Blue Willow

by Deborah Smith

  Michael sat cross-legged on a sofa, looking collegiate and intellectual, as befitted a psychology major, in faded jeans and a bulky pullover, holding hands with a delicate brown-haired young woman wearing glasses and looking just as solemn. He was already completely in love with Kathy Goldberg, a fellow psychology major, and she adored him as well. They were planning to marry next year.

  Julia sat on the floor flipping through a Schoolbook and pretending to study, while she chewed the top of a highlighter pen and darted worried glances toward the hall. Her pale blond hair was askew in a short ponytail, and a long print skirt was tucked between her legs. Occasionally she wound a hand in the hem of her matching blouse, which she’d pulled from the skirt’s waistband.

  Artemas surveyed the group worriedly, his nerves on edge. James vented his self-doubts in aggressiveness, Cass had a compulsive need to remain reed-thin and dominate every man who crossed her path, Michael viewed the world with unrealistic expectations of its kindness, and Julia approached every task with manic energy. Artemas saw the world as something he could make over and control through rigid personal honor. He and they had found imperfect but strong ways to deal with their past. Why was Elizabeth so different, so self-destructive?

  Glenda rounded the corner of the lounge area with a large paper cup in one hand, gazed at Artemas with fine lines of worry pulling at the center of her small dark brows, and picked her way to him through his siblings, smiling at them sympathetically. “Drink this milk,” she told him with mild authority.

  She leaned against the wall, facing him while he sipped from the cup, her thin body sheathed in a simple blue dress and low pumps, her shoulder-length hair tucked behind her ears and shimmering under the low lights, which caught the fine gold necklace at her throat. He welcomed her affection while fighting the familiar sense of betrayal in his chest.

  “Is there any new information?” Glenda asked.

  “No, she’ll probably sleep for hours.”

  “I called Father. He says he’s contacted Dr. Bolin. Bolin will come by in the morning to meet with her, if you want him to.”

  “I want her to have the best therapist. If that’s Bolin, then I agree. But I have to talk to her myself first.”

  Glenda slid an arm through his and clasped his hand. “This may be one problem you can’t fix for your family without help. Please don’t feel so responsible.”

  “I do. I’ve been too busy in the past few years. Away too much on business. If I’d talked to her more, spent more time with her—”

  “Ssshh. The whole family feels awful. But none of you could have seen this coming. You’re so close to each other, so protective. You’re not to blame.”

  Alise’s arrival cut the conversation short. Artemas watched as she ran up the hallway and halted in front of James, who stopped pacing and stared down at her in surprise. They hadn’t seen each other often in the past two years. Alise was attending college out of state—driven to leave by James’s refusal to see her as anything but the young girl who’d dogged his steps adoringly for years. He’d been right, in his way, because Alise was four years younger than he. But his involvement with a series of women his own age had wounded her so much that she couldn’t remain where she might encounter him with one of them at his side.

  But now he studied her slender beauty and somber, concerned eyes with obvious shock, his stern face slowly relaxing into an expression of tenderness. “I came as soon as I heard,” Artemas heard her tell him. “Is Elizabeth all right?”

  James wavered. He pulled his fists from his pockets. They unfurled and met her outflung hands. “She’ll be fine. She’s just sleeping.”

  “You look so tired and upset. Is there anything I can do?”

  His fingers slid through hers. Her face brightened with amazement and pleasure. “Walk downstairs with me. I need some fresh air.” He paused, then added gruffly, “I’m glad to see you. Just having you here makes me—makes all of us—feel better.”

  His gaze was riveted to her face, as if he was just discovering her. Slipping an arm around her back, he walked with her down the hall, disappearing beyond the lounge’s wall. Cass deserted the intern and came over to Artemas, one black brow arched meaningfully. “She’s not a sappy kid anymore. I think James just realized it. She’ll have him tagged and bagged before very long. I’m taking bets.”

  Artemas eyed his sister grimly. “Maybe he’ll set a good example.”

  “For me? Shit. I’m only getting started in the game. You won’t find me mooning over anyone in particular.” Her strained, cocky attitude faded. Shadows of fatigue and worry clung to her eyes like bruises. She looked in the direction of Elizabeth’s room. “I’ve got to spend my time giving Lizbeth some lessons in survival.”

  Artemas put an arm around her shoulders. She brushed tears from her eyes. “How could she do this to us? Why didn’t she say something, if she had problems?”

  “We’re going to help her. I’ll make sure nothing gets in the way.”

  Tamberlaine and LaMieux walked around the corner. Artemas had told them they weren’t expected to stand this vigil, but both men had become so close to the family that they were part of it. Dawn was making pink stains on the cityscape beyond the lounge’s window. Artemas stood with them, looking out at the first glint of sunrise. “I have to concentrate on my sister’s problems right now,” he told them. “I’ll send James to England in my place, if one of you will go with him.”

  “I’ll go,” LaMieux said.

  Artemas looked at Tamberlaine. “Then you manage things at the office. Try to clear as much as you can from my schedule. I need all the free time I can get.”

  Tamberlaine nodded sagely. “No one and nothing of less than vital importance will get past me.”

