Read Twisted Roots for Free Online Page B

was barely two years older than Mommy, but he looked more like twenty . years older. I once asked Mommy about that, and she said it was probably a result of years of medication and depression.
"The mind has more influence on the body than most people think. Hannah." she told me. "Stress, emotional turmoil, worry, and depression all take a great toll."
To be sure. Uncle Linden was still a rather good-looking man. Although he had some premature graying in his temples, his hair was thick and an interesting shade of blond, more like a light olivebrown. He had dark brown eyes that he directed with such apparent intensity at whoever spoke to him or he spoke to that the person always thought Uncle Linden was concentrating hard on what he or she was saying. Actually, he often turned his brain inside out but left his eyes fixed like that, just the way someone might direct a flashlight on something and walk off. It took me a while to realize it when I was younger, but he could and often did drift away on the shoulders of some thought or some memory. It was my way of knowing my visit had came to an end. My kiss goodbye on his cheek would flutter his eyelids and bring the trace of a smile to his lips, but not much more.
Lately, though, I found him doing this less and less, especially with me, and either Stuart or Elizabeth had told me on more than one occasion how much my uncle looked forward to my visits.
"When he's not absorbed by his painting, he often sits on the porch and watches the highway. hoping. I'm sure, to see you drive up. Hannah." Stuart told me. Then he added in practically a whisper. "He has this fear in his face that he missed you or that somehow you were there and he hadn't paid enough attention to you. I know. He's said as much," Stuart said. He patted my hand and added. "He needs reassurance, lots of reassurance. I'm not a psychiatrist and I don't have a degree, but experience has taught me that people who are in his state of mind are constantly afraid of abandonment."
"I'll never abandon him." I said, sounding furious at the very suggestion. "If anything, as soon as I am able to. I'll take him out of here to live with me."
"That's very nice," Stuart said. "He's lucky to have a loving niece like you."
I knew that smile was a smile meant to humor a young girl who fantasized, but he didn't know me. He didn't know how determined I could be and how loyal I was, especially now. Uncle Linden was all the family I had, real family, other than Mommy. Daddy was in a class by himself along with his children. I stopped trying to figure out where I would fit in his view of things.
As lean as he was in the pictures we had of him when he was much younger, Uncle Linden still ware his hair long and dressed casually, favoring a windbreaker I had bought him for his birthday two years ago. Most of the time he wore jeans and a pair of sandals. One of the things I did do with him occasionally was go for a walk along the street, passing the gates of home developments with their security guards peering out of glass booths at us with what looked like paranoid eyes, expecting us to rush the entrance way and crash into their precious housing development. People knew that the residency was just down the street, and that drew up terrifying scenarios and nightmares for them. I was sure. The Robinsons told me that there had been a number of challenges to their existence over the years, attempts to use zoning ordinances to stop them from housing what was politely referred to as the mentally disabled. It was another in a growing list of reasons why I wanted us to bring Uncle Linden home, He and the other residents had problems, but that didn't mean they couldn't sense being persona non grata.
When I drove up to the home this time. I was pleased to see Uncle Linden sitting on the front porch. He recognized Mommy's vehicle and stopped rocking. As soon as I stepped out of the car, he rose and came to the railing to call out, only he called out. "Willow."