DeBeers 06 Dark Seed Read online

  No one else noticed him but me. When I got out to walk up my driveway. I waited for him to catch up. He bounced over pavement and skidded to a stop inches from me.

  "You gotta go right home?" he asked.

  I looked at the front of the house. Amou usually waited for me after school. The Doctor was at his clinic and my adoptive mother was either out with friends shopping or attending some charity event.

  "No," I said.

  "Good. Get on," he ordered, pounding his seat. Courageously, I did so.

  "Hold on." he told me. and shot away. There was a steep hill just down from our property and he didn't slow much to descend. I screamed and closed my eyes, and he laughed.

  "Make way!" he shouted. "Make way for the Adopted."

  Not only wasn't it a secret to him, he was eager to rub it in the face of Fate.

  No adoptive mother would bring him to tears. Was it all a facade, an act to serve as a suit of armor? Even if it is, I thought, I want to be like him. Before our bike ride ended, I was screaming with him:

  "Make way for the Adopted!"

  3

  Love Is in the Heart,

  Not the Blood

  .

  It wasn't until I went to Scott's home one

  weekend afternoon that I understood what gave him his self-confidence and strength. His adoptive father was a plumber and his adoptive mother, once a secretary, was now doing only freelance work, but not because she couldn't find a full-time job. Before Scott invited me to his home, he revealed that his mother (he never referred to her or his father as adoptive) was suffering from something called lupus. It was a debilitating illness, and from what he understood and what his father had told him, his mother was getting worse. She had been sick for nearly eight years.

  "Sometimes she has a lot of pain." he explained to me. "And she doesn't like to see people, but she's okay right now and she told me you could come over.'

  Despite her illness. Scott's mother was a very pleasant woman. She was sickly thin. I thought, but she had a nice smile with soft blue eyes. She was a dark brunette, and almost as tall as Amou. I could see that it was painful for her to move about the house, but she wouldn't let it stop her from making Scott and me some homemade chocolate chip cookies. What surprised me the most that first day I met her was that Scott had told her my secret.

  The moment she revealed that, I turned sharply and glared angrily at Scott. His mother saw how upset I was.

  "Scott doesn't keep secrets from me. Willow. We love each other too much to ever hide things from each other or lie to each other," she explained.

  I turned back to her and saw she was very sincere. Love each other too much? I wondered, But...

  "I even know how often he gets himself in trouble at school. don't I. Scott?" she asked, her eyes narrow, threatening.

  He nodded and then smiled.

  "However, he has recently promised me he won't be getting into trouble any longer, right, Scott?"

  "A-huh," Scott said.

  "We know the value of a promise in this house, too, don't we, Scott?"

  He nodded again and then raised his eyes to see how I was reacting to this little cross-examination his mother was holding.

  His mother settled back on the settee, pulling the light blanket she had at her knees up a bit, and turned her attention more to me.

  "Scott says you just recently learned about yourself. Is that true. Willow?"

  "Yes, ma'am," I said.

  "It's not an easy thing to live with. I know, Everyone treats it differently, I suppose. and I suppose no one should know better about that than a man like your father, but we thought it was better for Scott to know everything as soon as we thought he would understand, because we wanted him to know without a doubt that we couldn't love him any more than we already did.

  "Besides," she continued, smiling at Scott, "I had him in my arms moments after he was born, anyway. I gave him his first bottle and I changed his first diaper."

  She stopped smiling and turned back to me.

  "When other people find out about you, some of them are going to look at you differently. That's because they won't know what to expect. Too often children get measured in terms of their parents. If someone's father is a good athlete, they expect his son to be, or if a girl's mother has a nice singing voice, they expect she'll have one, too.

  "But you're a bit of a mystery, and that sometimes makes other people uncomfortable. Scott and I and his father have talked about these things many times, haven't we, Scott?"

  "Yes," he said.

  "We want him to be comfortable with himself. I suppose your father will be doing something similar with you, if he hasn't already, and your mother." she added.

  I wanted to tell her, no, my mother would never do anything like that, but I was ashamed of it, especially there and then in the slow of the love she and Scott obviously shared. I don't think I ever felt as poor as I did that moment. I had a bigger home and we had so many more expensive things in it. but Scott Lawrence was far wealthier than I was, I thought.

  "Why don't you show Willow your and your father's electric trains," his mother said, closing her eyes a bit and sinking in the settee. "I need a little rest. honey."

  "Yeah," Scott said. "C'mon."

  He grabbed my hand and tugged me roughly off the chair to lead me through the house. In a room down from the kitchen. Scott and his father had installed one of the most elaborate and wonderful sets of electric trains I had ever seen. The trains ran through a miniature city with tiny people, cars, buses, even school buses. There was so much to see.

  Scott went to the controls and put on a train engineer's cap.

  "Here we go," he declared, and started the engine that pulled boxcars and flat cars and passenger cars with people in the little windows. He began a second train that ran under and around the first. They even made sounds and sent little puffs of smoke up in the air. Some of the storefronts had lights that flickered on. "How long did it take to make this?" I asked.

