"What is it. Thatcher?" I asked, folding my arms under my breasts and pulling up my shoulders. Are you afraid you'll get a spanking or something if you're caught speaking to me now? The Carriage sisters will put it on the news wires?"
He had been heading toward me quickly to embrace and kiss me, but stopped and forced a smile and a laugh,
"I should know that there isn't any way to deceive the daughter of a famous psychiatrist," he said. He took the next few steps toward me cautiously.
I looked down at his polished new shoes picking up some wet sand. The breeze lifted his hair. There was no doubt Thatcher Eaton was a handsome man. He had just enough tan to highlight the blue in his eyes and the whiteness of his teeth. Not quite six feet tall, he was broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted enough to give the impression he was taller, bigger than he really was, and his air of confidence, bordering on arrogance at times, made him appear stronger yet.
It would be easy to fall in love with such a man, to surrender to his charm and cast myself with abandon into his waiting arms. But I didn't laugh at his silly quip. I was sure that the expression on my face told him I wouldn't tolerate any featherbrained excuses or half-truths and fabrications to justify his failure to call me after I had left Joya del Mar to tend to sad business back in South Carolina. I certainly wasn't going to support the way he was behaving now and feel sorry for him having to soothe and protect his spoiled mother.
The smile left his face, quickly replaced by that look of seriousness and assuredness that he habitually wore to face the public
"I'm here to apologize for not calling you when I said I would. and I'm sorry about the things my mother told you the day you left. She recited the exchange to me word for word. although I'm sure she embellished your statements to make you appear harder and nastier," he said. smirking.
"No, I imagine she didn't exaggerate anything. Whatever she told you I said. I'm sure I did say. I wasn't going to permit her to make me feel like I was beneath the Eatons because of what my mother has been through," I assured him.
"No," he said, his expression softening into a smile. "I bet you weren't."
His eyes grew dark and serious again as he stepped closer to me.
"Look, Willow, there is no question about the right and the wrong here. Of course my parents are snobs. I never pretended they weren't, did I?"
"No, you didn't, but you left out your own snobbery, Thatcher. I was very disappointed in your failure to call me. You knew I wasn't going home for the fun of it, and you knew how terrible things were for my mother. Linden, and me back here. It broke my heart to have to leave her, even for a short while. but I'm beginning to wonder if you are capable of understanding how quickly such love and concern can develop and flourish when they're honest and true."
"Listen, listen." he said. pleading, "I really was getting ready to contact you. In the meantime. I was working behind the scenes to be sure Linden had the best medical attention possible if he needed anything, and to be sure your mother was all right."
"Why behind the scenes?" I fired back. "You're a grown man, a successful attorney. You led me to believe you weren't affected by the glitz and the opulent wealth down here and you had just as little respect as I did for the pompous asses who parade about as if they were some sort of gods and
goddesses."
"That's true. It's still true. but..."
"But what?"
"Look," he said, stepping closer. "you have to compromise a little to succeed in this world. Willow. Those who won't, who insist on standing on high principles and won't compromise, are just as snobby."
"What?" I smiled incredulously. "Highly principled people are snobby?'"
"That's right, There's another sort of arrogance, an arrogance of being right, of being perfect, of intolerance. Rich people can be pitied. too. For their failings, their insecurities, their imperfections," he added quickly before I could laugh or even widen my smile of incredulity at such a thought.
I wasn't going to. The truth was. I did pity people like his parents far more than I hated them or, of course, envied them.
"The successful person in this world is the one who knows how to compromise in such a way that he or she holds onto enough self-respect to enjoy the success. It's a matter of proportion, diplomacy, negotiations." he lectured.
"How does any of that justify your sneaking about your own property even to speak to me?" I threw back at him.
He sighed and shook his head.
"Look. it might not be obvious to you, but I do have a rather fragile family, especially when you consider my sister and her situation. My parents put up a good facade, but my father especially is carrying a great burden on his shoulders.'
"What burden, the supply of champagne?"
"Ridicule if you want, but you're not the only one with a troubled past and present. My sister's marriage has been on the rocks for years. Her husband isn't as successful as he makes out to be. There's a lot you don't know, Willow. I saw no reason to add my dark shadows to your own house of dreads," he said, softening his lips. I had told him of Amou's sayings and ways. His using the expression did quell the flames of fury in my chest, if not put them out altogether.
"And then, all of this, these revelations about you and Grace. and Linden's actions... all of it coming at us so fast and so furiously... it takes time to adjust, to accept, to understand." he continued in a voice of pleading. "Despite how it looks, there is a very orderly, disciplined life here, at least for me."
I stared at him. How reasonable he sounded, how perfectly, damnably reasonable.
"I keep forgetting what a good trial attorney you are. Thatcher Steven Eaton, even though it's usually a trial over bad kitty litter or something similar," I said, and he laughed.
"Hey, don't knock it. It pays the bills and then some."
