Hidden Leaves (DeBeers 5)

"No, Miles."

"I hope not. Doctor. I don't know enough yet to be your therapist," he added and I laughed.

We both laughed.

It felt wonderful. Willow, it was as if the world was in the process of changing completely for me, shadows moving off of beautiful places, colorful places. I noticed the stars. I took pleasure in the ride home, the road, the foliage, and the trees. I suddenly became aware of my surroundings, and not just the grounds of the clinic or the grounds of our home. For too long those two places had been my entire world. Now the whole world was my world.

And all because I had come face to face with the truth of my heart. Willow.

I was in love, as deeply and terribly in love as anyone ever was.

Impatience set in. I couldn't stand the idea of having to spend the whole night away from Grace. Sleep was an annoyance. I tossed and turned and must have looked at the clock a dozen times, each time disappointed in how slowly time passed. You're mad, I told myself repeatedly. It will come to no good, I warned myself, but it was that abandon, that great risk that made it all even more exciting. Willow, and up until that moment there wasn't any excitement in my life that could possibly compare.

Courting Alberta and marrying her had been so safe, just another step in my progress toward being the most respected, successful psychiatrist in our state and then the country. I truly was as she accused, following steps in a textbook. As a result I had all the trappings of a successful professional man. The wonderful and impressive home, the fame, and the seemingly perfect wife. I had everything I should have, except I didn't have love.

Before Grace. I didn't think it mattered. I didn't even think it truly existed!

I have to pause. Writing all this has taken away my breath for the moment. I am positive that when you read this, you will think another man wrote it. These are not the words and deeds of the father you have known. Are we all schizophrenics? I'm laughing so hard at that possibility that tears are coming.

What I can assure you of now, what I hope you feel in my words, is the fact that you were born out of love, not lust. You were born to be living proof of what Grace and I had together. No. Willow, you will never, ever be thought of as a mistake in my mind or your mother's. Anything resulting from pure and sincere love has to be good.

A few kisses, holding each other, whispering secrets to each other are not enough to justify those words: I am in love. I knew that. but I was worried that Grace did not. She was, after all, still in some mental anguish and turmoil. All I might have done that night was confuse her further.

What began then was a careful, at times meticulously careful, construction of a secret relationship in a place where secrets were meant to be uncovered and purged. Everything we psychiatrists did at the clinic was designed to get our patients to reveal themselves, either through art or dance or words themselves. Together, with their therapists, they had to open those closets and cabinets, put on lights to wash away the darkest places, and confess aloud the deepest, most hidden actions, even things they did not consciously remember. Every layer of their very being had to be stripped away until they stood naked and trusting and began to rebuild themselves.

What had I done, after all, but add another layer of words and actions that must never be exposed? In other words.

Willow, the doctor in me was in a rage. If I seemed in any way distracted before, and of course Alberta considered me mentally and emotionally away for quite a while now. I certainly must have appeared more so. Troubled by my actions and confessions. I walked about like a zombie, barely noticing where I was going. Only Miles noticed anything and continually asked me how I was or if there was something else he could do for me.

One day he actually came out and asked, Are you having money troubles. Dr De Beers, because if you are, you can hold off paying me for a while. I'm fine."

"No, of course not. Miles, but thank you for the offer," I told him. Nothing I told him could be more true.

The clinic, being private, was always profitable, but beside that, my sister Agnes and I had inherited a considerable fortune. There was never a time in my life when money was a concern. I had a good business manager, lawyer, and accountant. If anything. I was oblivious to my finances and probably will be to the day I die. My father was far more of a businessman than I am. He knew where his money was to the penny and always had a concept of what things should cost him. If our electric bill or gas bill went over his estimate, he invoked economies, complaining about lights being on unnecessarily or areas of the house having thermostats set too high. He tried to teach me to be a good economist. but I was a poor student, and eventually he gave up and declared I was lucky I was becoming a doctor.

"You'll look after the health of people, and healthy people will look after you," he told me. How wise he was.

I guess what I am telling you is I have been and always will be a man of some contradiction. I spend my working life in the abstract world, searching and analyzing feelings, emotions, dreams, and

subconscious thoughts. The physical and material world is mundane to me. Alberta has always complained about my lack of interest in my wardrobe, criticizing me for not keeping in style or wearing shoes and suits until they look ready to be given to charity. She would be the one to stop, look at me, and say. "Time to get a haircut. Claude, and if you are going to wear a beard, you could at least take care to have it trimmed neatly. I'll be too embarrassed to be seen with you, not that I am very much these days." she would mutter.

Her conversation with me became almost rote, a memorized list of comments and sarcasms that I could always anticipate. However, if she didn't point out these things about myself to me. I probably would have gone on and on neglecting them. Suddenly a real change came over me, and it never occurred to me that she would take any notice. That caught me by surprise.

Grace was the first patient with whom I had developed so strong an emotional tie, of course. I wanted to look good for her.

Consequently. without Alberta's prodding. I looked after my own appearance, had my hair styled, my beard finely' trimmed, and bought some rather attractive new suits, new shoes, and new shirts and belts. I spent more money on my wardrobe that particular week than I had during, the last few years.

"Well. well," Alberta said one afternoon when she saw me come home. "When did you buy that suit?"

"Oh," I said, stumbling for an answer. "Ralston had bought something similar and I thought--."

"You thought you were a slob and you should clean up your act, but not for me. Oh, no, for your precious clinic and your nutcases instead."

"If I've told you once. I've told you a million times. Alberta, do not refer to my patients that way, even in jest. Someone will hear you say it, and if the wife of the head doctor says such things--"

"I know, I know, I know, Do you think I even mention the clinic when I'm with people? Whenever anyone brings it up. I tell them I know very little about your work. You're so brilliant. What could a poor, normal person like myself understand? It's not exactly like awning a fine hotel. I tell them, and they appreciate my position. So don't get yourself all worked up and concerned. Claude. I won't embarrass you All I ask is you give me the same consideration."

"All right, Alberta," I relented. "Thank you."