when you read this. Alberta was against my hiring him because he was a fanner patient of mine, but I held fast to my decision and she accepted it, even though she never treated him with much respect and often complained about what she considered his strange silences and his work. She avoided him and Miles didn't miss any opportunity to avoid Alberta.
Because I had remained at the clinic for dinner, Miles ate with the staff.
He was used to my working in the car, reading or scribbling notes, but I couldn't help wondering if even Miles saw something different in me that night. Willow. can I tell you my heart was pounding? I didn't feel foolish as much as I felt guilty. Like someone caught being where he knew he shouldn't be. Why do I feel this way? I continually asked myself as we drove home that night. I had met a new patient. I had helped her begin to orient herself to her new surroundings. I had a preliminary session with her. I had given her a little tender loving care. I've done that before, hadn't I? My driver. Miles, sitting in front, was a prime example of that.
All true, I heard my inner self reply, but why can't you get that young woman's eyes and soft lips out of your mind? This imagery doesn't have anything to do with your work or her needs. I'm surprised at you, Claude De Beers, You're behaving like a lovesick schoolboy. Get hold of yourself.
There I was holding a full, all-out debate with myself in the car.
Your stepmother wasn't home when we arrived. I was grateful for that. I felt as if I had another woman's lipstick on my collar or something and all she would have had to do was look at my face and paint her finger at me and ask. "What have you been doing, Claude? Why do you have that look on your face?"
It was ridiculous of me to think that, of course. If anyone was oblivious to my moods, my looks, it was Alberta. Most of the time she was so occupied with her own activities and thoughts, she wouldn't know if I was there or not. I didn't think about where she was this particular evening. She was often somewhere when I returned from the clinic, but when she arrived this particular evening, she marched right to my office where I was catching up on some paperwork and stood in the doorway glaring in at me.
"How do you feel about yourself now?" she asked.
I tell you. -Willow, my heart skipped beats. If guilty feelings popped out on one's face. I would have been covered in red freckles.
"What?"
I wondered: Could someone have called her from the clinic and said something to her about my behavior toward Grace? That's how guilty and selfconscious I felt.
"I don't understand. Alberta." I continued, I think I was holding my breath. too.
"I just want to know how you feel about yourself? About not having the decenc
y to at least call to say you weren't going to be there."
I shook my head.
"I'm sorry, Alberta, be where?"
"Be where?" She looked away for a moment, calming herself. She actually looked more beautiful when she was angry like this. Her face would take on a soft ruby tint, and her eyes would blaze with the fire of rage stoked inside her. "How about the executive committee for the Heart Association gala ball? You and I are sponsors as well. Your name was prominent on the program. Claude."
"Oh. Oh. yes." I said, glancing at the formal invitation stuck between the pages of a medical reference book on my desk. She had made a point of giving the invitation to me so I wouldn't forget it. and I had put it in my calendar. In fact. I had even remembered it that morning on my way to the clinic and had made a mental note about what time I wanted to leave to get home to dress. As I told you. I avoided as many of these dinners as I could, but I recognized this one Was special, especially for Alberta.
"Oh. yes? Do you have any idea what it was like for me to be seated next to an empty chair? Bart Kaplow thought it was funny and suggested we talk to the chair as if you were in it. I told him it wouldn't be anything new for me. I often talk to the walls at home."