"Mother! Of course. And I've requested a leave of absence from school."
Silence. "I was afraid of this," her mother said. Willow waited. "Your
father will have a fit."
"Don't tell him until after he's had his drink."
Silence. Willow braced for where did we go wrong and what's the matter
with Stanford. "Baby, are you sure?" The "sure" came from a deep place
that resonated with a similar place in Willow.
"Yes," she said instantly. "I'm sure."
"All right, Dear. I'll break it to your father. But you're going to
have to deal with him."
"I will. I'll write and let you know my plans. I'm not sure where I'll
be this winter. Probably here. I'll let you know."
"Be careful, Dear. I love you."
"I love you, too." Willow put down the phone amazed.
"I mean," she said later to Amber, "I couldn't believe it. She actually
talked to me like a grownup, like a woman."
"Far out," Amber said. "I think we better send her some flowers."
"What a good idea!" Willow jumped to her feet and paced the room. "But
my father? I can't send flowers to her and not say anything to him. We
haven't had it out, yet."
"Your father's pretty cool, considering." Amber meant--for a professor.
"I know," Willow said. "I'll send him the new Dylan album. I'll put a
note on it saying, 'latest American masterpiece.' Make a joke out of
it. He's going to be upset, though."
"He'll get over it. It's not like you're running away with a drug
dealer, for God's sake."
"I'll do it this afternoon," Willow said, "before I meet Patrick."
She wrote a short note to go with the album. Her father would be
relieved to know that she had requested a leave of absence and would be
in good standing at the University. She told him that she needed time
to find her own direction. He would think that she was making a
mistake, but at least he would hear it from her directly and would
recognize that she was serious. She added that there was a guy in town
who played piano like Fats Waller. "Love, Willow."
She rode back to the village and ordered flowers for her mother. The
Book and Record Shop packaged the Dylan album for her. She slipped in
the note and made her second trip of the day to the post office. Not
bad, she thought, pedaling to the Depresso. Not bad at all.
"You look cheerful," Patrick said when she arrived.
"It's Pluto," she said, "hanging around Venus again." She bent over and
kissed him quickly. "Mercury and Jupiter. You're here early."
"I took the day off."
"So, what happened?" Willow pulled a chair out from the table and sat
down.
"Ginger showed up late, around eleven. We talked."
"What's she like?"
"Not bad. Solid. She's married to an accountant--in St. Louis, I told
you. She has a couple of kids in college. She is Gert's only close
relative. Anyway, she's taking care of things. The house goes to her;
she's going to sell it right away. She asked me if I'd take care of the
place until then, live for free. I said I would."
"I bet it sells fast," Willow said.
"It should. I guess Gert told her about me, so she trusts me."
"It's a good deal for her," Willow said. "Houses are more attractive
when they are lived in, and summer is the perfect time to put it on the
market."
Patrick stretched. "I've been thinking," he said.
"About what?"
"About what to do next." He took a drink of beer. "I've been thinking
about maybe spending some time on the west coast. Where did you say you
were going to school?"
"Woodstock University," she said, laughing. "Oh, Patrick, you are such
a sweetie."
"Not," Patrick said.
"I have news, too," Willow said. "I was going to invite you to Deanie's
and tell you, but I can't wait."
Patrick sat up straight.
"I quit! I'm not going back. I put in for a leave of absence."
"No shit?"
"Truly."
"Far out." A grin spread slowly across Patrick's face. "What are you
going to do?"
"Buy you dinner at Deanie's."
Patrick was surprisingly formal at dinner. He ordered carefully and ate
slowly, looking around the restaurant with pleasure. What a sweetie.
Willow couldn't get over how comfortable she felt. This was like, life.
"This is my fourth dinner in Deanie's," Patrick said.
"Impressive," she said.
"I always order apple pie," he said.
"Make that two." She told him that she was going to find a way to stay
in town. They agreed that it was a good place to be. "I mean, it might
be fun here in the winter," she said. "A lot fewer people, I bet."
"Have to get warm coats," Patrick said. They were agreeing, without
actually discussing it, to spend the winter together. Patrick walked
her all the way home and then walked back after a long hug which stayed
with her as she slipped beneath her covers on the porch. How good is
this? she asked herself. Very good. As she and Patrick passed through
town, a voice had come out of a doorway.
"Patrick, old buddy."
"Hey, Billy," Patrick said, stopping.
"You got a buck for some cigarettes?"
"Yeah, man." Patrick reached into his pocket. "They aren't doing you
any good, Billy."
"There's worse."
"I guess . . . This is Willow."
Billy looked her up and down. "Willow, huh--now there's a pretty name.
You take care of her, Patrick. She's a good one."
"I'm rotten to the core, Billy," she had said. That started him
laughing and coughing.
"You're in trouble, Patrick," he managed to get out.
"I know it," Patrick said. "Well, we'll see you, Billy."
"Obliged. Good night, Willow."
"Good night, Billy."
Tears came to her in bed as she remembered. She and Patrick had walked
up the street leaving Billy behind. He had given them his blessing,
from a doorway, alone. It was like being married. She felt accepted for
the first time as part of a public couple. "Obliged, Billy," she said
and slept.
9
Fifteen years later, on a November morning, two soccer teams faced each
other across a lush green field. San Francisco Bay was distantly
visible from the bleachers, blue shading to gray.
"Go, Mustangs!" a dark haired woman in her prime said to a friend
joining her. "Hi, Willow."
"Morning, Cree." Willow set down a canvas tote bag and the two
exchanged hugs. "Brrrr."
"I know." Cree pointed at the boys who were running together as a
whistle blew. "They get to keep warm."
"We do, too. Coffee." Willow pulled a thermos from the bag. "Cocoa.
Scones."
"Scones! Willow, you are too much."
"I am the mother of a Mustang," Willow said. "God!"
"We are wild; we conquer," Cree said. "But this team is supposed to be
tough. "Go, Bart!" she yelled.
"I'm not supposed to cheer," Willow said. "What do you think? Start
with coffee?" She poured two cups. "I couldn't believe it when I saw
you at the school."
"It's so weird," Cree said. "It seems like yesterday we were sitting
around in Woodstock. And then, in another way, it seems like forever."
"I brought you something." Willow handed a sheet of paper to Cree.
"Patrick got in touch with Gino last year, and Gino sent this to him. I
copied it for you."