  • • •

  The silence was bone-chilling. The house seemed to have died, too, and every little sound made Lily look up and listen, expecting to see Mama or Daddy walk in the door, to hear them moving around in the other rooms. She couldn’t bear to think of them the way she’d seen their bodies, first at the hospital, then at the funeral home. She couldn’t bear to think of them buried in the ground at the church cemetery in town.

  Her desperation to have them back made her understand insanity; her thoughts ran in strange patterns. Sometimes in the past month she’d felt giddy, as if excited about the adventure and the challenge of being alone. Then her mood plunged into abject grief and fury. Aunt Maude and the sisters said it was normal to shift emotions like that, and that eventually she’d level out. They told her patience would get her through each day, and that she should indulge the odd, harmless notions but ignore the foolhardy ones. It was acceptable, then, to stay up all night hanging new wallpaper in Aunt Maude’s parlor or spend hours walking around town without speaking to anyone.

  But what she was trying to do now wasn’t harmless, and she knew it.

  She hadn’t received a letter from Artemas since January. She’d written to him right after the funeral. He hadn’t written back. When she needed him most, he hadn’t even sent a card. Why?

  She had to believe it was an accident. Her letters were getting lost. Or he was out of town, or out of the country.

  For the past few days she’d been trying to call him on the phone. Lily had gotten his office number from long-distance information. Every time she called, the receptionist took her name and number and said she’d pass it along.

  There had been no answer from Artemas.

  Her hand trembling, she dialed the New York number again. A woman answered formally, “Colebrook International. Good afternoon.” Lily always thought the name sounded alien. When had it changed from Colebrook China? Her heart pounding, she said as evenly as she could, “I need to speak with Mr. Colebrook, please. I’ve been calling you for days, and this time I can’t just leave a message. Nobody calls me back.”

  “One moment, please.”

  A deep masculine voice came over the line. “Mr. Colebrook’s office.”

  “I need t
o speak with Artemas, please.”

  “He’s not available at the moment,” the man answered politely. “Can I take a message?”

  “Not if you’re just going to ignore it, the same as everyone else.”

  “Perhaps I can help you.”

  “No, just tell him, please. It’s really important that I talk to him.”

  “He can’t be disturbed right now. I don’t know when he’ll be able to talk with you. Could you tell me the nature of your business?”

  “If you tell him Lily called and it’s important, he’ll know what that means.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t give him such a vague message. Is it personal?”

  “Yes.” Yes, calling to tell him Mama and Daddy died and I need a loan to pay bills is pretty personal.

  “I’m Edward Tamberlaine, Mr. Colebrook’s assistant. Anything you wish to tell me will be held in strict confidence.”

  “Won’t you just ask him to call me?”

  “Your messages have reached him. I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

  Her head swam. It wasn’t possible that he’d known she’d called but hadn’t bothered to call her back. “Is he in town? Is he there? Couldn’t you buzz his desk real quick and say that Lily MacKenzie’s on the phone?”

  “I can’t give you Mr. Colebrook’s schedule. I’m not familiar with your name, Ms. MacKenzie. Mr. Colebrook accepts very few personal calls at the office.”

  “I’m a friend. An old, old friend. I’m calling from Georgia.”

  “Mr. Colebrook has given his staff a list of friends who are allowed to speak with him at the office. I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on it. But I will check with him and make certain he knows you’ve been calling.”

  Lily clenched the receiver until her fingers ached. Colebrook International kept playing in her mind. It sounded more important and sophisticated than anything she’d imagined, and so did Edward Tamberlaine’s voice. She suddenly felt foolish, humiliated, naive—and that made her angry.

  “If Mr. Colebrook has to talk to me through other people, then he’s in a sorry state,” she said. “Thank you, but I’ll think of some other way to get in touch with him.”

  She hung up and turned away, hollow inside, desperate and disappointed. She had to know if Artemas no longer cared about her or her family. Like the farm, his friendship was all that kept the emptiness from closing in on her.

  “Elizabeth?” Artemas sat down on the edge of her bed. Her face looked small and forlorn against the white pillow; her wavy blond hair was matted to her head. Her blue eyes were hazy and tormented, and when he took her hand, her fingers curled limply inside his.

  “I’m sorry I upset everyone,” she whispered, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes.

  “Ssshh. You’re going to be all right. That’s all that matters to us.” He held her hand tighter.

  Her mouth trembled, and her flushed, swollen face became a tragic mask of self-control. In a barely audible voice she said, “I don’t know if I really wanted to die.”

  “Of course you didn’t want to die. You need help, and you were asking for it. I blame myself for not being the kind of brother you could come to.”

  “Oh, Artie, it’s not your fault.”

  “I don’t want you to hurt yourself again. We have to work this out. We all love you, and we want you to be happy. That’s all that matters. Listen to me.” He took her chin as if she were still a child who needed a milk mustache wiped off her mouth, and turned her face toward him. “Nothing could be worse than what the six of us have survived together. We don’t want to lose you.”

  She stared at him in anguished consideration and began trembling. “I won’t do it again. I swear.”

  “Tell me why you felt so desperate.”

