Wicked Forest Read online

  "We'll see," I said I was still under the illusion of being able to change things dramatically myself.

  "Let's not think about any of that tonight," he urged. "We've got some catching up to do. right? Right?"

  "Right," I forced myself to say. "Until then." he said, and hung up.

  I found my mother on the loggia, sitting in her chair and staring at the sea. I sat beside her, both of us quiet.

  You and Thatcher," she began after another long moment of silence. "will see each other?"

  "Sort of." I said. She turned, confused. "Inconspicuously, for a while. There are some new complications. His parents, of course. He wants us to be low-key for a while. Secret rendezvous, that sort of thing."

  "Oh?"

  It might just be nothing," I said, already regretting saving as much as I had. Putting any more weight on her shoulders now would be disastrous. I thought, "I'll give it a little time and see."

  "I hope it does work out for you, Willow. I hope your coming here wasn't a monumental mistake in your life, that my bad luck, my dark destiny doesn't infect you like some flu or bad disease."

  "Oh, Mother. no. Don't talk that way."

  "My mother. Grandmother Jackie Lee Houston, used to tell me everything is part of some grand plan, everything is meant to be, and in the end we can do little to change it. I guess it was her way of accepting some of the harder and sadder events in her life, and I guess she anticipated I would experience similar things and need the same philosophy to get through. But why. I wonder from time to time, do we bother to get through? Through to where. to what?"

  "To something better," I declared,

  "Yes. To something better. A sailor's dream," she said, looking out at the horizon. "He would have come one day, you know. He would have come to fetch me and take me away from all this, your father.'

  "Yes. I believe it. too. Mother." She smiled. "At least, in his way he did come. He sent you.-

  "Exactly," I said, grateful for a little light in her eyes, a little warmth in her smile.

  For some of us, it's almost sinful to hope,- she said. I took her hand quickly.

  "Then let's go to hell together. Mother," I countered. Her smile widened into a thin laugh.

  "Come on," I said, tuning on her to rise. "Let's look at some magazines and think about a new hairstyle for you. We'll make appointments

  tomorrow."

  "That soon?"

  "Why wait any longer to start again?" I asked. "Hesitation just makes it all seem so serious."

  "It is serious. For me," she whispered.

  As if she were made of air, she rose at the end of my hand and let me lead her along like a balloon on a string, just as light, but just as fragile and just as vulnerable to a strong, stormy wind.

  3

  New Beginnings

  .

  Thatcher couldn't have chosen a mare

  inconspicuous restaurant. I passed it twice, turned around, and practically crawled along the highway until I spotted it. The neon sign he'd described was so small, you really had to start down the driveway of the restaurant before fully seeing it, and the restaurant itself looked like someone's home, with a short walkway and steps leading to a small entry porch. The wooden cladding, stained by years of sea air, was a marine gray, reminiscent of a ship's hull. I recognized Thatcher's Rolls-Royce parked off to the right, sufficiently in the dark to go unnoticed by

  disinterested eyes.

  I parked in a lot that contained a half dozen other vehicles and walked to the entrance. There was a short foyer with a dark oak desk on my right. The lighting was subdued, only a small lamp on the desk and a dull fixture above dripping just enough pale yellow glow to reveal a coat rack and a poster-sized map of Italy. I could hear some chatter coming from the room off to my left, but before I took another step, a short gray-haired lady in a black dress with a cameo on her bodice stepped in from the room on the right and went around the desk. She had a round face with Santa Claus-red cheeks and eyes the color of black pearls.

  "Buono sera," she said. "and welcome to Diana's. Did you have a reservation?"

  "I'm meeting someone who might have made a

  reservation," I said. "Mr. Eaton?"

  "Oh, yes, of course. He's already here. Please,"

  she said, indicating I should follow her.

  We went to the right, but I glanced into the

  room on my left and saw a half dozen tables, all

  occupied. The recognizable voices of the famous three

  tenors-- Carreras, Domingo. and Pavarotti-- came

  over the sound system, but the volume was kept just

  low enough to serve as background and not

  overpower the conversations.

  The room to the right was smaller, with only

  three tables. The one at which Thatcher waited was

  off to the left in the corner, screened by privacy walls

  on both open sides. He stood up quickly. A bottle of

  chilled champagne was beside the table and a bottle of

  red wine at the center, next to a basket of small rolls. "Thank you. Mamma Diana," Thatcher said,

  and extended his hand to me. "Willow," he mouthed,

  kissed me quickly, and pulled out my chair. "Bon appetito," Mamma Diana wished us. "Grazie, ma con il sou cibo, non c'e problema

  con l'appetito,"

  Thatcher said, and she laughed as she moved

  away.

  "What did you say?"

  "I thanked her and told her that with her food,

  there is no problem with appetite."

  "I didn't know you could speak fluent Italian." "Cosi, cosi, abbastanza d'arrangiarmi. So-so,

  enough to get by." he replied, and sat.

