DeBeers 05 Hidden Leaves (6 page)

I
was probably very boring to my classmates, a bookworm. Even as a teenager, I hated wasting time."
"Didn't you have girlfriends?" she asked. "Didn't you fall in love a dozen times?"
"I
had crushes on girls in my classes, but
I
was always a bit too shy to make anything of it"
"Your wife is very attractive. You couldn't be all that shy," she said.
I began to wonder if someone who didn't know listened in, who would he think was the patient here? It made me smile.
"Why are you laughing?" she wondered.
"I'm not laughing
at
you. I'm laughing at the contradiction. Yes, my wife is beautiful, but if you asked me what was it about me that drew her attention. I think I would have a hard time giving you a satisfactory answer."
"Oh. I think I know that answer." Grace said.
We were on the crest of that hill. gazing dawn at the river again. "Really?" I smiled at her. "What's the answer?"
"You make people feel comfortable with themselves. You're like a warm home.
I
feel like I could cuddle up and go to sleep safely in your arms. and I haven't felt that way since... since my father died." she said.
For a long moment. Willow, I just stood there. Yes, your literate, wordy father was speechless and brought to that point by this purely innocent beautiful woman whose eyes untied the last cords that bound me to my oaths, my profession, my responsibilities. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder and slowly, ever so slowly, brought her closer until I was holding her against me.
Neither of us spoke, but it was a moment I can't forget. We did nothing more than stand there looking out at the river, watching the gauze-like layer of clouds slide gracefully down the blue slope of sky toward the horizon. A flock of sparrows lifted from the branch of a tree below and flew to the right until they disappeared behind the forest. And then the world seemed to take a deep breath. The breeze stopped. The strands of her hair that were lifted fell back to her forehead.
"Are you happy now. Doctor, happy with your marriage?" she asked.
Everything in me told me this was not a question I should answer. She was my patient. I was her doctor. This was crossing the line too far.
"It's more of an arrangement than a marriage,"
I
admitted. "As the famous line goes, we share coffee."
It
wasn't hard to see that she was pleased with that reply. She said nothing. She nodded softly as if she had expected no other kind of reply.
I lifted my hand from her shoulder and turned, and we walked back to the clinic, neither of us speaking. She returned to the arts and crafts room, and
I
went to my office to make some notes and prepare myself for my next patient. In the afternoon we had a staff meeting and reviewed our patient load. When Grace
Montgomery's name came up. Ralston lifted that one eyebrow of his and listened to my quick evaluation and my recommendations for continued therapies.
I
was reducing her medication dramatically now She hadn't been suffering the long bouts of depression she experienced when she had first arrived.
"So you're really making significant progress, Claude," Ralston said.
"Yes, yes I think we are."
"Good." Mercifully he went on to another patient, and I returned to my office. At the end of the day I considered remaining to have dinner with Grace. but I battled with myself and defeated that part of me that wanted it so very much.
At home Alberta was her talkative self, rambling on and on about the chamber of commerce ball. She was insistent that I attend it and drew repeated promises from me that I would not forget nor make any other appointment for that date. She actually had me sign a paper that stated. I, Claude De Beers, will attend the chamber of commerce ball
"I
will show this to everyone and anyone should you not be at my side that evening. Claude." she threatened. "The whole world will know what an absolute cad you are."
How trivial and silly it all seemed to me to be at her side at such an event compared to being at Grace's side, even to take a simple walk in the gardens at the clinic.
Later in the evening I tried to do some reading. Alberta had retired to take a herbal bath and do her skin and hair treatments. My eyes kept slipping from the pages of what I was reading until I looked up at the wall and saw Grace Montgomery and myself standing on the hill, me holding her, her head against my chest.
Are you happy now, Doctor, happy in your marriage? I heard her ask me again.
How my heart ached. Willow.
I
could not stand it any longer.
I
rose and looked for Miles. He was outside, finishing washing the car.
"I need to return to the clinic. Miles." I said. "Now?"
"Immediately."
He nodded, put everything away quickly, and got behind the wheel. Moments later we were flying through the night, my heart thumping.
I
had no idea what I would do. what I would say. But I felt wonderful doing this.
"Should I wait for you, Doctor?" Miles asked when we pulled up.
"Yes, Miles." I said. "You can go to the recreation room and watch television if you like."
"Very good." he said and I hurried in.
Nadine Gordon was on duty this night and she saw me enter. "Is anything wrong. Dr. De Beers?" she asked immediately.
"No, no. I have something to complete. Go on with your usual duties,"
I
said, waving her off as officially and firmly as I could.
I could feel her eyes on the back of my head as I charged down the corridor, first to my office and then, quietly, to the patients' dormitory. Once again, sneaking about like a errant teenager. approached Grace's door, I knocked softly and then opened it.
She was standing by the window looking out and turned slowly when I appeared. I closed the door softly behind me. She gazed at me without speaking. She was in her nightgown, her hair down. Willow, it was as if I were truly under a spell.
I
think I floated across that small room until I was inches from her. Neither of us had uttered a syllable yet. She looked up at me, that small, precious smile forming on her lips.
"Grace," I finally found the strength to say, and then. Claude De Beers be damned. I did it. Willow.
I
kissed her, tentatively at first and then with more passion than I ever imagined I had within me.
And she kissed me back and held on to me like a castaway bobbing in that sea of turmoil who had found something solid to cling to.
"I'm here," I said. "For you." And it began.

