Willow

  I should just go home, I thought. I should just return to the life I had before and pretend Daddy's diary never existed or that it was someone else's work of fiction. In a way Allan might have been the smartest one of all. Maybe his advice was the advice I should have taken. Now, it was too late even for that.

  It's best just to go, I thought. It's best just to leave, write my mother a letter and explain afterward.

  I went into the house and up to my room. where I changed out of the wet clothing. Then I began to pack my things. If I can't get a flight out,I'll check into one of those airport hotels, I thought, I didn't even want to bother calling. I would just drive to the airport and take my chances.

  I sat at the desk and wrote a quick thank-you note to Thatcher's parents, asking them to forgive me for my abrupt departure and adding simply that it couldn't be avoided. I was sure their party would be a big success anyway and told them so. When I was ready, I called for Jennings. He looked surprised at the sight of my suitcase, but he didn't ask any questions.

  "Please see that Mr. and Mrs. Eaton get this note. Jennings," I told him, and handed it to him.

  "Very good. miss. Would you like me to take your suitcase down to your car?"

  "It's not necessary. Jennings. I can manage," I said.

  "I'll take them down to the foyer, then,' he insisted.

  I supposed that somewhere in the rules that governed the behavior of house servants here, it would be a loss of face for him not to take my suitcases down. I nodded, and he left. After wiping the remnants of my tears away. I followed. When I reached the bottom of the stairway. I made a turn to the rear loggia. I wanted one more look at the beach house. I stood out there, debating whether or not to try to say goodbye. I thought it would be just too complicated and maybe even more painful to face my mother at the moment. A letter would have to suffice. I decided finally, and turned to leave.

  Thatcher was sitting quietly in the oversized armchair. He had come down and had been watching me all the while.

  "Where are you going?" he asked.

  "Home."

  "Where is home? You can tell me the truth now."

  "It's where I said it was. South Carolina. Most of what I told you was true. Thatcher."

  "Uh-huh."

  "That's right," I said, turning- sharply at him. "Uh-huh. I'm sorry you have shut me out so firmly, convincing yourself that I'm deceitful and false and conniving, but you don't know anything," I told him.

  He held his skeptical smile. "And your father and mother are really deceased?" he continued as if I were on a witness stand and he was being the clever trial attorney.

  "That's correct."

  "And your father was a doctor, a psychiatrist?" "Yes."

  "Who happened to have been Grace

  Montgomery's doctor? You said she was sent to his clinic."

  "That's all true, Thatcher, yes."

  He smiled coldly. "How convenient for you What did you do, get hold of her records or

  something?"

  "In a way." I said. "but that wasn't what brought me here. I'm no fortune hunter. I'm not here to play what you called the Palm Beach game. I couldn't care less about all that, if you want to know. I'm not as wealthy as most of the people in your parents' world. but I'm far from poor. I don't have yachts and thousands of dollars' worth of jewelry, but I have more than enough to keep me from selling myself into an affair so I can become a citizen of this artificial world."

  I laughed. "You know something. Thatcher? Now that I have been here and have seen some of it. I just might propose the study paper to my psychology teacher next semester and maybe come back and really do it."

  I started to cross the room.

  "All right," he said, his fingers pressed together into a cathedral. "I'll bite, Your father was Grace Montgomery's doctor, and she was in his clinic. Why would that bring you here to involve yourself with Linden?"

  I stopped and looked at him. There was still anger and cynicism in his face, but there was pain, too. His eyes saw only betrayal.

  "I didn't come here to get involved with Linden, at least not the way you are suggesting."

  "What other way. then?"

  "I came here. Thatcher, to meet and get to know my real mother,

  His eyebrows lifted. "I don't understand. Your real mother?"

  "After my father died. I was given a diary he had written and had kept with his close personal friend and attorney with the instructions to give it to me only after his passing. I read the pages and learned that he and Grace Montgomery had become lovers at his clinic."

  "What are you saying? Your father had an affair with his patient, and she became pregnant with you? Grace Montgomery?"

  "Yes," I said "But if you read the diary, and if you speak with Grace, you understand it wasn't what it sounds like. It wasn't a doctor taking advantage of a vulnerable patient. She remained in the clinic long after she could have gone home because she was truly in love with him, and he with her."

  "You're telling me, then, that Linden

  Montgomery is your... your half-brother?"

  "Exactly. Tonight, our mother told him the truth, and when he heard it, he was so depressed about his life that he thought about drowning himself. I saw him out there. and I went in to save him, only it turned out he had to save me."

  "Why would it depress him so to have you as a half-sister?" Thatcher asked, and quickly thought of the answer to his own question. I just stood there looking at him. "Oh," he said. "I get it. You're the prettiest. nicest young woman who has given him the time of day in years." He looked down at the floor.

  "I've just hurt everyone by coming here," I said. "Wiser people told me to leave it be. but I couldn't. Anyway, that is what I was trying to tell you out there when you saw us returning from the beach. I'm sorry I hurt you. Goodbye," I said, and started out.

  "Wait a minute. Does Grace know you're leaving?"

  "No. I thought I would write to her in a day or so."

