Wicked Forest (8 page)

"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 than 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 cross-

examine 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 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?