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"I don't remember you telling me that."

"I was always sensitive about it. I didn't lie to you. I just wasn't able to speak about it. My adoptive mother never let me forget it and always had me thinking something would be wrong with me."

He nodded. "I see," he said, and then realized what I had said. But why did your father write a whole diary about it?"

"He wrote it because he wanted me to know and appreciate. that he was really my father." I said quickly.

Once again. Allan stared for a long moment as the information settled in slowly. "What are you saying-- your father had sex with one of his patients?"

"It wasn't just sex. It was a real love affair," I said.

He grimaced. "I never would have thought that about him. He was pretty well known and respected."

"It wasn't what you're making it sound like. Allan. He didn't take advantage of a patient. They fell in love. It was not a onetime thing."

He looked skeptical.

"I'm telling you the truth." His truth." he muttered.

"The truth!" I cried. "My father couldn't stomach a lie. He was incapable of it."

"He lied to your adoptive mother, didn't he? Or did he tell her what he had done, too?" he asked.

I felt the heat rising into my face. "That was different. That wasn't a lie. exactly."

"Well, what do you call it? Did he have some fancy psychological term for it?"

"You don't understand." I said. "They had a different sort of relationship after a few years."

He shrugged. "I'm not judging anyone. I'm just surprised to hear it, that's all." He thought a moment and then looked at me strangely.

"What?"

"What was wrong with your real mother? Was she a schizophrenic or something?"

"No. She suffered from acute depression." I said. "but she was cured enough to leave and return to her family, and that's why I'm taking a leave from my studies."

"I don't understand."

"I've decided to go to her, to find her, to get to know her," I explained.

"Well, why can't you do that later, after the school year ends?" he asked.

"I would just think about it all the time. It would be hard to concentrate on my work," I told him.

"So take a weekend or something and go introduce yourself to her."

"You don't get to know your real mother and her family over a weekend. Allan."

"It's a start."

"I feel it's something I've got to do. I was hoping you would be understanding and even supportive," I said.

His eves grew small. dark. "Maybe you shouldn't give in to these impulses, Willow. Maybe it's not healthy."

"What do you mean?"

"Mental illness can be inherited. right? You could have inclinations, chemical imbalances like your real mother has. Maybe you should go see a psychiatrist now yourself."