  "Me and Dad been workin' on it for years and years." he said proudly. "You want to work this?" he offered, showing me the controls, "Go on, try it."

  I did, and while I did, he went to a partially constructed new building, a lumberyard company, and started to work on the tiny sticks.

  "I told Dad I'd finish this one before he got home from work today," he said.

  What impressed me most about the tiny toy city and the trains was the obvious love and care that had gone into it, that was still going into it. How many, many hours must Scott and his father have spent here together, I thought. How jealous it made me.

  Scott's mother was very sick, but there was so much less darkness in this house than there was in mine. No wonder he couldn't care less about his being an adopted child, I thought, There were probably dozens of children in our class who were naturally born to their parents and did not share half as much of their love and life.

  I visited Scott's house often after that. I wanted to invite him to mine, but my adopted mother did not like the idea of my having friends over. It would be years before she relented, and only after the Doctor assured her they wouldn't be tracking in any dirt or touching any of her expensive things. When I did have friends over. I always thought of areas of the house as having invisible tape roping them off We could look into the rooms, but not set foot in them. I was sure my friends never felt half as comfortable as I did at Scott's or at their houses. and I understood why coming to my house was not something they were eager to do.

  About a year after I had met Scott's mother, she died. I knew she had been taken to the hospital. During those days and weeks, he became a very withdrawn person. barely saying anything to anyone but me. Our teachers knew of the difficulties he and his father were facing, and they didn't call upon him or pressure him in class.

  The day I heard his mother had died. I rode my bike to his house. Some of his father's and his mother's relatives had already arrived and were setting up food and preparing for the funeral
. Scott had closed himself in his room. His father was happy I had come and hoped I would be able to bring him out. I didn't know what I was going to say to him. The only death in our family I knew about was the Doctor's uncle, his father's brother. and I had seen him only once. He was in his late eighties when he died, and there wasn't much if any grief in anyone's face at the funeral, especially not my adaptive mother's face.

  This was far different, of course. I knocked on his door and waited after I called to him, but he didn't respond. I was undecided about what to do. Should I continue to knock or should I try the door to see if it was unlocked?

  "I just want to tell you how sorry I am. Scott," I said to the closed door.

  I was about to turn and walk away when it opened. It seemed to open by itself. because he wasn't standing there.. I walked in and saw he had gone back to his bed, where he was sprawled on his back, looking up at the ceiling. His eyes were red, but there were no tears.

  "Are you all right?" I asked him.

  "No," he said.

  "Your father is worried about you," I told him. He raised his head and glared furiously at me.

  "He told me he wasn't going to let her die. He told me. He promised!" he cried.

  "I'm sure he did all he could do." I said softly. "It wasn't enough. He shouldn't have promised."

  "He probably didn't want you to worry." I offered.

  Scott glared back at me as if I was part of some horrible betrayal,

  "'We don't lie to each other in this house. remember?"

  "I don't think it was meant to be a lie," I said.

  "Well, it was!" he shouted, "It was!"

  I looked down. His face was burning with so much fury, it was painful to look at him, and even frightening.

  "I wasn't supposed to have a mother." he declared, "She shouldn't have adopted me. I was supposed to be an orphan. My father will die, too," he concluded.

  I started to shake my head,

  "It's true. It's the same for you," he snapped. "You'll see. We're not supposed to have a family. Ask your father. Ask your father to send you back to your real mother and see what he says. He'll tell you she's either dead or she doesn't want you."

  I bit down on my lower lip. He was bringing tears to my eyes. His words were like little knives scratching and cutting into my heart.

  I started to shake my head and he jumped up, seized my hand, and pulled me out of his room,

  "Come on," he said, leading me down the stairs.

  Relatives started toward him, but he ignored them all and charged along the hallway. I followed behind. confused, but afraid to stop. He led me past the kitchen and down to the train room, where he threw the door open and then stepped back. I looked at him, confused, and then I looked through the doorway and my heart stopped.

  The little city was wrecked, the houses smashed and thrown about. Railroad cars were crushed as well. It was as if a bomb had fallen on the whole thing.

  Finally tears began to stream dawn my cheeks. "Why?" I managed to utter.

  "Because this was a lie. too!" he screamed. He was crying now. "It's fake. Everything is fake!"

  He stood there for a moment, his shoulders shaking, and then he turned and ran to the back door of the house and out. The door slammed shut behind him. For a few moments_. I couldn't move. I was shaking so badly.

  "It'll be all right." I heard, and turned to see his father. "It will take time, but he will be all right." he said, smiling, his eyes as red as Scott's, "I'll go after him. Thanks for coming to see him." he told me, touched my shoulder, and then walked slowly to the back door.

  I sobbed most of my way home. When I arrived. I went directly to the rear of the house, where we had benches. There were walkways through the gardens and bushes that led to the woods. The Doctor loved to go for long walks. Usually, he did so alone, but on occasion, he took me with him. He wouldn't walk as long or as far then. We talked about things and he asked me lots of questions.

  I didn't know he was home and had gone for a walk this afternoon. so I was surprised when he suddenly appeared, returning from the woods and fields.

