Wicked Forest (13 page)

"I see. You do drive like someone who hasn't got much time." He stared at my soaked hair.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "Something upset me and I wasn't thinking."

"I see. Is that some sort of new hairstyle?" he asked. The strands were glued to my temples and cheeks, the water still traveling down the sides of my face.

"No," I said, my lips and chin trembling,

"Are you at a hotel here?"

"No, a home," I said.

"What's the address?"

"It's called Joya del Mar. I have the address here somewhere," I said, reaching for my purse again.

"That's all right. I know that address. You're staying with the Eatons?"

"No, the Montgomerys," I corrected sharply, flicking the tears from my cheeks.

He nodded.

"One minute." he said, and returned to his car.

Through the rearview mirror. I could see him talking on the car phone. A few minutes later, he returned.

"Okay, Miss De Beers. Despite its fame and the people who reside here, this is a quiet little community. We like to keep it that way."

"I understand," I said.

"Yes, I expect you do."

He handed everything back to me.

"You'll have to think when you drive and not drive when you're upset. ma'am."

"I know," I said.

"Ordinarily, I would issue a ticket for that sort of reckless driving in our city, but you have a good man vouching for you. You can thank Mr. Eaton for this one Take it easier, and dry your hair soon." he added with a smile.

He started back to his car.

"Give me that ticket! I don't need anyone to vouch for me. especially Mr. Eaton." I cried, but he either didn't hear me or ignored me and got into his car. He pulled away first, leaving me fuming. I shoved everything back into my purse.

I was about to start off again, but stopped before putting my car into drive and sat back. letting the fire inside me diminish, Then I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was still quite soaked.

I was a ridiculous sight. That young policeman certainly got a shock when he looked in at me, I thought, imagining what I looked like from his perspective. Suddenly, I began to laugh, I laughed so hard at myself. I couldn't stop even after my stomach started to ache. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

I choked and coughed and leaned against the car door until I was able to catch my breath. Finally, I started away again.

Driving far more slowly and carefully now. I found a place where I could pull to the side and walk down to the beach. I sat in the sunshine and let my hair dry.

Sometimes, we're so eager for people to love us, we become so vulnerable, we're actually victims of our own hunger for affection, I thought, then vowed, I am not going to play the wounded one and mope and cry. Maybe I was out of my league here. Maybe Thatcher was truly no better than the man his mother claimed was his real father, but I wouldn't permit him to belittle and exploit me like this.

I rose, my thoughts and feelings more collected, and returned to my car where I brushed out my hair the best I could. I was ashamed of myself, ashamed of my emotional deluge. I should be stronger if I -Kant to be a therapist and help other people, I told myself Daddy was always stronger.

Or was he simply better at hiding his pain?

5

A Secret Ring

.

I think I've always hated secrets between people who really care about each other. They are like blemishes on a beautiful oace, dark spats. Your eyes are drawn to them like magnets and for a while, if not most of the time, that is all you can see. But what I didn't want to do was let my mother know how upset I was and how betrayed I felt because of what Thatcher had done. Hiding that secret seemed to be the proper thing to do.

I felt I had gotten myself together enough to keep it all well concealed. We really had not spent enough time with each other for her to recognize when I was very upset. I thought— or I hoped. But I was soon to learn that there is something about a mother and a daughter, some mystical bonding that even time and distance cannot prevent. It is an insight that a mother has simply by being a mother. I imagine, for she took one look at me as soon as I entered the house and, despite my carefully constructed mask of happiness, immediately asked me what was wrong.

"Nothing," I said a little too quickly. Her eyebrows went up and her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"Your hair doesn't look very different, Willow."

"I wasn't happy with the beautician after all that big deal getting us appointments. I didn't like anything he suggested. Why fix it if it isn't broken? Right?" I asked, trying to smile and joke my way out of the moment.

