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.