  "Willow," he said, approaching and smiling at me. "I asked Isabella where you were and she said you had gone for a bike ride to see your friend Scott. Everything all right?" he asked, wondering why I was back so soon. I suppose.

  "No. His mother died," I said angrily.

  "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. You did tell me she was a very sick woman."

  "Why didn't the doctors help her?" I demanded,

  Even though I understood that he was involved solely with the illness of the mind. I did not separate him from the world of medicine and doctors I knew, They were all part of the same grand machine that was supposed to make us well again and repair our injuries. They were his people, and they had failed.

  He sat beside me. "You know there are many illnesses that we can't yet cure, don't you. Willow?"

  "Yes." I reluctantly replied.

  "Should you be angry at the doctors who tried to help her then?" I didn't want him to be right, but he was, "No."

  "That's all right. though. I understand how you feel. We often blame the wrong people for things, but maybe it's because we put so much hope and faith in them."

  That struck a familiar note.

  "Scott's mad at his father. He said he promised his mother wouldn't die."

  "Oh. I see. Well, why do you think his father did that?" "So he wouldn't worry."

  "So his father didn't do it to hurt him then, did he?"

  "No. But he shouldn't have promised." I added on Scott's behalf. "Lies weren't supposed to happen in his house."

  "No, they shouldn't happen in anyone's house."

  He was quiet a moment. and I wondered if, finally, the Doctor had no answers.

  "I wouldn't want to ever tell you to lie," he continued. "But sometimes it's all right to give people some hope. It helps keep them healthy and productive. How would Scott have been if his father had told him a long time ago that his mother was going to die soon?"

  "Bad," I admitted.

  "And would he be able to go to school and enjoy his friends and even sleep well at night?"

  "No."

  "So, did his father do a bad thing to him?"

  "No," I said.

  "Maybe afterward, when a little time passes, you can help Scott see that, too. Then you'll be a very good friend to him. Willow."

  I nodded.

  The Doctor does have all the answers, I thought.

  He patted me on the knee and rose.

  "Looks like we might get some rain tonight." he said, looking out over the trees. "Flowers need it."

  Sometimes I thought he was speaking to me, but he really wasn't. I was just there. He would look at me. but I felt he was looking past me, looking at someone else who was in his eyes. It gave me a funny feeling.

  "Well. I've got some work to do," he concluded and went inside.

  I wanted to go to Scott's mother's funeral, but my mother wouldn't take me and the Doctor had to be at his clinic. I thought about getting on my bike and riding all the way, however. I knew it was too far and it would take me too long. I did go to his house afterward and sat with him. There were so many people there, friends of his father's from work, more relatives. He and I didn't talk that much.

  He was different when he returned to school. No longer as outgoing, he lost his impish quality, and if he got into any arguments or fights, they were far more vicious and brutal. He was in trouble more often.

  Then, one day, he didn't come to school. He didn't came the next day, either. On the third day I rode to his house and saw a sign on the lawn advertising that it was for sale. The windows were dark and his father's pickup truck was not in the driveway,

  I went up to the front door and pushed the buzzer, but no one answered, When I looked in the window, I saw the furniture was gone.

  I remember I snapped back as if I had burned my forehead on the glass,

  Later. I found out his father had gotten
another job through one of their relatives who lived in Virginia. I was very sad over it. but I didn't have anyone to talk to about it. The Doctor was particularly busy at the time. I overheard that he had nearly a half dozen new patients admitted. Some days he didn't come home until after dinner. My adoptive mother complained about it for a while and then, as if something in her head snapped, she stopped. In fact, I sensed that she no longer cared if he was home or not.

  She was angry about my being unhappy, though, and did complain to him again and again about my moods,

  "I know enough about manic-depression, thanks to you, to know she's a prime candidate. Claude. Don't think I'm going to tolerate any of that in this house." she warned.

  He assured her I was just experiencing what all young girls experience as they move into adolescence,

  "I never acted like that," she told him.

  He didn't answer, which was an answer she missed.

  I spent most of my time trying to avoid her, and then doing my best to put on an act she would accept. How different our- homeis from Scott's, I remember thinking. Here, truth is rare; lies are the coin we use to buy peace and toleration of each other.

  Sometimes it felt as if the floor were trembling beneath my feet. The whale structure would come down around us in a grand collapse, and the Doctor could do nothing to stop it. I imagined the seams pulling apart, the very walls severing.

  I was sixteen by then, and we were all living separate lives. As a kind of negotiated settlement between my adoptive mother and the Doctor. I was permitted to refer to her as 'Mother' only when we were out or amongst people, so that there could be at least the semblance of a normal home life. In the house, however, she began to insist I call her Alberta.

  "Since I'm not your mother," she told me. it makes more sense."

  It was just another in a series of sour balls for me to swallow.

  One day I heard a little girl tell her mother she had to go to the bathroom. I was in the lobby of the movie theater with two of my friends from school. Her mother made a pained expression and groaned so loudly, people stopped talking around her.

  "What?" she demanded, tugging the little girl's arm.