Wicked Forest (9 page)

I was silent. All my life so far. I had always had someone else— my adoptive mother. Amou, Daddy—decide the bigger things far me. Even my old college boyfriend. Allan Simpson. tried to run my life and was angry when I disagreed with him. Taking advice and being a good listener was one thing, but making up my mind for myself in the end was another.

"No," I finally said, recalling the brightness in my mother's eyes today when we talked about going to the beauty salon together and getting back into the main house, think we'll be all right."

"You're making a mistake. Willow. Maybe you're taking on too much responsibility here.-

"I don't think so." I said with more confidence.

"I'm no longer an outsider. Thatcher. This is my family now and I've got to be a big part of what happens and what doesn't. No." I continued.

convinced. "we're going ahead with everything, and I will spend more time with Linden. I always felt somewhat responsible for what he did to himself."

"That's ridiculous."

"No. It's not I shouldn't have pretended to be someone I wasn't. He was very vulnerable and he trusted me. It was a form of betrayal that hurt him deeply. I have to make up for that, and sending him off to have someone else try to mend my fences is not my style."

Thatcher smiled.

"You might become a very successful

psychologist or psychiatrist yet. -Willow. I wish I had gotten to meet your father. I have a feeling I was just introduced anyway." he said. "Through you."

"I hope so." I said.

He reached over to pull me closer to him and kiss my cheek. "Whatever you decide. I'll be there beside you."

"When?" I pursued with some aggression.

He laughed.

"Very soon. I promise. My problems will be over very soon."

Both of us hung on the silence that served as a period to his statement until the restaurant came back into view. He waited for me to get into my car and drive off. promising to call me sometime during the afternoon the next day.

.

I found my mother hunched over a cup of tea in the kitchen when I returned. She was in her robe and her hair was down around her shoulders.

"What's wrong?" I immediately asked.

"Nothing, Willow. I just couldn't sleep. so I made myself a cup of herbal tea. How was your evening?"

I plopped in the chair across from her.

"Everything about it was wonderful, Mother. It was as romantic a dinner as could be. We had another special time together, but doing it all in a world of shadows, hiding, worrying about everyone who sees us, takes the glitter out of the stars, if you know what I mean."

"I think I do." she said with a very wide and deep smile, "I think I have a little understanding about what you are experiencing."

"Oh. Of course you do," I said. "How selfish of me to think of myself as the only one here who's been involved in a secret romance. You, of all people, know exactly what I mean. How did you and Daddy keep it so special, worrying about every look, every sound in that clinic?"

"I wouldn't say we had a routine, but we did have the benefit of cloaking everything with our clinical relationship. A patient fixating on her doctor is not unusual, don't forget; so that was easy to excuse, and your father..."

"What?"

She smiled at the memory.

"Your father could be the doctor' at the blink of an eye. The tone of his voice deepened. His eyes became those penetrating, perceptive orbs resembling two small X-ray lights. His posture fumed and straightened into his formal demeanor. Why, the very air around him changed,"

I smiled, remembering, "Yes, that was Daddy."

As you know, there was only that nurse who had once come here. that Nadine Gordon who tried to blackmail us. She was the only one who knew or suspected anything. If anyone else did, he or she kept it under lock and key."

"I'm not as good as my father when it comes to hiding my inner feelings." I said. And the difference is. I don't respect the reasons to hide them. I can tell you this— I won't be doing it very long. Either Thatcher gets up the courage to face his parents, or..."

He will," she assured me with a pat on my hand. "That's one very capable young man. I would trust his judgment."

"Maybe," I said. I skipped a beat and then added. "He wants us to have Linden committed immediately. I told him what happened, and he thinks we're playing with fire.'

"I know." she said. "It's been on my mind ever since I saw what he has done."

"Haw was he after I left tonight?"

"The same. He ate a little better, but he was just as distant. What I found him doing on and off was going into my room and looking at the painting he had done of you."

"Oh, no, he wasn't going to tear it up, too, was he?"