  That doesn't sound fair. You come in here like something blown in from the sea and then fly away?"

  I felt my face crumpling, my lips trembling so hard they were knocking against my teeth. "I can't stand any more... sadness, any more... dor no coracao, peso na alma."

  "What?" he said, squinting and scrunching his nose.

  A laugh and a smile broke through my veil of misery. "Pain in the heart, weight on my soul. Something my nanny Amou used to say."

  "Portuguese?"

  "Yes,"

  He stood and walked toward me slowly. "I went up to my room very angry, as you know. I paced about, raging at myself, at you, at my parents, anyone, anything, and then I stopped and reviewed it and reviewed it and told myself there has to be some other explanation for all this. I just won't accept what it all looks like on the surface. So I came down here to speak to you."

  He smiled. "I'm glad I did. You're not going anywhere, Willow, especially now that I know your interest in Linden Montgomery is purely sisterly."'

  I started to shake my head.

  "You came here for a purpose, and you shouldn't leave until you've completed that purpose. You can't just come into your mother's life for a day, say hello and then goodbye, have a good life, nice to have met you. Whatever trauma your arrival has caused will be gone, wiped out by the love you've brought as well. I'm sure once he settles down. Linden will realize how lucky he is to have someone like you as a sister."

  "You really think so?"

  "Yes, but I'm also really being selfish. I'm not ready to say goodbye to you I don't think I will ever be."

  He stepped up to me and wiped the tears off my cheeks with his handkerchief, and then he kissed each cheek and held me for a long moment.

  "Only one thing," he whispered. "What?"

  "Let's not tell my parents any of this just yet, especially right before their party. okay?"

  "Why not?" I asked, pulling back, a flutter of alarmed butterflies tickling under my breast like little warnings.

  "Trust m
e. The less they know, the better we'll be. They have lived lives with no pain, no worries, no conflicts so long, they crack over a corky-tasting wine. The last thing my mother could handle is being the target of any gossip. Imagine what the Carriage sisters will do with this," he added. smiling.

  "I'm tired of hiding the truth. Thatcher, and I don't care a damn about the Carriage sisters."

  "After the party, there will be plenty of time for the truth. Hey," he said. "here, as you know, the truth is often something with a bitter taste. People can take it in small doses only and never all at once. Illusions and deceptions are so much more digestible."'

  He went for my suitcases. "Well?" he asked, turning.

  The two voices within me began debating again, the one urging me to stay, the other urging me to flee.

  "You can always leave," he continued, seeing my indecision, "That's easy. It's not always as easy to return."

  It stopped the debate. I nodded and turned slowly to go back up the stairway. hoping I had not made a more serious error of judgment,

  .

  Thatcher and I spent the night together, lying side by side in my bedroom this time. He asked me so many questions. It was as if my telling him the truth had opened the door to his caring more and wanting to know more. I described what my early life had been like, told him about Amou in more detail and especially about my adoptive mother and how severe she could be. He wanted to know a lot more about my father, and he was intrigued with the story of him and my mother.

  It does sound like they were truly in love and," he added. "later in a great deal of pain. I think it helps me understand Grace more, why she is the way she is, why she has been so introverted. I've always liked her and hated the ridicule and the cruel things people say about her. It's why I wanted to help her with her legal problems. why I was proud of myself for being able to do that.

  "I even tried being a friend to Linden at different times. I'm really the one who engineered his exhibits in the galleries here. He doesn't know that If did, he wouldn't have let the paintings be hung and sold. He doesn't want anyone's help, especially anyone from Palm Beach.

  "Once. I even tried to go sailing with him. He came close to agreeing. I talked about the boat and asked his opinions and invited him aboard. It was almost as if he was fighting with someone inside him, some other Linden, who unfortunately won out."

  "I do that. too." I said.

  "What?"

  "Argue within myself, two voices."

  "Uh-oh, is this a family thing?" he asked semiseriously.

  "Maybe, but probably not. You don't talk to yourself, argue with yourself?"

  "We're all a bit schizophrenic, is that it?"

  "Yes," I said.

  'Well. I don't believe that,'" he said. "Yes. I do, No. I don't, Yes. I do."

  I slapped him on the arm. "Stop teasing me. Thatcher Eaton."

  He laughed and reached out to pull my lips to his. We kissed, and then. when I leaned back, I saw he still had his eyes closed and wore a smirk of satisfaction.

  "What are you thinking, Thatcher Eaton?"

  "I'm thinking how miserable I would have felt if someone had told me you were my sister." he said. "I might have rejected the truth and risked incest."

  "You're such an idiot," I said, and kissed him again.

  We made love, and this time, we stayed with each other until the morning light came bursting through the windows, exploding on the walls like the opening of a dark curtain and the beginning of a new performance. I could almost hear the applause greeting us. How I hoped it wasn't premature.

  We had breakfast together downstairs on the rear loggia, and then he went off to finish some work he had left at his office, and I prepared to spend the day talking with ray mother and Linden. Thatcher's parents were still asleep, but before I walked to the beach house, the people setting up for the

  extravaganza arrived and began to put up the tent, the tables, the flowers, and the strings of lights. Before long, I counted well over two dozen people working. How the Eatons could sleep through all this was beyond me. Jennings, however, seemed well in control: clearly, he had supervised a number of events such as this.