6
Cain's Confession
.
A brilliant colleague of mine, another wellknown psychiatrist and philosopher who is the author of many of the classic works in our field, has written that the criminal or the immoral person ironically finds relief in the so-called criminal or immoral act. Up until the time he or she commits it, their
consciences torment them. They struggle and da battle with good and evil forces within themselves and in that they suffer. When they finally act, they end the discussion. It's over. They've committed themselves and there is, according to my colleague, great relief. Be calls it Cain's Confession syndrome. It's equivalent to shouting at his conscience. 'I did it! Stop haunting me!"

Oh. did
I
do it, Willow. I began a secret relationship that would make me deceitful and conniving, a liar in my own house and dishonest with my closest friend. for I could not in the beginning trust anyone with the truth, not even Ralston. I had just come to the point where I was able to trust myself with it.

I laughed and told her. "Not any more than
I
could hurt myself or more to the point, hurt you. Grace."

She trembled in my arms. and I held her and kissed her again and then gently led her to her bed, where she lay back on the pillow and looked up at me with that wonderful soft smile that melted any resistance in my heart. I knelt at her side and stroked her hair.

"This is so wrong of me," I told her. "I am a man of logic, but I cannot explain, much less justify, my actions. All
I
know is you rarely leave my thoughts. I see you everywhere. Grace. I hear your voice in every quiet moment, and even when others are speaking to me, my ears shut down and your voice is the one I hear. I, of all people, know what obsessions are. This is not simply some obsession. Grace, something that might be mitigated or cured. It's more. I feel certain of that. For the first time. I think I understand the power of love, for I am in love, and Grace, no one can cure me of that or lessen it because I want it with all my soul."

"Except for my father, no man has ever told me he loves me, not like that." she said. "My stepfather Winston was very, very fond of me, but it was truly a father-daughter affection. Until now I never knew love like the love I feel for you." She laughed. "I was going to say Doctor. What should I call you?"

"Call me Claude, of course." I said. smiling. I couldn't stop petting her and bringing my lips to her cheeks, her eyes, her lips.

