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"Lots of things," Thatcher said. "Tossed by a wave, he lost his footing and fell against the side of the boat. A gust of wind caught him unaware, and the boom struck him. When you're out in nature, a man alone is always in danger," Thatcher added.

"Linden has always been alone." my mother murmured. "In nature or otherwise."

I pressed my hand to hers, and we rode on in silence.

The ambulance had already brought him to the emergency room, and the doctors were attending him by the time we arrived. We waited anxiously until the ER doctor came to see us.

"I am his mother," my mother said quickly, and he turned directly to her, "How is he?"

His head wound required nearly fifty stitches. He has suffered a shill fracture and a concussion. Preliminary tests indicate the presence of a subdural hematoma."

"What does that mean?" my mother asked.

"The head injury causes blood to collect between the inner and outer membranes of the brain. This, in turn, creates pressure which we have to relieve."

"How?"

"A surgical procedure. I'm afraid." he said. "I have sent for Dr. Parker Thombera, a very highly respected neurological surgeon."

"Yes," Thatcher said. "I've heard of him."

The doctor turned to him and smiled, "He'll be here very soon to confirm the diagnosis." he said.

"Can I see my son?" my mother asked,

"You can. but I have to tell you he has some amnesia at the moment, which is not unusual or uncharacteristic of the condition. It's rarely lasting. Its longevity is directly related to the severity of th

e injury, and once we get him on the mend--"

"He doesn't know who he is?"

"He's very confused."

"Maybe when he sees her, he'll remember and realize what's happened to him." Thatcher suggested.

"Maybe," the doctor said, but the way he smiled and glanced at him told me probably not.

She started away with him, paused, and looked at me. 'For now. I think it's best I go myself"

"Of course," I said, and sat down, my eyes dropping to my fingers twisting and turning on themselves nervously in my lap.

"Don't you even think of blaming yourself for any of this. Willow. I told you he's always been impulsive, stubborn, and high-strung. You heard Grace in the car. Linden has always been a loner. Who knows how he tore up the waves out there, having himself a tantrum,"

"I just wish that when I packed my bag to come here. I had brought along happiness and hope, not more trouble and sadness," I said.

"Your coming should have been a wonderful thing-- is a wonderful thing. Anyone who takes it otherwise has no one to blame but him- or herself." Thatcher assured me.

I leaned back. Suddenly, I was feeling so tired, the fatigue going to the '11' bottom of my soul. I thought I could sleep forever, put my head on a pillow and, like Rip Van Winkle, not wake up for years and years. Maybe I would be better off. How I wished I was a little girl again and Amou was at my side, a willing pillow against whom I could rest my head and dry my tears to the sounds of her soft voice, her singing, her reassurances and promises.

I missed her so.

I closed my eyes and actually did drift off. When I opened my eyes again. Thatcher was standing in the doorway, speaking to a tall, thin, distinguishedlooking man in a dark blue suit. They shook hands. and Thatcher turned to me. I sat up quickly and ground the sleep out of my eyes.

"Who was that?"

"Dr. Thornberg. They are going to operate on Linden as soon as possible. He thinks he can relieve the pressure easily enough and get him on the mend physically but warned about the potential for what they call posttraumatic stress disorder," he said, lowering his voice.

"What's that, exactly?"