I took a deep breath and looked away. Was he right about it all and the way he had behaved? I wanted him to be right. I needed him to be right. Did that make me weak? Was I willing to delude myself, accept lies so I could be happy, just like so many people here, so many people I knew, especially my adoptive mother? If there was anyone I didn't want to resemble, it was she.
I hated how I continually analyzed myself, but I couldn't help thinking I would always be weak when it came to facing a strong, confident man. Analysts would tell me I was constantly searching for a father figure.
Thatcher stepped closer, practically touching me. I turned away from him, afraid of looking into those beautiful eyes and weakening.
"You've got to believe I suffered, knowing that you were alone out there, dealing with all your problems without me at your side." he said in a soft, low voice.
I spun on him.
"Then why didn't you just call... just call me once!"
"I thought you would be on your way back sooner," he said. "Especially with Linden still in the hospital and all."
'That's such a lot of... hooey, Thatcher," I snapped back at him.
He stared at me.
"You're just fishing for excuses to rationalize your inaction. Your objections are too flimsy, counselor. They're overruled."
He nodded, then pressed his lips together and took on a different look, a darker look.
"You're right," he said. "There's more.
"What more?" I asked, taken back by his abrupt surrender. "Something else happened very soon after you left.
"What?" I repeated with more demand.
He looked away, and the expression on his face made my heart skip a beat. What else could have happened that was more difficult to accept or understand than all that had happened to me and to Linden and my mother?
"My sister realized how serious I was getting with you," he began.
"So? Why did that matter? You never let her opinions sway you before, did you?" I practically screamed at him.
He glanced toward the house as if afraid we would be heard and took a few steps farther down the beach so our voices would definitely not carry back there. I walked a litt
le behind him, now almost as neryous as I was angry.
"No. You're right. Her opinions wouldn't matter. I don't adjust my life or change my plans to satisfy Whitney's view of the world. That's for sure." he said. "We're as different as a brother and a sister can be. but..."
He turned to me quickly. "But what?"
"But that's the point, or at least the point she was making in her revelations,"
"What revelations? What are you talking about, Thatcher? You're not making any sense to me and--"
"I was hoping not to have to tell you any of this yet, not until I investigated it for myself and either confirmed or disproved it." he said. "My sister is not above using a trick like this to get me to do something she wants or not do something she doesn't want."
"Like what?" I practically shouted at him.
He took a deep breath, bit down on his lip, and then brushed back his hair.
"You know, of course. who Kirby Scott was." he began.
"Yes. My mother's stepfather, the one who seduced and raped her. Linden's father. I know about all that," I said, waving away the words like so many sand flies.
Of course. I knew. The story was practically engraved on my heart. After my grandmother's husband, a naval officer, was killed in a helicopter accident, she and my mother, who was about twelve at the time, moved to West Palm Beach, where my grandmother. Jackie Lee Houston, worked in upscale restaurants until she met Winston Montgomery, a very wealthy widower twenty-five years her senior. He fell in love with my grandmother and married her, bringing her to Joya del Mar. After Winston died, my grandmother fell in love with a debonair Palm Beach playboy named Kirby Scott. They were married, and Kirby eventually took advantage of Jackie Lee. In practically no time, he gambled and spent my grandmother's fortune and left her nearly bankrupt. Before that, he had seduced my mother and she had become pregnant with Linden. It was a well-hidden pregnancy. My grandmother tried to convince the world that Linden was her child. For a long time, she even had Linden convinced of it.
"We've been through that sordid tale, Thatcher. I don't see how that matters at the moment."
After a moment more of hesitation. Thatcher said. "Your mother wasn't the only one he seduced, apparently, or at least according to my sister."
"What is that supposed to mean? Who else did he seduce, and what does it have to do with us. Thatcher? You're not making any sense and frankly-- "
"My mother," Thatcher blurted.
I stared at him. Was this a dream? He was telling me his mother was seduced? And by the same man who had started this whole mess?
"What?" I asked. Surely the devil wind had been playing with our words, twisting and turning them to suit its impish pleasure.
"Let's continue to walk a bit." he suggested, as if he had to put more distance between us and his parents with every small revelation.
"Thatcher--"
He put up his hand.
"Let me explain. Immediately after you had those nasty words with my mother, she called Whitney, She's closer to Whitney than she is to me. They have more similar goals in life, share values, are more sympathetic to each other's little
disappointments."
"So?"
"My mother poured her heart out, which really means her fears, poured that into Whitney's receptive ears, complaining to her about the whole sitnation. Whitney claims she then told my mother she had to take me aside and tell me the truth. Apparently. if I am to believe any of this, it is something my mother shared with her many years ago, but kept from me.
"Right after that conversation, my mother had one of her more serious breakdowns. Let me quickly explain what that means. She goes into a deep depression, won't get out of bed, won't eat, sobs uncontrollably.... My father calls me whenever that happens, and we get her over to what's best described as a spa, where she is given exaggerated tender loving care, the works--mud baths, facials, massages, you name it.'
"How fortunate for her that it takes so little to restore her happiness," I said dryly.
He nodded, but looked at me with a critical sideward glance.
