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"In love.., how do you fall in love with a mentally ill woman?"
"Well, you have what I would call an uneducated view of mental illness. Aunt Agnes. Most people suffer some neurosis or another. My mother had good reason to become depressed to the point where she needed professional help. What of it? Mental illness is illness. We don't look down on people who need heart bypasses or their gall bladders removed, do we? You're sick, you get professional attention, that's all."
"It's far from the same thing." "Only to the uneducated."
"Stop saving that. I had a fine education. I attended charm school. too. Oh dear, oh dear," she said, shaking her head. "all this just at the wrong time. A big story in Palm Beach, you say?"
"Could be."
"Well, who is this woman? Is she in a hospital there?"
"There are no hospitals in Palm Beach, Aunt Agnes, nor are there cemeteries. The rich and the famous don't want to be reminded that there is such a thing as illness and death. They keep it hidden backstage."
"Well, nearby, then." she snapped at me. My calmness and my good mood were driving her mad.
"No. She lives on her family's multimilliondollar estate with her son."
"She has a son, too? Don't tell me..."
"No, Daddy was not his father."
"Thank goodness for little things," she muttered, "How many children did this woman have and how many men?"
"Just two." I said. "And the first was not by mutual consent."
"Not what?"
"She was raped by her stepfather." I said bluntly.
"My God! Does the scandal ever stop? We won't be able to show our faces anywhere."
"We'll be just fine," I said. "So. I think I'll settle in, take a hot shower, and maybe make myself something to eat. Are you going with me to Miles's funeral tomorrow?"
"Miles's funeral? Of course not I'll finish up here and... go home." she said, still confused and spinning.
"That might be best, Aunt Agnes."
"Yes." she said. nodding. "Yes."
I walked out and paused in the doorway to look back at her. She hadn't moved. She continued to stare at the wall, clutching the glass of water so hard and tightly in her hand that the veins were embossed right down to her wrist.
I picked up my bags and went upstairs to my room.
.
Before I went to sleep. I reached my mother on the phone, and she told me Linden's physical condition was improving, but he was still "like someone caught in a fog."
"They have recommended a therapist, and he's coming to see him in the morning." she told me.
"That will be goad. I'm sure he or she will be able to help him. Mother."
"I hope so. It's heartbreaking to see him like this."
"He'll improve." I promised. I paused, wondering if I should ask. She seemed capable of reading my mind through the phone line, however.
"Has Thatcher called you?" she asked.
"No, not y