She kept her eyes dark and narrow. I wasn't doing a good job of concealing my feelings. I didn't want her to think I didn't want to trust her, to confide in her. I was in turmoil, being pulled every which way. Oh, what was the right thing to do, I wondered, keep my heartache a secret or fall into her arms, bemoaning Thatcher's betrayal?

"Thatcher Eaton has been calling for you," she said as if she knew anyway. "He's called three times during the last two hours. He asked me to tell you to call him at his office as soon as you got the message."

"I got the message, loud and clear. If he calls again, tell him I'm not here," I blurted.

She gave me that motherly, knowing look now and nodded. "What's happened between you?" she asked.

I bit down on my lip and shook my head.

How horrible this was. I had come to help her, to help Linden, and here I was, barely living with them and I already had more sorrow draped over my shoulders. I felt like a doctor who had come to minister to the sick only to discover she was sick herself. "Let's just say I've been disappointed and leave it at that for now, Mother," I begged.

"Whatever you wish, Willow. I don't have big shoulders, Maybe I never had, but I'm here for you if and when you need me."

"Thank you, Mother. Is Linden here or is he still on the beach?"

"He's still on the beach. I wanted to go see how he was doing. but I was afraid he would think I was spying on him. He's been complaining about my being too much of a mother hen." she said, and smiled. He declared he wasn't an egg. He said he's already been hatched and that was that. It’s difficult. Sometimes he doesn't hear a word I say, and then suddenly he is so sensitive, even catching my glances and accusing me of studying him like something under a microscope."

"He's going in and out of awareness at the moment. I'm sure he'll settle down soon. His doctor will arrive at the best doses of his medicines," I predicted.

"I hope so," she said.

I went into my room and changed quickly into a pair of j tans and a University of North Carolina sweatshirt. It brought back memories of my boyfriend, Allan Simpson, and how, like Thatcher, he had disappointed me in the end, pulling away from me as soon as he learned the truth about my father and mother and not supporting my effort to get to know my real mother, He was so selfish and so self-absorbed.

How confusing men could be. Either they were so shallow and obvious, they hit you over the head with their intentions, or they were so smooth and deceitful, they broke your heart with the truth.

Maybe we should create our husbands. I mused, pluck them out of a herd of boys and nurture them and cultivate them until they were perfect crops, then harvest them as husbands. The idea brought a smile to my lips and lifted the layers of gray from my brow.

While I was changing, I heard the telephone ring and went to the doorway to listen as my mother answered. It was Thatcher. I heard her tell him I wasn't here. Eavesdropping. I could tell Mother wasn't a very good liar. Her voice betrayed the untruth. and Thatcher must have sensed it as well and kept talking.

Finally. I heard her say, "I'm sorry. All I can do is let her know you've called again."

She hung up. I slipped an my sneakers and joined her in the kitchen.

"I apologize for asking you to do that," I said. "I should have spoken to him myself."

She nodded.

"I don't knew the details, Willow, but it's better to just let him know how you feel and get that over with rather than prolong the pain for both of you."

"You're right. I'll call him," I said.

She was right. What was the paint of hiding and lying? This was his game, not mine. I told myself, and went to the phone. When I called his office, however, his secretary told me he wasn't there.

"He has to be there," I insisted. "He just called me. Tell him I'm on the phone."

"I'm telling you he's not here," she fired back.

"As a matter of fact, he just left and he didn't leave a forwarding number.' Before I could say another word, she cut me off.

Fuming. I slammed the receiver down. Rather than do any more complaining to my mother. I shot out of the house and went down to the beach, pounding the sand with every step. I found a nice, secluded spot and flopped down, closing my eyes and letting the sound of the sea calm my jolting nerves. It worked, The ocean could be mesmerizing, a true panacea for all mental pain. After a little while. I actually fell asleep.

I woke when I sensed a coolness over me.

When I opened my eyes. I saw it was a long shadow. I sat up quickly and saw Thatcher standing there, looking down at me, a tight smile on his face. With the sun behind him. I had to shade my eyes when I moved an inch either way.

