The tears kept coming, despite the medication she’d been given, but her voice was losing strength.“I wanted Cutter’s baby.”
His eyes flashed.He took her shoulders and shook her.
“Not another word.Not one.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can come close.Haven’t you learned that yet?Don’t you know that I control things around here?I’m the one who determines what happens.Not you.”
“But why?”she cried.She fought the heaviness of her eyes and the lethargy that slowed her weeping and threatened to drag her down.“Why does it matter what I do if I mind my own business?I’m not hurting you.”
“But you are,” he said and squared his shoulders.“What you do is a direct reflection on me.Why do youthink I’ve ruled with such a firm hand all this time?If it didn’t matter, I’d have thrown you out on your own a long time ago.”He paused.“That might have been fun to watch.The little girl all by herself.Justice, after the way they always fawned over you.”
He leaned toward her, propped his fists on the bed, and stared at her.“I’ve worked hard to make a name for myself.I’ve walked softly when I wanted to yell.I’ve kissed ass when I wanted to spit.The St.George name is finally getting to be known and respected, and it had nothing to do with the old man and everything to do with me.You’re a St.George.You do something stupid like getting pregnant by a miner and it’s a mark against me.I’m the one they’ll laugh at, and I’ve worked too hard for that.I want the recognition due me, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you put the slightest blemish on it.”
“I’m almost eighteen,” Pam whispered weakly.
“Almost of age,” he conceded.“But if you choose to make a fool of yourself, you’ll do it without a cent from me.I don’t give a damn whether you’re twenty-five or married, I’ll fight you every way I can.You lucked out this time.I’ve cleaned up this little mess without anyone the wiser.But in the future, when you make a spectacle of yourself, things won’t be so neat.The only way I’ll be able to stay clean will be to publicly denounce you.And I’ll do it.Act up, and I’ll do it.Loudly and clearly.Understood?”
His face swam before her eyes, partly from the tears that clung to her lashes, partly from the medication she’d been given.In a last, token show of defiance, she turned away and denied him an answer.
Chapter 18
Pam drew the brush gently through Patricia’s long hair.She had just trimmed the ends, as she’d promised during her last visit, and she imagined that the brush moved more freely.Certainly the neat line it produced was more pleasing than the splits and straggles.Then again, much of Pam’s pleasure was in the doing.She enjoyed visiting her mother, more so in the last few months than before.Being with Patricia was calming.The whole hospital setting was calming.She was beginning to understand how a person could retreat there and want to stay.It was a world unto itself, a haven when reality became too hostile.
Gripping the wheelchair handle, she leaned sideways to look assessingly at Patricia’s face.“Bangs.You need bangs.”
Patricia blushed and murmured a soft, “At my age?”
“You’re only thirty-seven.It’ll look great.”She touched her own.“Just a few.We’ll be twins.”
They could well have been, Pam knew.Their features were alike, and Patricia’s skin was still smooth and dewy.If there was any sign of her age, or of the mental anguish she’d suffered since the accident five years before, it was in the color of her hair.Once blond, it was now pure silver.Pam thought it was beautiful.But then, she’d always thought her mother beautiful, even during those awful times when Patricia had been in her own isolated world.
“No bangs?”she asked with a gentle smile.When Patricia mouthed an echo of the words, she said, “A French braid, then.Okay?”They’d done French braids before.
Patricia nodded.
Moving behind her again, Pam continued to use the brush for a little while before dividing the hair into thirds.She took her time.There was no rush here, no clocks posted on the grounds of the hospital.Instead, there were trees, tall pines and maples, lower-growing dogwoods and junipers separating one house from the next.There were eight houses in all, of differing sizes, for patients with differing needs.When Patricia had first come, she’d been in one of the larger houses that offered more intensive care.Now she lived in a small one for long-term patients with a degree of self-sufficiency.On warm days like this, she was free to enjoy the outdoors.
“Is school finished?”Patricia asked.
“Almost.”Pam worked the silver plaits over and under one another.“Exams are next week.”
After several minutes Patricia asked, “Are they hard?”
“Sometimes.But they don’t matter much for seniors.Unless we botch them.But I won’t.”Not that she’d ace them, either.She would make just enough of an effort to pass.She didn’t care about doing more.“Is the sun too strong?Want to move into the shade?”
“This is fine,” Patricia said quietly.
Having reached the end of the braid, Pam needed something to hold it in.So she took a slim green ribbon from her own braid and tied it on.Standing back to admire her handiwork, she decided that it looked better on Patricia than it had on her.The contrast was there, green on silver.Green on brown was bland.But that was how Pam’s life was.That was how she wanted it.She didn’t have the emotional strength for more.
“Hey, you two!”came a voice from across the lawn.Pam looked up, saw Bob Grossman approaching, and smiled.He was a nice-looking man, lean, partially balding, but his manner was his strong suit.He was kind, gentle, surprisingly normal for a psychiatrist.“Hard to say which is the mother and which the daughter.You’re looking more grown-up every day, Pam, while you”—he put an easy hand on Patricia’s arm—“go the other way.Pretty braid.”
Patricia’s cheeks warmed.“Thank you.”
“No thanks necessary.You brighten my day.”To Pam he said, “How’s it going?”
She shrugged.“Okay.”
