Willow by V. C. Andrews Read Free Book Online

reading one of his journals or his books. Certainly, his office was like the heart of the house. Rarely did he treat patients in our home, but important people still came to see him and went directly to it. From it, he would issue his orders to Miles and, when Amou was still with us, to her. All of his plaques, awards, and cherished photographs were on those walls. How could it ever be anything else but my father's office?
Upstairs, his and my adoptive mother's bedroom remained the central suite. I couldn't see myself moving into it What would it become, a shrine? Perhaps I could give away his clothing the way we gave away my A.M.'s, but there were too many personal things of his that I would never relinquish, and as for the bed itself with its oversize headboard and canopy, why would I sell it?
And what about the walking paths? Could I look down any and not anticipate his lanky form trudging slowly back from one of his famous strolls? Or look at one of the benches along the way and not think of him resting, thinking, composing one of his scientific papers in his mind?
Regardless of how my adoptive mother tinkered with our property and the house. Daddy loved it so. Of course, she never believed that he cared. If he questioned something she wanted to do to a room or on the property, she would stop and shake her head and ask, "Why do you even ask about it. Claude? You spend most of your time at your precious clinic. That has become more your home than this. It's a wonder you remember where your socks are."
She didn't understand him. I thought. Although he wasn't there as much as he would have liked, his house was truly a meditative place for him, a sanctuary. At least, that was what I believed. With him gone, it would all be so hollow to me, a shell of what was once a home and a family.
"You've got to think about what you will do with this property," Aunt Agnes said as soon as we drove through the entrance at the driveway. It was as if she could read my mind. "It's far too much of a responsibility for a young woman of your age.
You're in college. anyway. Who would look after it?"
"Who does now?" I responded. "Who has looked after it all these years?"
"That man of your father's? Really, Willow, I could never understand how he put so much trust in someone like that," she snapped.
"Did he or didn't he kill his own child?" Margaret Selby demanded of me.
"He didn't kill his daughter. no She was killed in a car accident."
But he was driving, and he was drunk, wasn't he?"
He didn't mean for her to be hurt. Alcoholism is a disease," I said.
"How can alcoholism be a disease? You can't catch it, can you. Mother?"
"People who can't control their bad habits classify them as diseases. It's convenient." she replied.
"That's not true." I said. "There is scientific evidence..."
"I never understood why your father went into psychiatry," she said. It was something I had heard her say on other occasions. "Our father wanted and expected he would become a successful heart specialist and perform those bypass operations. At least with that, you have something concrete to show for your efforts."
I bristled. I couldn't ignore everything, I thought Forgive me, Daddy.
"Your brother, my father, was one of this country's most respected psychiatrists, Aunt Agnes. This is hardly the time to try to tear down his achievements." I said when the car came to a stop.
I couldn't wait to get out. I felt as if I had been locked in a jail cell and could hardly breathe.
Miles was at the door, standing there with his head slightly bowed. The mere sight of him freed the tears lodged beneath my eyelids. They streamed freely down my cheeks when I saw from his face that he had been crying awhile.
He was nearly sixty-five now, but if my adoptive mother were alive, she could point him out as evidence to support her them , that mental disturbances aged a person. He looked more like seventy-five, eighty. Despite his six feet, two inches, he actually appeared shorter than