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"I don't want to do this now. Allan." I insisted.

He ignored me and tried to kiss me. but I turned away, and he froze.

"All right." he said suddenly, and backed away. He stood up and brushed down his shirt and his pants. "Fine. Soak in your misery and your sadness if you like, and don't let me try to help you."

"I appreciate your helping me. Allan, but let's just sit with each other and talk and--"

"Fight. Sit and talk about adoptive mothers and real mothers and mentally ill mothers."

"Allan!"

"You know. Willow, it just might be that you really have inherited some of your mother's problems, that your terrible fears are justified. Maybe you even like being like this. I would certainly worry about having children with you." he added.

It was as if he had slashed me with a razor. I felt the blood rise to the surface all over my body and especially up my neck and into my face. I sat up and stared at him hard.

"Don't worry about it. Allan. You'll never have that concern. You and I will never have a child together."

He nodded. "Right," he said. "Okay. Go on Quit school, and chase your madness all over the country."

He turned and stormed out of my bedroom. A moment later. I heard the door to my apartment open and slam closed behind him. Then there was a deep, heavy silence.

How many other doors would be slammed on me in the days, months, and years to come? I wondered.

I fell back onto my pillow and stared up at the ceiling. Allan had made me feel terrible, but I was doing what I had to do. I thought, and besides. what I feared would happen once he had learned the truth about me had happened. Maybe it was for the best Maybe I was lucky to learn what he was really like now before it was too late.

That seemed reasonable, but it didn't help me to feel better. I cried as if another person I loved in my life had died, and then I got myself ready for bed.

I was up most of the night, tossing and turning over my decision and then planning how I would go about this search for my real mother. I looked wild and exhausted in the morning. Even a shower didn't help. Nevertheless. I had made up my mind and drove to school to see the dean of students. Anthony Thorne. Mrs. Schwartz made sure he made time for me.

Dean Thorne was a tall, dark-haired man with a great deal of charm and personality, the sort of man who seemed created for his position: smooth, politically astute, and as comfortable in his suit and tie behind his desk as he would be in a warm bath. I remembered thinking no one smiled with his eyes as well as he did-- no

r flirted with the coeds. either.

"Willow," he said, rising and extending his hand to me. 'Please accept my sincere condolences. I read your father's obituary in the paper the other day. What an impressive man he must have been. I'm sure a great many people will be missing him."

"'Thank you."

"How can I help you. Willow?" he said, and indicated I should take the seat in front of his desk.

"I want to take a leave of absence. Dean Thorne."

He nodded as he went back to his chair. He confronted so many student problems and complaints that he looked as if he wore the desk between him and the student like a suit of armor.

"At the end of the semester?"

"No, right now. I need to get excused from my classes without any penalty." I said.

"I see. You're not quite halfway through with the semester. but I suppose if you have a great deal of family business, family affairs to look after..."

"Yes," I said quickly.

"Well, I'm sorry about this. You're doing so well. I hate to see that interrupted for any reason. Isn't there any other way?"

"No,' I said firmly.

He held his gaze on me a long moment and then leaned back in his chair, flashing that soft smile that showed a set of perfect white teeth, a mouth made for television toothpaste commercials.

"If it's a matter of some counseling. Willow, I can arrange for something."