"I don't think so. He seemed more intrigued by this particular work than anything else he has done. It was as if he thought there was some answer sleeping in it, something he could nudge awake that would solve his problems.'

"Maybe there is." I said. "Did you ask him about it?"

"I kept asking him if he was all right. Most of the time he didn't answer, but sometimes he nodded, and once he said. 'Soon.' That frightened me a bit.

You know, what did he mean by 'soon'?"

"I've decided to spend as much time with him as I can," I told her. "But let's agree about one thing.

Mother. If he doesn't show any sign of improvement in the next few days or weeks, we'll get him into treatment."

She nodded and sighed deeply.

"But let's be optimistic," I insisted with a smile.

"When he sees us, sees you changing, looking bright and hopeful, it will have a significant effect on him.

You'll see."

"I hope so," she said in a small voice, so thin and fragile it brought tears to my eyes. "I don't know if we should leave him alone here while we're at the beauty salon."

"We'll see in the morning. He had been talking about my going with him to the gallery to retrieve his works. Maybe he'll forget about that."

"I suppose we can have Jennings keep an eve on him. He's the nicest of the Eatons' servants and he has done favors for me before."

"Good. Let's get some sleep." I suggested, and she nodded, rose, and put her cup in the sink.

Afterward, when I laid my head on my pillow. I listened to the sounds in the grand beach house, the creaks and groans in the building, the sea wind on the windows with a sound like fingers running back and forth over the panes. What a kaleidoscope of emotions ran through the myriad of dreams being dreamed in this building tonight. I thought. Everyone had his or her secrets unraveling and raveling like multicolored balls of yarn being tossed through the darkness above and around me.

Was there a place in the night where dreams criss-crossed, where people glanced into each other's minds and saw the fear or the sadness or the happiness for an instant, like passengers on trains passing in the dark?

And did that make us sympathetic or envious?

Did we long for someone else's dreams, or were we grateful we didn't have those nightmares?

Somewhere surely there was a common place, a well from which we all, rich or poor, drew some strenath, for when we all slept we were truly alone.

And who was more alone than the three of us now, circling like small planets searching for a star we could call home?

When I closed my eyes. I thought I heard

Linden's mysterious voices whispering outside my window. Were they asking me to stay or to leave?

The morning light waited behind darkness like a panther anxious to leap upon the shadows lingering in the corners of our minds. I was grateful for that, grateful for the new day. My hope now was that I could get Linden to feel the same about it all.

.

The next morning, my first attempts to find a beauty salon for my mother and me were dismal failures. One receptionist actually broke into laughter when I asked if there were any openings that day.

"We're booked for the next two and a half months." she said. "This is Palm Beach. not Miami Beach."'

I thought about calling Thatcher, but decided that his receptionist or his secretary might make something out of it, despite their ethical responsibility to maintain confidentiality.

Perhaps nowhere more than in Palm Beach was the old adage so true: Two can keep a secret if one is dead. I decided instead to call Mr. Ross. He had offered to be of any assistance to me. and I didn't think our need to act appointments with a decent beauty salon would be too insignificant to a man like him.

"I'll take care of it immediately." he said as soon as I told him what I needed. "One of my clients is Renardo de Palma. His salon is very prestigious and his client list is a veritable who's who of Palm Beach."

"We're not trying to impress anyone but ourselves," I told him, and he laughed.

"I don't know a woman here who would admit otherwise," he joked. "Let me see what I can manage."

Less than twenty minutes later, he called back to tell me we had appointments at two.

"It's like the best restaurants." he revealed.

"They always hold an opening for a favor, and believe me. Renardo owes me a few."

"Now so do L" I said.

"It's my pleasure. Let me know what else I can do for you. Willow." he offered.

I couldn't wait to tell my mother, who, now that she realized it wasn't just our dreaming aloud to each other, really became quite nervous. I had to reassure her that we would be fine and I wouldn't leave her side for an instant. While I was doing so. Linden suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was dressed and had his hair brushed neatly.

