Wicked Forest (14 page)

"What I meant was, it was the sort of dramatics Palm Beach socialites love. Who knows, maybe you'll be in the Shiny tomorrow."

"I'd rather not. Unless, of course, it's to announce this." I added, holding out my hand with the ring glittering on my finger.

"Yes, well... there's just one favor I need from you concerning that. 'Willow," he said, nodding at the ring.

"Favor?"

A small tickle, like the flap of a butterfly against the inside of my stomach, started and stopped.

"Yes. I have a few things left to work out, as you know, and for the time being. I think it would be best if you kept that out of sight."

'Out of sight? You mean, not wear it?'

"Not yet," he said. "I don't expect it will be that long. but—"

"You want me to keep our engagement a secret?"

"Just for a little while, As I said. I have a few things to work out."

"By things, you mean your mother and your sister and maybe even your father. Is that it?"

"It will help us, all of us. if I can do this so that no one is hurt, Willow."

I slipped the ring off and put it back into the box. "Then why give it to me now. Thatcher?" I asked.

"I want you to know how committed I am to you and what you mean to me. Willow."

I thought for a moment, and then I handed it back to him. "Don't give me an empty promise, Thatcher."

"That's not an empty promise. That's a three-carat class A diamond ring."

"This ring could be made of glass, for all I care, as long as it was for real and for now and for all the world to see. Other than that, it's just a fantasy, a dream, as stable as a bubble." I muttered.

"You're wrong. Willow. It means I love you and it means you mean the world to me. You were willing to be discreet about our romance before. Why not now?"

It would be torture for me. Thatcher, to have the ring in a drawer, to look at it privately or in the dark. I'd rather not have it until you can give it to me freely and openly. And if you never can, you never can. Why fool each other?"

"I'm not fooling you. I'm only asking you to be a little patient!" he practically screamed.

"While you continue to be featured in the society columns with other women?"

"That means nothing. I told you. Your mother had a secret romance, didn't she?" he added pointedly.

"Her romance was an entirely different thing. It would have cost my father his career."

"Well, this is somewhat similar. Willow. I have to work some things out so that my career continues to prosper, for the both of us.'"

"It's not the same," I insisted. "When you can be honest about our love. I'll respect you more." I stood up.

He gazed up at me, then looked at the ring box in his hand and put it in his pocket.

"All right," he said. standing. "We'll wait until I can do that. In the meantime..."

"What? What, in the meantime. Thatcher?"

"I've at to see you. Willow. Please. Meet me tomorrow night at the house, our beach house. Be there at seven. I'll fix a pasta dinner for us.‖

"I don't know." I said.

"Please," he pleaded. He reached for my hand and pulled me closer to him. "Let's not lose what we have, what we'll build upon, Willow."

"Right now, that seems like a foundation made of chopped liver," I muttered.

"It's not. It’s made of love, deeply felt love.

Look. I'm not going to deny I've had some girlfriends.

Willow, and even been serious with one or two, but you are the first woman I felt was substantial, the first woman I felt would complete me, make me

substantial. too. With you, I can build something here, truly build a family and a life. I don't want to lose you.

I know it seems quick. but I'd have to be a complete dodo not to realize you're the best thing that's come along. You believe me, don't you?"

"I want to believe you. Thatcher."

I really did, and he was as convincing as either the devil or an angel. I was still not sure which one.

"Good. Then meet me. Besides. I think I might have some news about Kirby Scott tomorrow," he added.

I looked up at him. "Kirby Scott? Why?"

"I heard from a reliable source that he is in the Palm Beach area. I'm going to confront him tomorrow. Someone is working out the arranaements for me."

"What will you do?"

"Get the truth, or as much of it as I can, even if I have to choke it out of him— and not just about me.

Willow, but about Grace and all that went on. Maybe I'll even learn something that will help Linden." he added. "Whatever I learn, it will bring some resolution to most of the problems that are interfering with us, maybe all of them. That's for sure. We'll have more to celebrate, okay?"

I'll see. My head is spinning; I added before he could say another word, "I need to think. Thatcher. I need to think about everything, "

"Okay, okay." he said, leaning toward me to kiss me softly. "I won't throw anything else at you today. But I will be coming at you fast and furious tomorrow." He started away, and stopped.

"I mean that."

I watched him go. Then. as I went to turn away, I saw Linden stand. He had been crouching behind a bush. He gazed after Thatcher, then started toward me.

"I saw that," he said. "I saw him give you a ring and I saw you give it back. I'm happy you made the right decision." He turned in the direction Thatcher had gone. "He's probably got a collection of phony diamond rings in his dresser drawer. Who knows how many women he's given one to and promised things to?"

"It's a little more complicated than that.

Linden," I said, "but thanks for worrying about me."

"It's not complicated!" he insisted, actually pounding the sides of his leas with his fists for emphasis. The look on my face calmed him some, and the redness began to recede. "You know. I grew up here on this property. I watched him often and saw how he seduced one innocent girl after another, each one buoyed by his promises, kept afloat by his oaths full of hot air. I told you that before, but you didn't believe me. You will." he added. "You will."

He paused and looked around as if he could still see the ghosts of all Thatcher's women,

"He had his favorite places. That gazebo was one. Whenever I saw a chaise lounge had been put in it. I knew Thatcher would be there late at night with another victim. Or he would go over to that little knoll by the beach house and spread a blanket that just happened to be hidden behind the brush. Once. I spilled turpentine over it, and the smell ruined his evening. After that, he would get them into one of the sailboats. He's just like his father."

Linden's last comment stunned me. It was

almost prophetic—only, of course. Linden didn't know which father I was thinking of at the moment.

Or did he?

"What do you mean?" I asked in a deep whisper.