  “No. It’s my problem. I won’t talk about it.”

  “Elizabeth,” he said with mild warning.

  “No.” She jerked away from him, turned on her side, and put her hands over her face. “Leave me alone. I’m never going to talk about it.”

  Artemas stared at her in desperation. “A psychiatrist is coming by this morning to see you. Will you talk to him?”

  “No. Don’t hate me for being stubborn. Just leave me alone. I won’t try to kill myself again. I told you.”

  At a loss for options, Artemas said sternly, “I could have you committed to a hospital if you won’t cooperate.”

  Elizabeth jerked in alarm and twisted in the bed, staring at him in horror and disbelief.

  “You’ve changed. You never could have threatened me before. I don’t understand what’s happening to you.”

  He bent his head and shut his eyes. Through gritted teeth he said, “I want the best for you. For the whole family Goddammit, try to help me.”

  “I will,” she said, her voice breaking. “But don’t scare me.”

  “Then talk to this doctor when he gets here. Promise me.”

  Her face crumpled. “All right. But just to him.”

  His hands were clenched. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much rage and frustration were trapped inside him. He forced himself to relax, or to give the appearance of it, at least. “You have my word that I’ll do everything I can to help you, and I won’t ask questions that upset you. And neither will anyone else in the family. But this family is going to survive. If I have to be a bastard to make certain of that, I can do it. You hear me? Survive and win. And that includes you. Don’t ever doubt that I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  She looked relieved but frightened. Artemas gripped her shoulder reassuringly. His word had power because he never broke it. Not to his brothers and sisters, not to the senator, not to business associates, not to Glenda. The guiding voice he listened to still had a sweet southern drawl. It had never deserted him.

  Lily stepped from a fat yellow cab, paid the driver, then stood on the sidewalk, looking at the building in front of her. It was not what she’d expected. She’d pictured all of New York as a postcard scene from Manhattan, with sleek, modern skyscrapers making canyons along wide streets filled with people. Instead, she found herself on a narrow street lined with blocky, aging warehouse buildings of dingy brick and rusty steel. Their parking lots jutted out to the sides behind tall security fences. A cold March wind whipped down the street, carrying bits of trash. The rumble of heavy construction equipment came from gaps where buildings were being demolished. Large signs in front of the sites indicated that some kind of expensive redevelopment was under way.

  Her pulse was thready as she returned her scrutiny to the looming old edifice fronted by a small brown lawn and severely clipped boxwoods. The bottom level was as welcoming as a bunker, with no windows and only a huge, simple set of glass doors set in the middle of a brick stoop. The upper level contained enormous windows, but rows of pale blinds covered them. Only the cars that filled the small parking lot and the glimpse of light inside the front doors gave a clue of human occupation. A small sign on the lawn said COLEBROOK INTERNATIONAL in stern white letters on a black background.

  It wasn’t grand in the way she’d expected, but it was no less formidable. She had a sense of its purpose and practicality, of mysterious labyrinths behind the solid brick walls, where large sums of money and important deals were negotiated. Where she’d find Artemas.

  Her head throbbed with tense anticipation. So much was confusing and painful these days; she felt lost. Glancing down wearily, she unbuttoned her bulky, quilted jacket and smoothed the wrinkles in the white sweater and long gray skirt she’d donned in the rest rooms of the Port Authority bus terminal. The wind bit through the pale hose on her legs. Her feet looked too large in their flat black shoes. They looked rooted to the pavement, afraid to move.

  But she could only move forward. Hitching her tote bag and the long strap of a black purse over her shoulder, she advanced on the wide glass doors.

  Inside was a small, pleasant lobby with philodendrons sprawling out of tall white ceramic planters in each corner. On one side, heavy tan co
uches and overstuffed chairs were arranged around a gleaming black coffee table. On the other was the small half-moon of a receptionist’s booth, a forbidding obstacle staffed by a uniformed security guard with a spiky crown of short dreadlocks and a grandmotherly little woman in a business suit. They marshaled their position near a wall dominated by double doors painted an unfriendly steel gray. Her destination.

  Lily eyed the doors, then the people, as she approached the booth.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Colebrook. Artemas Colebrook.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. I’ll just wait until he has a free minute. I’m a friend of his. Lily MacKenzie. From Georgia.” She straightened her back rigidly as they scrutinized her with skeptical expressions. “You’re the one who’s been calling, aren’t you?” the receptionist asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you’ve come a long way for nothing. You’ll have to leave a message. He’ll receive it when he comes in. He’s not here today.”

  “Will he be here tomorrow?”

  “You’ll have to leave a message,” the guard interjected.

  Lily glanced toward the seating area. “I’m not trying to be a problem, but I have to see Artemas. So I believe I’ll wait for him.” Her knees were shaking, but she walked calmly to a couch and sat down. Casting another look at the slack-jawed stares of the duo watching her, she added, “Don’t worry. When he sees me, everything’ll be all right. If not today, then tomorrow. I’m patient.”

  The guard shifted, frowning. He and the receptionist traded an ominous look. “I’d better call Mr. Tamberlaine,” the receptionist said briskly.