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The door opened and Mother stood there, her face full of concern.
"I saw Thatcher leave," she said. "He was carrying suitcases and he looked furious. I called to him and I know he heard me, but he didn't turn back. What happened?" I shook my head and then burst into a flood of tears that I thought might drown us both.
She rushed to me to throw her arms around me, and for a few moments I became a very little girl again, clinging to my Amou, soaking up her compassion and sympathy and clinging to her words of hope. There was always sunshine in her eyes for me, always enough to help me believe things would get better,
When I was calm enough. I told Mother everything, and then I showed her the folder. She sifted through the documents, stared sadly at the photographs, and sighed so deeply. I felt sorrier for her than I did for myself. She looked like she had aged in minutes.
"How disappointing." she said. "Such hard news. I was always impressed with Thatcher, impressed with how he had managed to overcome his own family to develop into such a respectable, mature young man."
She looked at me.
"I feel like I was part of the deception." she continued. "I feel responsible."
"How could you be?"
"I was so happy about your relationship with him and your marriage to him. I lent my support, my confidence to you and ignored all his philandering."
"I am a big girl, Mother. I didn't do anything I did not want to do. I knew about his past, the way he lived and played. What I was blind to. I was blind to because I closed my eyes myself. No one closed them for me. There were so many hints and little footprints along the way. I think I realized some of this, but lied to myself because it was so much easier to do that. No one is more responsible than I am. I won't let you place an ounce of blame on yourself."
"I am afraid I don't need your permission to do that." she said. She closed the fo
lder. "What have you decided to do now?"
"I can't remain married to such a man." I said. She nodded,
"And I'm thinking about the baby," I added. Her eyes flew up at me, widening.
"What are you saying? You can't mean.., you wouldn't seek an abortion?"
"I keep thinking about the life I'm bringing this child into. Mother. Mistakes compounded become so much bigger and harder to live. with."
"Oh. no. Willow. no. The child can never be thought a mistake. Besides, whether you want to admit it to yourself now or not, this baby is a part of you. Believe me." she said. "I know."
She reached for my hand and looked into my face.
"Don't you think I went through the same sort of concern, had the same doubts and temptations? But in the end. Willow. I could not deny that the child being formed inside my body was so much a part of who and what I was that I could not place blame on him and I could not deny his existence. This isn't exactly the product of a rape. Mine was closer to that. but I was a young, vulnerable girl who just didn't realize what it all would and could mean."
"Right now. I don't feel any more sophisticated or mature than you were then. Mother.
"This is different. Willow. It's betrayal, it's being taken advantage of. but it's different," she insisted. "Believe me, you will hate yourself more if you stop yourself from giving birth. You wanted this child after you learned of its coming. didn't you? You had worked out all the problems, knew you could afford to have it and still fulfill your responsibilities and needs. What Thatcher has done shouldn't change that, can't change that."
I shook my head. bit down on my lower lip, and closed my eyes.
"No. I guess what he has done does not change that. You're right, of course. It's just that... just that it's going to be so hard now. Mother, for so many reasons."
"It's been hard before." she said. smiling. "Somehow, we manage to get through it."
I looked at her and felt so guilty for waving my self-pity in her face, of all faces. If anyone had the right to self-pity, it was she. Abused, sent away suffering emotional and mental pain, having to give up the man she loved and return to a world in which she was considered a leper. And she was the one giving me encouragement and strength.
"Oh, Mother." I cried. "I'm sorry."
"You have nothing to be sorry about. Willow. In the end, believe me, he will be the one who wakes up alone, lost, confused, and very sorry."
She put her arm around me and for a while we sat on the bed, me resting my head on her shoulder, she kissing my hair.
"Let me see about dinner," she said.
"I'm not going to be very hungry. Mother."