  "You can get by quite a bit with that," I

  quipped, and he laughed.

  Then he reached across the table to hold my

  hand.

  "I missed you so much. Willow. Those days we

  had, the picnic on the boat, those nights, were so

  special, the memory of them was enough to sustain

  me until you returned. I thought we'd have a

  champagne toast to celebrate your coming back, back

  to me."

  I tilted my head.

  "Maybe you really are Kirby Scott's son.

  Thatcher,"

  His smile wilted.

  "I mean what I say. Willow. Kirby Scott came

  here and used words like a magician uses the turns of

  his hand to distract and confuse and betray," he said

  sternly. "That's not my intent or purpose."

  He looked indignant, hurt, and insulted, Maybe

  I was being too harsh, I thought.

  "In a strangely ironic twist of fate, if what you

  have been told is true, you and Linden could very well

  share a similar anger at the world and fate," I

  suggested,

  He considered the idea for a moment and

  calmed,

  "Yes, perhaps so. I never think of things from

  his point of view exactly. I guess I should.'

  I quickly told him about my conversation with

  Leo Ross and his references to Kirby Scott, especially

  his belief that Kirby had introduced Thatcher's parents

  to the idea of renting my mother's property. "I don't know. I can't recall any mention of him

  in that regard, but it might be true. I'll have to ask my

  father and mother. However. I think I would agree

  with you that if it is true, he had other than altruistic

  motives. What a piece of work he was."

  "You realize that from what you've been told, you might be talking about the man who is your

  father. Thatcher.'

  He smirked and shook his head.

  "If my legal experiences have taught me

  anything these last few years. Willow, it's that it takes

  more th
an blood to bond people. I've represented

  fathers against sons, sons against fathers, brothers and

  sisters against each other. everything. I hate to think I

  might share anything with such a person, even a

  single corpuscle...

  "What are you going to do? How are you going

  to get to the truth. Thatcher? You can't live in limbo

  with this, and we can't let it hover over our heads like

  ominous storm clouds forever."

  "I know. I know." he said. squeezing his

  forehead with his thumb and forefinger as though it all

  gave him a constant headache. I did feel sorry for him. Are you going to have a blood test or

  something like that?" I asked.

  "I'd have to tell my father everything. How can

  I do that?" he practically cried. "How can I be the one

  to tell him that my mother was once unfaithful? Even

  if it was only once." he muttered as far under his

  breath as he could, realizing that the couple at the

  nearest table had turned our way.

  He looked desperate, distraught. defeated. "I feel like I'm boxed in, and that is not

  something I have experienced much in my life." "I'm sure you'll find a way to make sense out of

  it all. Thatcher," I assured him, and put my hand out

  to touch his.

  Here I was again, finding myself in the role of

  cheerleader, with all my heavy baggage to carry.

  Daddy once told me it was sometimes a blessing to

  have other people's problems on your mind-- it kept

  you from fretting too much about your own. Solving

  someone else's difficulties often brings more pleasure

  than solving your own. Still. I felt a little bit like the

  patient telling the doctor he would be fine. Thatcher

  was the man of action here, the person with all the

  resources at his beck and call. Who was I to advise

  him or predict anything?

  He leaned toward me to whisper. "I'm tracking

  him down." he revealed. "You are?"

  "Yes. The day of reckoning will come soon." he

  promised. his eyes sharp with fury.

  "How can you ever be sure that such a man will

  utter a single syllable of truth when you confront

  him?"

  "I've had some pretty tough witnesses to crossexamine in court. Willow. I'll get the truth," he

  bragged.

  I stared at him, admiring his self-confidence. A

  successful person had to have a little more confidence

  than other people. a little more ego, too. perhaps.

  When would I have it? Would I ever?

  "But let's drop all this. I should have insisted

  we pretend we've just met or something, or we check

  our troubles at the door the way cowboys had to check

  their guns. This is a special night, a reunion, a renewal

  and new beginning for us. Willow," he said, reaching

  for my hand again. Then he poured us both a glass of

  champagne. "Let's start with the toast. To us." he said.

  "To our health and success and love. Let them rise

  above everything and everyone."

  We tapped our glasses and sipped, fixing our

  eyes on each other over the tops of the glasses. "These garlic rolls are homemade." he said,

  offering me one. "Wait until you taste the food here.

  It's like being in someone's home and not a

  restaurant."

  "That's what it looks like from the highway. It's

  certainly a good hideaway. Why do I have the

  suspicion you've used it before?" I teased.

  "I will bring you to special places only. and after you and I are there together. they will become off-limits to me unless you are with me. I couldn't imagine ever having a business meeting here again."

  he said.

  "I wasn't speaking of those."

  He laughed.

