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"When?" He looked skeptical.

"Last night. I can do it now, but the doctor and Tony are telling me I have to go slowly. Oh, Drake, don't want to go slowly. I'm so anxious to walk out of here."

He nodded thoughtfully, gazing at me with his eyes narrow and sharp, just the way Tony often did.

"I'm sure what they are telling you, they are telling you for your own good, Annie."

"But it doesn't seem right," I insisted. "I know I can stand. I should be doing it more often, getting my legs used to it again, building their strength. And I should be using that walker," I said, pointing to it in the corner. "What's the point of having, it if I don't use it?"

He shrugged.

"It's probably something that has to be done at a certain point or . . . it'll do more harm than good. I don't know, Annie. I'm not going to be a doctor."

"Luke is," I said. He winced as though I had slapped him, but I couldn't help my feelings. "I wish he was here. I don't understand why he's not here," I said and folded my arms across my chest.

"I've left messages."

"He's not getting them." I pouted.

"All of them?"

"It's not like him," I contended.

"People change, especially when they go off to college. I think I told you that."

"Not Luke," I insisted. "Drake, do you care about me? Really care about me?"

"Of course. How could you even ask such a question?"

"Then I want you to wheel me out of here. I'll go downstairs on my chair elevator and you will wheel me to the nearest telephone. I want to call Luke myself now. Tony promised to have a phone installed in this room, but he hasn't done it yet, and I have real doubts that he has made any real attempt to contact Luke for me."

"Why? If he said he tried . . . and if he promised to get you a phone--"

"No, no, he forgets what he says and what he promises. You don't see him the way I do, Drake. I think Tony is somewhat senile, and he's getting worse and worse each passing day."

"What? Now, I've been working with--"

"Listen to me, Drake. Sometimes, when he speaks to me, he gets everything confused . . talking about my mother, my grandmother, my greatgrandmother. He forgets who's dead and who isn't. I'm sorry now that I let him and his beautician talk me into dying my hair this color. It's adding to his confusion." Now that I was telling Drake everything, it all seemed more serious to me than it had been before.

He smiled and shook his head. "Annie, you're the one who's beginning to sound senile."

"No, Drake. There are odd things going on . . . the way he keeps Mommy and Daddy's old suite, and my great-grandmother Jillian's suite . . as if everyone's still alive. Even Rye Whiskey thinks things are weird. Of course, he talks about ghosts wandering the halls, but he knows things. He wants me to go home!" I exclaimed. All this time, I realized, I was feeling sorry for Tony. I was trying to understand why he was like he was and I was making excuses for it. But now that I listed everything, I realized I should be feeling more sorry for myself. I could be trapped in the home of a madman, not just someone who went into memory lapses from time to time.

"Rye wants you to leave?" Drake shook his head. "Now there's someone senile."

"And Tony keeps Jillian's room like a museum," I continued, feeling desperate for Drake to understand my worries, "He doesn't let anyone in there. It's weird. You should have seen him a short while ago, mumbling about not permitting my hillbilly relatives to come live here. . ," I shook my head. "Do you know all the glass has been taken out of the mirrors in Jillian's room and--"

"Hold on a minute, my head is spinning." He sat back. "Get you downstairs to call Luke, Tony's turned a suite into a museum suite, Tony's confused, you wish you hadn't dyed your hair . . . could this all be because of some medicine you're taking?"

"Drake, aren't you listening to me?" He just stared. "I'm beginning to feel afraid. I want to be cooperative and do what everyone thinks I should, but I can't help wondering what Tony's going to do next."

"Tony?" he said, still disbelieving. "I never met anyone as kind, as loving, as devoted to us as Tony."

"Wheel me out," I demanded. "Now."

"Let me talk to your doctor."

"No," I said quickly, a new possibility coming to mind. "He's under Tony's employ. He does what makes Tony happy." The real possibility of that drove a sword of cold terror through my heart. "My God . . . what if . . ." I looked around the room, frantic now.