“Well…no, actually. You’re also going to need a lot of time to recover and nerves of steel to see yourself through the next stages of your ordeal, but yeah. That’s the general gist of it.”
Smiling, Galahad said, “You’re a lousy psychiatrist, you know that?”
“Take it or leave it sweetie.” Fixing her tee-shirt and shorts back to their proper positions, she made her farewells to Galahad and wished him luck, but not without making him swear to God that he would not try to kill himself again after she left. When she was satisfied with his response, she disappeared into the night without another word.
As she predicted, the next few stages of his life proved difficult for him. Nicholas and Tara ended up getting married about five months after that night. Formally declining on their offer to be Nicholas’ best man, Galahad packed his bags and left town to “find himself” as the mysterious woman put it, embracing the solitude that followed. It took him a long time to establish himself, but eventually he found that his true passion was painting and slaved every day to share his art with those around him. Within three years time, the same amount that Tara’s and Nicholas’ joint betrayal had solidified itself, he became a nationally acclaimed artist and was invited back to his parent’s house for the first time in almost five years.
Initially, he wanted nothing more to do with his two-faced family, but an unknown force convinced him that it would be a good idea to return home, especially if it meant meeting up with that mysterious woman again. Dressed in his Sunday best, he was not sure of what to expect from them outside of an attitude that suggested that the years between his twenty-first and twenty-sixth birthday’s never happened. When the home was opened to him the reception he received was warm and inviting, two qualities that seemed foreign to him in that particular environment. Sharing in their pleasantries, he waited for them to reveal why they had summoned him home after so many years of silence. Finally, just as they finished dinner, it was Nicholas who revealed the matter. In a way that seemed rehearsed, Nicholas asked Galahad for some money because, as he put it, “the family had been experiencing some problems paying off financial debts, and it is your duty to help.”
Looking around, he saw signs around the home indicating what sort of financial debts the family had accumulated while he was gone: fancy portraits of everyone in the family (save for Galahad, of course), gilded grandfather clocks, antique furniture and ornamented-yet-otherwise useless items. Disgusted at the sight, Galahad told them unsympathetically, “Perhaps you wouldn’t have such a problem if you weren’t too proud to realize you were buying things well above your income.”
Visibly upset at Galahad’s bluntness, Dr. White, his father, said in defense, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, boy.”
“No, I think I do.” Shaking his head, Galahad stared at his family with cold eyes and said, “None of you have changed a bit. You’re still the status-hungry, selfish snobs I remember you as. Let me guess: the Johnson’s got something spectacular recently, and you wanted to show them up, right?”
“Galahad White!” shouted his mother in anger.
“Don’t worry mother,” started Galahad as he rolled his eyes, “because it’s my ‘duty’ to help the family out, I’ll donate a few paintings I’ve done to you all. Sell them, auction them; do whatever it is you wish. Either way, if you do it right, you’re sure to get the money you want.
