Page 7

I stopped and turned to face her. "What were my father's diagnosis and prognosis. Margaret?"

"All I know is he had a heart attack. What does prognosis mean?" she asked, and grimaced quickly, anticipating criticism. "I know you're going to get into all that medical stuff and become like some sort of mental doctor. Willow, but not everyone studies the dictionary."

"You don't have to study the dictionary to know the meaning of prognosis," I said with forced patience. It just means what they think his chances for recovery will be."

"Oh. Well. I don't know any of that" she said. "I haven't been here that long. Willow. We absolutely flew from your house to the hospital, and it's been very difficult just sitting around the waiting room. They hardly have any magazines to read, and as far as I know, Mother has had only one conversation with

any sort of doctor. She didn't tell me anything except to go get you, and here I am. I have a car just outside, but the driver is not a very nice man. He kept saying he can't wait at the curb. They won't let him. Everyone thinks a bomb is going to go off at the airports these days. It really makes it difficult for those of us who are used to comforts and convenience. You would think they would make some sort of accommodation."

"Let's go," I said, already exhausted with my effort to squeeze even a tidbit of real information out of her,

"How is college life? Have you met anyone?"

I didn't answer. I kept walking, but that didn't discourage my cousin Margaret. People like her can easily have a conversation with themselves. I thought.

"I bet it's hard for you to meet someone. I don't know why you want to be a psychological doctor. People, men especially, can't feel too comfortable in the company of a psychiatrist. They're always suspicious of them, expecting them to analyze and judge them upon every word and gesture they make. You'll never have any real friends, Willow, much less a real love relationship. People simply won't trust you."

"Is that your mother's dogma?" I quipped as we stepped out of the airport.

"My mother's dog what?"

"Forget it. Margaret," I said, bursting out onto the sidewalk. I could feel the urgency coming to a head inside me. "Where's the car?'

"Oh. I think it was that one,," she said, nodding at a black Lincoln Town Car. She waved

emphatically, but the driver just stared at us. "I guess that isn't him. I can't tell one of those cars from another. Where is he? I told you he was not a pleasant driver.'

I charged forward toward the taxi stand.

"Where are you going?"

To the hospital." I called back.

"But... our car. You can't just take an ordinary taxi. Willow."

I stepped into the next taxi. Margaret stood there on the sidewalk staring in at me.

"Are you coming or not?" I demanded, holding the door open. She looked up and down,

"Maybe he misunderstood." she said, "and thought I didn't need him to take us back."

"Get in!"

She grimaced and got into the cab as if she were about to sit in the electric chair. I reached past her and pulled the door shut.

"Spring City General, and as quickly as you can," I urged the driver,

"Right." he said, and we shot away from the curb.

"Well, my goodness," Margaret said. "Now I know what it must feel like to be kidnapped."

Who in his right mind would want to kidnap you? I thought, and mentally urged the traffic to move along faster.

"Mother says it's good to occupy your mind with other things when you're in a situation like this," Margaret rattled on as our taxi wove in and out of traffic.

I could hear her droning in the background. but I really didn't hear a word she was saying. Her voice took on the monotony of bees gathering nectar in our garden. I pushed it away. I'm more like my father than I believed I was, I thought, and smiled to myself. I know how to focus and turn off people.

"It's not funny," I finally heard Margaret say. She practically shouted in my ear.