  I found my mother sitting by herself, drinking coffee and looking out at the sea. She smiled when she saw me, but she didn't hold the smile long. Her face was quickly filled with concern and worry.

  "Good morning," I said. I looked about. "Where's Linden, not yet up?"

  "Oh, no, he was up very early this morning, almost at the crack of dawn. He took his sailboat and went to wherever he goes to work in private."

  "That beach he calls Linden Beach." I said, and sat down. "Would you like some coffee?"

  "No, thank you. Did he tell you he and I met last night after you had revealed the past to him?"

  "No."

  I hesitated. Should I tell her he acted suicidal?

  "I saw him walking on the beach and joined him."

  He was very unhappy about it all. He took it badly. He made me feel I had betrayed him by not confiding in him long before this. I should have, of course. It wasn't right to keep such a thing a secret for so long."

  "You never knew I would come."

  "'Na. but it was still part of my past and, therefore, part of his."

  "There are things a mother can rightly keep from her children, things that are hers and hers alone because she is a woman, too." I offered.

  She liked that. "Only two women would understand, however," she said, smiling like a coconspirator.

  "Why shouldn't the same be true for men, for a father? Just because you are both parents doesn't mean you don't have private lives, fantasies, dreams that are your own."

  "It's too raw right now for him,," she said, nodding at the water. "He's too emotional to be rational about it. Your father used to say sometimes you just have to put your emotions in a room by themselves and deal with your problems thoughtfully. intelligently. Later, you can swing by and pick them up and let them know your decisions."

  She laughed. "He made it all sound so simple. After a while, I began to believe it was. Part of the illusionary world he and I created for each other while I was there. I suppose.

  "But let's not talk about me anymore, not until you've exhausted yourself talking about yourself. I want to know everything, when you had your first loose tooth, your first boo-boo, your first crush on a boy, the first time you put on lipstick. everything."

  "Where should I start?"

  "At the beginning, your earliest memories. Don't leave out a detail. Everything is important," she said, and sat back expectantly.

  I laughed. "I'll keep you here forever."

  "I hope so." she said. She leaned forward to touch my cheek and stared at me. "I hope so."

  .

  When I left her hours later, Linden still had not returned.

  "He often stays out the whole day." she explained to ward off my concern. "He'll avoid this place as much as he can now that he knows the Eatons are having one of their affairs."

  "I'll come by later to see him," I promised.

  "Good. Perhaps if the three of us sit quietly and talk..." Her voice trailed off like a dream that wouldn't be tied down,

  "Yes," I said, and went to the main house. where Bunny was flying about, dictating orders to servants, tossing commands like rice on a wedding party. She was intent on rearranging the furniture, carrying on about the change of energy her, feng shui decorator had predicted. She told me Asher was in the game room watching a basketball game on television "as if there was nothing in the world to do."

  From what I could see, there wasn't, at least for him. Her army of servants had everything well under control. All she could do was look for things to make herself appear busy. From the way the servants reacted to her exclamations, I could see they knew how to humor her. hiding their smiles behind their hands and behind her back.

  Suddenly, she realized I was there and spun on me. "What are you wearing tonight? Not that same black dress?"

  "It
's the only formal thing I have. Bunny."

  "Oh, dear. dear. I should have asked you earlier and taken you to Monique's for something just out of Paris. At least wear my best pearls. You don't have to worry about them. You're only going to be on the grounds."

  "Okay," I said. relenting more to escape than anything.

  She didn't forget. Ten minutes later. a maid delivered them to my room,

  While I rested for the party. I called home. The phone rang and rang, but Miles didn't answer. I hated bothering Mr. Bassinger. I should have gone home by now and checked everything for myself. Perhaps Miles had just left to do some shopping, or perhaps he was sleeping. I made a mental note to call again in an hour or so.

  I didn't. however. I became too engrossed in my preparations for the party, and then Thatcher came by to see how I was doing, and soon after that, he and I descended and began to meet people who were arriving in their limousines and Rolls Royces and Mercedes. The music had started. The servants were circulating with trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Women in very expensive-looking designer gowns and dazzling jewelry were everywhere. These people all acted as if they hadn't seen each other for years. when I knew from what I overheard that many had seen each other at least twice this week alone.

  Finally. I met Thatcher's sister. Whitney. and her husband. Hans, who looked every bit of twenty years older than she was. He was stout and bald with just a trim patch of pale yellow hair along his freckled skull. Whitney was taller than Hans, even an inch or so taller than Thatcher, with a longer, leaner face. Her thin lips pursed together into a fine line when she wasn't talking or eating or smiling what I thought was a forced smile. Her eves were darker. more critical and unforgiving. albeit nicely shaped. Her posture was stiff. and as she perused the guests, her head moved almost as if it were totally independent of the rest of her body. How did someone so stern-looking come from two such fluffy parents?

  "My mother has told me a great deal about you." she said when she took my hand. Hers felt cold, but she held mine as firmly as would a man. "Most of it ridiculous. I'm sure," she added.