Wicked Forest

  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 cafe, 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."

  "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 threecarat 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 a
nd 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.