"I won't call you that unless we're alone," she said.
This complicates everything, Grace. I promise you that if
I
come to believe it will hurt you. I will not be your therapist any longer. Promise me you will understand. Please,"
I
begged her.
She promised, but it was one of those promises both people knew was impossible to keep. They make it just to get temporary peace.
I remained beside her, speaking softly to her, kissing her but doing no more. Finally I told her good night,
"Now I know
I
can sleep,"
I
said. "I'm not keeping it all bottled up inside me.
I
have followed the advice
I
give to my patients."
She said nothing. I was afraid I had
overwhelmed her. After I slipped out of her room. I started quickly down the corridor. Nadine Gordon stepped out of Sandy's room just as I had passed it and called to me. When I turned, she approached, her forehead creased as she brought her eyebrows together with her puzzled look.
"I looked everywhere for you, Dr. De Beers. Is everything all right?"
"Yes. Ms. Gordon. Everything is all right. How is Sandy?"
"She's sleeping better, but that is about all the improvement I've noticed." she replied curtly. "I think she might require more of your time. Doctor. Perhaps it was not so wise to reassign her to Dr. Price."
"I think he and
I
will be the best judges of that. Nadine,"
I
said. Whenever she did get to me, annoy me, or displease me in any way. I referred to her by her first name. It was something I know wasn't lost on her.
"Of course. I'm just giving you my most professional opinion, but only to assist you. Doctor, and certainly not to be critical." she added.
I
could never tell if Nadine Gordon liked me or disliked me during those earlier days. Sometimes I could actually feel her critical eyes looking over my shoulders, even when she wasn't in the room. No one lived more by the book than she did. I often would wonder what her personal life was like. To me she didn't seem to have any. All I knew was she lived in a single bedroom apartment, had no family in the state, and was unmarried with no prospects lurking in the wings.
She did little to make herself attractive on the job. Her hair was always severely tied back to the point where her skin looked stretched. She had faint freckles over her forehead and very tiny patches of them along her temples with a few dripping down to the crests of her cheeks. Her hair was a shade darker than rust, and her lips were more toward orange than red. I never saw her in anything but her uniform, even when we had a small cocktail party far some dignitaries a year after we began the clinic. She was a full-figured woman with hips a bit too large and hands that were somewhat puffy. Because of her thick shoulders. Ralston joked that she was a man in drag, despite her abundant bosom.
"Thank you. I'll confer with Dr. Price tomorrow," I told her.
As you wish," she said. She glanced back toward Grace's room and then narrowed her eyes a bit when she turned to say good night to me.
I could feel her staring after me, and as ashamed as
I
am to admit it. Willow.
I
walked faster. Imagine, the head doctor being terrorized by his nurse. You'll understand a bit more after you read more.
Miles was waiting for me outside. Alberta was right about his history with me, of course. He had been a patient of mine, thrown into a serious depression after he had caused a car accident that had resulted in the death of his daughter. He had been drunk and was unable to forgive himself. I never told Alberta the full extent of his problems, how many times and in how many different ways he had attempted suicide. but
I
was confident that he was well enough to take on responsibilities, and he and I had developed an unspoken, almost brotherly trust.
"You all right, Dr. De Beers?" he asked after I had gotten into the car and we had started away from the clinic.
"Yes, fine. Miles."
This was the first time
I
had asked him to drive me back to the clinic this late in the evening. He was a man of few words now, but he didn't require much conversation to communicate. He watched over me far better than I watched over myself and knew my moods, my emotional status, better than anyone. Certainly, he knew me better than Alberta.
"I heard you lecturing that young Dr. Wheeler the other day," he said. For Miles, that was truly a mouthful,
"Oh?"
"That business about getting so involved with your patient's problems, how you could take them onto yourself almost like a contagious disease."
I laughed, "You were listening carefully, Miles. I am impressed."
"You're not guilty of doing what you warned him about doing, now are you. Dr. De Beers?"
"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."
"And you got yourself
a
haircut. too. I must say. Claude, you can be a handsome man when you make a little effort."
She smiled and I thought how strange and ironic. my wife is attracted to one because l'm making myself more attractive to another
^-
woman, the
^-
woman I love. Suddenly Alberta was in her own Southern style more flirtatious. Consequently, my guilt made me want to please her more than ever, and
I
even forced myself to attend two charity events in a row with her,
Whenever
I
am at any of these occasions, the people who know what I do for a living ask me the most inane questions about my work and my patients. I find I also make people nervous, especially at dinner parties. Alberta has told me that I intimidate some of her friends. They are afraid to speak because they think
I
will analyze them and find something wrong.
"What do you want me to do?"
I
asked her.
"Stop being so serious. Tell jokes and never, never look at anyone too intensely." she prescribed. I was never good at telling jokes. but I actually practiced some just to please her.
Willow. I think anyone else would have realized her husband was acting strangely and would have become suspicious. Alberta never did, not even afterward when I had to convince her to take you into our lives.
But I am leaping ahead again. I'm writing this so fast at times, my wrist aches. Ifs as if I'm afraid I will die before it's completed and you will get only half the story and never know the things I want you to know.
For a while after the night
I
confessed my love to Grace, we tiptoed around each other. Very conscious of the possibility that Alberta would see something telling in my actions after I declared my love for Grace.