"I know why you're angry and avoiding me," he said quickly.

"Really, Thatcher? And why might that be?"

"I heard what happened at the beauty salon." he said, folded his legs, and sat beside me on the sand. In the purplish light of the failing day, his glimmering eyes met mine, but his good looks had an opposite effect on me at the moment. They merely made me feel even angrier. Those were the good looks he apparently shared with any and every attractive and available young woman in Palm Beach.

"What, did the little bird tell you?"

"News travels quickly in this town," he said.

"GTS."

"What's that?"

"Gossip telephone system," he replied, and smiled,

"Nothing seems funny to me. Thatcher."

"I know. I know. Look. Willow, for years the Shiny has been featuring me in gossip columns. If you're seen with the same woman more than once and you're an eligible bachelor, rumors pop out like pimples everywhere. For some reason. I'm more of a prime target than most."

"I can't imagine why," I said.

The point is, none of it is true. This last series of rumors has been spread mainly by my sister and my mother. They believe that if they get it in print, it will happen eventually." he said, and raised his hands.

"It's nothing more than that."

"Really." I was quiet a moment, and then I turned on him. "I saw her picture in the paper. and I know that Vera Raymond was the woman I saw you with in the café, Thatcher. She was not someone in the midst of a bad divorce. One lie by necessity gives birth to another and another until they're swirling around you like bees, and just like bees. Thatcher, they can sting."

He widened his smile.

"I don't know what possessed me to think that I could keep anything from you. Willow. Yes, that was Vera with me. but I -was talking about a case, just not a divorce case. Her parents, especially her father, have been throwing her at me, if you want to know, and it just so happens he's a major client for my firm as well, so I humor him by escorting his daughter to affairs and letting the fantasy continue. But I'm bringing that all to an end. I swear," he said.

"Won't your mother and sister be heartbroken?"

Not any more than usual," he said. "I should have warned you about the gossip columns and all that. but I didn't think you would take any of it seriously."

"This is a place in which the true and the false are sides of the same coin most of the time. Whatever way it flips is the way it's accepted. How would I know what is to be taken seriously and what is not?"

"Take this seriously." he said, and reached into his pocket to produce a robins-egg blue ring box with the word Tiffany scrawled over it.

I simply stared at it.

"Open it and see what's in it. Willow."

Gingerly, I did, and there inside was an

engagement ring with a diamond that looked to be at least two if not three carats in a platinum setting. My heartbeat quickened so fast, I lost my breath,

"I took a guess at your ring size. but I'm usually pretty good at things like that," he said, plucking the ring out of the box and slipping it on my finger. It fit perfectly. "See?"

"Thatcher, an engagement ring!"

"That's what they call it." he said. and leaned back on his hands. closing his eyes and turning his body to bask in the late-afternoon sun. "I figure if all goes well, we can get married in a few months, six at the most.

"Of course." he continued quickly, sitting up again. "I don't want you to think I expect you to give up anything you want to do just because we get married, including school and your pursuit of a career.

I think, as well, that we should have the wedding here, don't you? It seems, I don't know, proper and right.

Don't you think?"

He was speaking quickly and so nonchalantly about the most important things in my life while to me it seemed as if the world had suddenly come to a stop.

Even the ocean waves were on pause. The birds were all listening and waiting. The breeze held its breath.

"You're asking me to marry you?" I finally managed. He laughed.

"That's kind of what an engagement ring promises for the near future. Willow, even here in Palm Beach."

"Oh, Thatcher." I said. I threw my arms around him. "I feel so stupid, so foolish for what I did and how I behaved. What an embarrassment!"

He kissed my cheek and forehead and pressed his to mine. "You were perfect." he said,

"Perfect?" I pulled back, "How can you say I was perfect? I ran out of that place with my head soaking. I drove recklessly and was pulled over by a policeman. I made an absolute fool of myself."

"I know."

"I know you know that. but that is far from perfect behavior."