"Linden, dear." Mother cried, "how are you?"

"Hungry." he declared.

I wondered if he had heard our talk about going to the beauty parlor and would then recall asking me to retrieve his paintings from the gallery.

"Good morning," I said, and he turned to me and nodded. His eyes looked clearer. His face had more color and he seemed more rested,

"I'm sorry I slept so late," he said. "I have been very confused and distracted and haven't been very hospitable. I didn't even realize when you returned.

Grace caught me up on everything that's happened. I feel so foolish."

For a moment I couldn't speak. It was as if a completely different Linden Montgomery had stepped out of that bedroom. He even stood straighter. Anyone who saw him now and heard me tell what he had been like before would surely accuse me of gross exaggeration.

"No," I said "I understand how hard it has been for you, Linden."

He shrugged.

"I don't know why exactly. but I feel like some great weight has been lifted from my shoulders. So.

Grace tells me you have enrolled in school here," he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee, then bringing it to the table and sitting across from me.

"Yes. I have found a program in a nearby college that will enable me to pursue my career."

"That's terrific. I know Grace is veiy pleased,"

he said, smiling at her.

She, too, stared with eyes wide with disbelief.

but eyes full of happiness, as well. If anything was unusual now, it was Linden's apparent obliviousness to our reactions,

"Would you like some eggs today, Linden?"

she asked him.

"I think so. Mother. That omelette you do with a little cheese. I don't know why. but I woke up absolutely famished today."

He smiled at me.

"So," he continued. "Grace. tells me you two are thinking of going to a beauty parlor today."

"Yes, we have afternoon appointments. I'll be back to pick her up after I visit the college I am going to attend. I thought it might be nice to go to lunch first. You're welcome to join us, Linden."

"That sounds very nice. but I think I'm going to try to do some work today. Mother, pack me a lunch, if you will. I plan to stay out most of the day. It looks like a perfect day."

"But are you strong enough for that. Linden?"

she asked him cautiously.

"Of course I am. Why shouldn't I be? Once I have one of your wonderful omelettes in my stomach, that is," he added, and laughed.

I think both my mother and I were holding our breath. Both of us looked about ready to explode.

Still, he didn't notice. He went right on talking and was even chattier than he had been before his sailing fiasco. He was absolutely gleeful about our moving into the main house and the Eatons moving out.

"What a relief it will be to move about our property and not have them hovering above and around us," he said. "Do you know. Mother. I don't believe I have been back in that house since they moved into it. Have I?

"No, Linden. Neither of us has, for that matter,"

Mother said. He thought for a moment, then laughed.

"I think I'll plant myself at the gate and smile at them as they drive away. When will they leave exactly?" he asked, turning to me.

"May fifteenth is technically their last day here, according to what I understand," I said.

"Excellent," he said, and began to gobble down his omelette.

We both watched him in awe until I went to dress for my trip to the school, both of us afraid to say too much. It was like handling thin china, taking great care not to tap or bang anything too hard. A part of me worried that such a dramatic and radical turnaround could be the sign of something even more serious.

I noticed that all the torn paintings were gone from the studio, and when I gazed out of my bedroom window, I saw that sometime during the night or very early this morning he had taken them to the refuse area to be carted off. I had a chilling thought that the weight Linden talked about being lifted from his shoulders was the weight of the guilt he expressed in his madness. Since he had ripped up all his works and put them in the garbage, he no longer felt pressured and depressed. How would this affect his work? What would he paint? Would it all start again? Not wanting to detract from my mother's joy at seeing Linden's recuperation. I didn't mention any of my thoughts or fears to her when I stepped back into the kitchen on my way out.

She was preparing a lunch basket for him and he was talking about the studio he intended to set up in the main house when we were all finally living there. Her face was absolutely glowing. I was so happy for her, but as I stood there and listened. I noticed how Linden looked down at the table when he talked and how his talk was filled with such minute details, down to where he was going to keep his drawing pencils and how he would angle his table.