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been with my father for nearly twenty . years," I said. "He's not really just his housekeeper. He's been his driver and cared for the property all that time, looking after the grounds, doing maintenance. I think by now it would no longer be a novelty."
"Right," she said. "But wasn't he a former patient of his?" she whispered.
"Margaret. please. What else happened to my father?"
"Oh, Miles looked out a window and saw him lying on the ground and rushed out to him. He called for paramedics, who claimed they revived your father, and then they got him to the hospital. Miles called my mother, and we just put everything down and came rushing here. We had to cancel at least a half dozen appointments-- caterers, flower people, you know."
She laughed, a very loud cackle for someone who was supposed to be so ladylike. I thought.
"Whenever I complain about all the work I have to do planning my own wedding. Ashley says we should just elope. Can you imagine if we did? How many people would be disappointed? Hundreds. He's not serious, of course. He just likes to tease me.
"Mother says that shows he really cares about me. Men like to tease the women they love. It's a form of genuine affection." she declared with a single nod to serve as punctuation to mark the absolute. irrefutable truth.
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