  "You make me sound like a Palm Springs

  walker. like some international gigolo hovering

  around wealthy available women whether it be in

  Paris, on the Cote d'Azur, or on Rodeo Drive." You speak French. Italian, Spanish. You know

  wines, and you've traveled all over the world. You're

  like someone trained to escort sophisticated women.

  Thatcher. It would be a waste to have you sitting at

  home. I can't imagine you ever becoming a couch

  potato."

  He laughed.

  "Well, from now on. you're the only woman

  I've been trained to escort. Willow De Beers." We tapped glasses again and sipped our

  champagne. He poured us each some more. Then the

  music became a little louder and we ordered our food

  and nearly finished the bottle of champagne before

  starting on a bottle of wine. Thatcher was right about

  it all. The food was delicious. and very soon I felt as if we were in some private place. The rest of the world

  drifted away. The music was just for us.

  Afterward. he talked me into leaving my car in

  the restaurant's parking lot and going with him to his

  friend's beach house.

  "I don't want you picked up for DUI. I would

  have to defend you, and the judge would quickly see I

  have a personal interest in my client." he told me. We kissed in his car and held each other closely

  before we drove off. I felt like someone being swept

  away, but I was allowing it to happen. I was caught in

  the wind of our passion. Resistance was futile. I hadn't

  realized how much I wanted to surrender to its power.

  but I did, I certainly did.

  .

  The beach house seemed closer than he had

  described. I closed my eyes and sat back, and in what

  seemed to be only a few minutes, we were turning

  down a gravel and dirt road and pulling up to a

  beautiful home with a large screened-in pool. The

  house itself was only a few hundred yards from the

  beach. It was done in a very modem decor and looked

  almost brand-new.

  "Was it just built?" I asked. and Thatcher

  laughed.

  "No, but like many of my clients, he has more

  money than he can use and would be better off staying

  in one of the finer hotels than actually owning a

  property he gets to live in only about two or three

  weeks a year. Some people collect houses the vay

  people used to collect stamps."

  "You mean some people you know, not people

  I know." I said, and continued my tour of the place.

  There was a large living room with a big-screen

  television set, and two bedrooms, one with a patio

  overlooking the water.

  Not too shabby. huh?" Thatcher said, coming

  up behind me and kissing the back of my neck. As if his lips were magnets. I felt myself

  leaning back into him, holding on to the warmth of his

  kiss. He held me at the elbows and for a while we

  stayed just like that, planted against each other,

  listening to the surf and staring out at the starlight

  dancing on the water.

  Special moments like this were as rare as

  precious jewels, I thought, So much of our lives were

  spent on one level, coping, attending to the mundane,

  the ordinary details and chores. Days, weeks, even

  months could pass before something so wonderful and

  true, something so memorable and unique would happen to us. Some
memories did sparkle like diamonds in the darkness, restoring our hopes and dreams, but mostly telling us we were capable of love

  and being loved.

  I turned and we kissed.

  Passion rose in waves mimicking the sea,

  undulating up my legs, climbing with every touch,

  with every breath we took. He swept his arm under

  me and scooped me up, gently placing me on the bed.

  He gazed down at me so intently, my heart began to

  pound like a Caribbean steel drum. I reached up for

  him and he knelt beside the bed and slowly began to

  undress me, first removing my shoes, then unzipping

  the back of my dress and peeling it away. He took off

  my panty hose, then undid my bra and lowered my

  panties. Bare naked and spread before him. I felt my

  heart skip beats, my breathing grow so fast and

  furious I had to close my eyes to keep the room from

  spinning.

  I expected him to be beside me in moments,

  naked and loving. but when I opened my eyes, he was

  still gazing down at me and he was still dressed. "Thatcher," I moaned. "What are you doing?" "I want to capture the vision of you forever and

  ever, just like this, delicious, waiting."

  "That's unfair," I complained, and he laughed. To continue the exquisite torment, he brought

  his lips to mine, but kept his hands away. I could feel

  every part of me tingling with anticipation, crying out

  for his touch, his lips, but he held back, restrained,

  controlled, prolonging the preamble to our

  lovemaking, until I could bear it no longer and cried

  out with desperation.

  He laughed, then brought his lips to my breasts

  and followed down my body until he had me

  demanding him. He undressed as quickly as he could

  and crawled beside me.

  "We're safe," I said. "I'm on the pill."

  "Oh," he teased. "And how did you know we

  would be doing this?"

  "I knew. Besides, a girl has to be prepared for a

  thunderbolt of love."

  "I hope not with just anyone." he said. "You

  know not with just anyone. You do, don't you?" I

  asked when he didn't respond quickly enough. "Yes," he said, after teasing me again with that

  moment of pretended doubt. "I know who you are,

  and I love you far that."

  This kiss was longer. We kept Our lips pressed

  against each other's as he moved to put himself in me. "Scream all you want," he told me when I

  muffled a cry of ecstasy. "No one can hear us but the