seagulls, and they couldn't care less."
I did scream and cry and hold him until we
were both panting with wonderful exhaustion, lying
side by side, not speaking but saying volumes with
our breath, our trembling bodies, and our entwined
fingers. Outside, the sea continued to play its lullaby.
I actually closed my eyes and drifted off with its soft,
rhythmic murmur echoing in my ears.
When I opened my eyes again. Thatcher was up
and getting dressed.
"What's happening?" I asked. "Did I fall
asleep?"
"For a little while. I didn't want to disturb you,
but we've got to get you back to your car. Are you all
right?" he asked.
I felt like someone emerging from a dream. "What? Oh, yes, right," I said, and began to
fumble for my clothing.
"I just want to check out a few things in the
house. I'll be in the living roam." he said, and left me. I was tired, but it was a pleasant sort of fatigue.
It actually made me feel a little silly, and I couldn't
help giggling when I gazed at myself in the mirror. Whoever owned the house had a collection of elaborate Mardi Gras masks displayed on a wall. I took one off its hook and put it on before I left the
bedroom to search for Thatcher.
I could hear him speaking very low on the
telephone. "I'll be there." I heard him say. "Stop
worrying about it."
I stepped into the doorway of the kitchen. He
had his back to me.
"Of course I care about you." he said. "What a
stupid question. I've got to go. Later. We'll talk about
it later." He cradled the receiver, standing there and
looking at it as if he had an afterthought he wanted to
see if he could still include.
When he turned, he jumped. For a moment. I
had forgotten I was wearing the mask.
"Very funny," he said. I removed the mask. "Who were you calling so late?" I asked in a
much more demanding tone of voice than he
obviously expected. It even surprised me. but I felt I
had a significant enough investment in him and us to
do so.
For a moment I thought he wasn't going to
reply. Then he smirked.
"Who do you think would be up this late? My
mother, of course.
"Oh. You sounded like you were arguing," I
said.
"She does that to me often, turn me into a tight
ball of nerves until I want to smash the phone against
the wall,"
He took a deep breath. "Is it about us?" I asked. "No, no. My sister is having a rather elaborate
birthday party for my niece tomorrow night. and
Mother dear is afraid I won't show up. Every birthday
party is bigger than the previous one, both in size and
expense. I don't know what they'll do for her
sixteenth. Probably rent the White House," he said.
"People here often compete using their children and
what they do for them, and my mother knows I'm not
terribly fond of being a part of all that. Anyway, why
are you making me talk about it?"
"I'm not making you. Thatcher. I just asked
because you sounded upset."
"Willow, when I'm with you. I don't remain
upset about anything very long," he said, moving
toward me. "Even if you wear the mask."
I laughed, and we kissed.
"Come on." he said. "We'd better get going.
Maybe we can manage to spend a whole weekend here together soon," he added, gazing around. "What
do you think?"
"Maybe," I said, without sounding too
optimistic. He studied my face for a moment, and
nodded.
"Okay, tell me about Linden," he commanded
as we headed out. "What did he do now?"
I described Linden and what I had discovered
he had done to his paintings. Thatcher listened
intently, his face grim. We got into his car. He sat
there for a moment in silence and didn't start the car. "Thatcher?"
"I don't like the sound of it. Willow. Art has
been his whole life. For him to turn his back on that
has to be something very serious. I'm not the
psychiatrist here, but to me it sounds like another
attempted suicide. He's simply destroying himself in
another way. Not only are you possibly endangering
your mother and yourself, but you're certainly risking
Linden's health and welfare by not committing him. "I don't like to lecture anyone," he said. "I hate
when anyone lectures me, but it seems to me this is
just the wrong time for Grace and you to be taking on
all the added responsibility of running Jaya del Mar.
Let my parents extend their lease for another year and
get that off your head for now."
I thought for a moment. Maybe he was right;
maybe I was pushing everyone too hard and this was
all my fault. Maybe my mother didn't even want to go
back into the main house.
"You don't even have to live on the grounds, if
you don't want to," Thatcher continued as he started
the engine and pulled away from the beach house. "I
can help you find a place more suited to your needs
and finances. It could do Grace a lot of good to have a
fresh view of things, don't you think?"
"I don't know, Thatcher."
"That's just it." he pounced. "You don't know,
but you're still taking all this action. It might not be
too late for me to fix things for you. Should I? 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. "Whateve
r 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 responsibili
ty
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