"Asher Eaton's no better. I've seen him take a woman or two during one of their famous all-night parties, walking her away from the guests to some secluded spot. They have no shame, I've seen it all."

I nodded. thinking Linden probably had gotten a backseat Palm Beach education living on the fringes of the social world here. All of that was going an while they, the sinners and the promiscuous, looked down upon Linden and my mother. It was a world full of hypocrisy and deceit, peopled by sanctimonious liars who paid lip service to the truth and honesty while they worshiped self-indulgence and

extravagance.

"That's probably true. Linden, but people can change, can realize that they have nothing meaningful in their lives and then try hard to find it."

"Nat the Eatons." he declared, clenching his teeth. He pulled back his lips so hard, I thought he would tear them.

"Were you able to work today?" I asked softly, hoping to change the subject and get him less agitated.

"Yes." he said, then evidently realized he had left everything down an another section of the beach.

He must have either seen or heard Thatcher and followed to do what he had apparently been doing far some time— spying on him.

He trekked off quickly and I walked behind. As we approached his easel. I saw that he finally had begun to paint a new picture, one that resembled his style and previous work. It looked like the bow of a boat heading into a deep, swirling fog. As I drew closer. I could make out a face emerging from the fog or being swallowed up by it. It looked like me.

Before I could study it, he threw a cloth over it and finished putting away his paints.

"Can I help carry something?" I asked him.

He turned and gave me one of his vacant looks, his eyes glassy and distant, the look of someone who was a complete stranger.

"Linden? Are you all right?"

He blinked rapidly, and then his body snapped to firmness.

"What? Yes. Can you carry this?" he asked, handing me his paints.

"Of course," I said, and he put his easel over his shoulder, his picture under his arm, and began to walk back to the beach house, his shoulders turned in and down like some Neanderthal plodding to a cave.

"I'm glad you're working again, Linden," I said.

"You have a great talent and it would be a shame not to use it."

He paused and turned to me, his eyes sharper, his gaze firmer and more scrutinizing.

"Maybe you'll pose for me again," he said.

How his mind worked amazed me. He moved

in and out of his memories, moved in and out of time, lost an immediate moment and then later on picked it up like someone who had noticed what he had dropped along the way. His thoughts were like radio waves waiting for a receiver strong enough to hone them in and eliminate all the static.

"If you would like me to pose. I will." He nodded.

-"Good," he said, and marched on ahead of me mumbling, "Good."

I helped him put his things in his room, then went out to help my mother prepare our dinner.

Linden remained in his roam, so I was free to tell her all that had happened.

"I couldn't see myself taking that ring and living with it all like some dark secret," I said. 'Was I wrong?"

"No, no." she said. "I can tell you what it is like holding everything in, wearing a mask of indifference while your heart cries for passion and love and truth.

How many times your father and I would look at each other across a room full of other people and just for an instant reveal our hearts, only then to be terrified that someone had caught the glance, the tight, small smile on his lips or mine, the extra gentle and loving touch,

"No, secret love is a painful thing, torture. To find excuses to be alone, to steal a kiss and embrace, to hold hands behind walls... all of it is so difficult, so tantalizing.

"And then to say goodbye was the height of agony, goodbye not only to him but to you, for what I thought would be forever and ever. I used to tell myself I was surely being punished for sins committed before me or sins I would yet commit. Of course, your father used all his powers of persuasion to convince me otherwise.

" 'Love is often an accident of the moment.' he told me. 'an unexpected clap of thunder. I will not permit you Or myself to think of it as anything evil, any sort of punishment.' As he quoted to me. 'it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' "

"What a different sort of man he was with you."

I said, unable to keep myself from being envious, jealous of her knowing so warm and wonderful a side of him. "He was just beginning to be that man with me."

She smiled and we hugged.

When we parted. Linden was in the doorway.

"I've made a decision," he began.

"Oh," Mother said, glancing at me in anticipation. "And what is that. Linden?"

"I've decided we definitely should go back into the main house, but only after it is thoroughly cleaned and all evidence of the Eatons ever having been there is expunged," he said.

"Okay," Mother said, pretending she and I were actually waiting all this time for his approval of the idea.

"And we'll start over, as a new family,"

"That's what we want. Linden. yes. That's what we intend to do."

"And we'll help each other and trust each other and never betray each other."

"No, we never will," Mother said. He looked at me. "We never will," I repeated.

He smiled and came toward us, stood before us a moment, and then threw his arms around both of us.

"My girls," he said. "I won't let anything bad happen to my

Then he released us as quickly as he had

embraced us, turned, and marched out of the kitchen.

Mother and I looked at each other, not knowing whether we should cry or laugh with joy.

"Maybe we will all be okay again," she said.

"In time, maybe we will."

.

We had a wonderful dinner together. Linden listened with interest as I described my meeting with Professor Fuentes and my class schedule. The conversation was so bright and cheerful. He even expressed some interest in taking a class in art.

That way I can sound as if I know what I'm doing as well as do it," he declared, and we all laughed.

Afterward, we sat on the loggia and had coffee.

Mother talked about Linden's and my grandmother, Jackie Lee Houston Montgomery,

She had a lot of self-confidence," Mother said.

"I remember how strong she was after my father was killed. That early part of my life seems like a dream now. I sometimes wonder if it ever really happened or if I imagined it.

"My father doted on me, treated me like a little princess. Back then. I truly believed all of life would be like one long and perfect summer day, not too hot or humid, with a breeze that filled you with hope and expectation.

"It's so important to have expectations, to have something to look forward to," she continued, directing her words almost equally to Linden and me.

"You have to make room for hope in your heart. You can't live in fear of being disappointed all the time.

You have to take some risks. That's what I learned from your grandmother."

It had to be hard for your mother to start all over in a new place with a young daughter along," I said. Linden nodded.