"You know. Willow. if I can offer you some constructive advice for a moment... I'm sure what made your father the great success he was had a lot to do with his tolerance and compassion. I never denied my mother's weaknesses, and still don't. but I don't hate her for that. In fact, even though I'm not a professional therapist. I sympathize and treat her as you will someday treat a similar patient. I'm sure. I humor her, cajole, reason with her.
"Yes, there are people here who are so wealthy, they make kings and queens in other countries look like paupers, and they can buy and own and do almost anything they want, but they still suffer depression, disappointment, doubt, whatever, and all their wealth doesn't make it go away forever. In short, you have to leave a little room in that heart of yours for the wellto-do as well as the unfortunate and poor,
"A doctor who treats a rich person with less compassion than he or she does a poor person isn't really a good doctor, right?" he asked me.
"Sometimes what you're saving is very right. Thatcher. and I would not be happy with myself if I couldn't offer compassion to everyone who needed it, but there are people who are simply spoiled rotten and just need a bit of discipline more than they need extra tender loving care. Their loved ones don't do them any good catering to their whims and moods. They just prolong the misery for everyone. I wouldn't send your mother to a spa. I'd make her work for a week in the supermarket packing groceries," I said.
He laughed.
"Okay. That's a debate we'll put on hold for now. Whether she should have been whipped or embraced, my mother went into one of her
depressions after you left. and I was coping with that as well as helping your mother and Linden.
"One night after she returned. I visited her in her bedroom. She was better. but I could see she was still very distracted, especially for her. There were piles of unopened party and dinner invitations on the nightstand. I asked her what it was that was bothering her so much. I suspected it had to do with you and me, of course. but I was prepared to discuss it reasonably. I was planning, in fact, to call you that night, explain what was going on, and find out how you were doing and when you were returning.
"My mother took the wind out of my sails. She started with her concerns that you were the daughter of Grace Montgomery, that your half brother was Linden, that all of the dark mental problems could be passed on to our children... on and on like that. I didn't agree and I talked about your father and did about as good a job on her as I had ever done. In fact, I could see from her face that I was crushing her arguments like bugs on the loggia.
"Finally, she sat back on her fluffy pillow, looked up at me, and told me what Whitney had wanted her to tell. It was like I was a priest in a confessional booth. Willow. I was so stunned. I couldn't speak. My own mother was admitting to adultery, and admitting it to me!
"The upshot of it all was she was telling me that Linden's father and my father were one and the same. that Linden is my half brother. too. She was telling me that there would be even a greater chance of our having a disturbed child-- not only was your mother passing on mental problems to you, but my father, as evidenced by Linden, could be passing on his abhorrent behavior to me. That was her crreat fear. Understand?"
I started to shake my head, to shake the words back out of my ears.
"No," was all I could barely utter.
She described Kirby Scott as a very romantic, seductive man who took her one night when she had been drinking too much champagne. Shortly afterward, she became pregnant with me. She said the doctor gave her a ballpark time of conception, and she knew without a doubt that I was Kirby Scott's son. She and my father hadn't had any relations during that period. Or so she claimed,"
He paused and, with great effort, as if there were a weight on his chest, took a deep breath,
But you look like your father. I can see resemblances to him," I said. I shook my head. "It's not true. It can't be true."
"I know, but after she told me. I dug up some old newspaper photographs. I've looked at pictures of Kirby Scott. and I see resemblances between us as well. They aren't so strong that there are no doubts, but they are strong enough to make it seem possible."
"Even if such a story proves to be true, Thatcher, it wouldn't affect us. We still don't have any blood relationship." I pointed out. "My mother didn't inherit any illness. She was abused. There's no concrete evidence that a mental problem caused by social or environmental conditions will be passed on through some genetic strain. That's all ridiculous."
"I know, but all of it is a scandal nevertheless and it would create all sorts of complications. I just might have to kiss my legal career down here goodbye if such a story ever got out."
"What of it? You can have a legal career anywhere you want.
Thatcher," I countered.
"So you would marry me and leave your mother and Linden the next day?"
I started to reply, and stopped.
"You see what I mean, Willow? It's not a black and white issue and not something we can decide instantly."
"Your mother would reveal all this, tell the world about her disgrace?" I asked. incredulous. "Just to prevent you from being with me?"
"If this were twenty years ago. I would say never, but what was once embarrassing and
devastating has become socially accepted dramatic fodder now. People are on television revealing deep family secrets every day. Shame is like a vestigial organ, no longer necessary. In short, maybe my mother wouldn't do it. but I wouldn't put it past my sister"
"Maybe it's all not true. Maybe it's a fabrication just to keep us apart. Maybe..."
"Yes," he said. "Maybe so. I need time to confirm all this for myself. In the meantime. I am asking you to be understanding and patient with me. For everyone's sake, not just mine or yours," he added. "Why risk the unnecessary critical attention and gossip? Some of us aren't strong enough to endure any more of that sort of thing."
I knew he meant my mother and Linden. He was right. What they certainly didn't need at the moment was more scandalous baggage placed on their shoulders. What's more, how would Linden react to such news? He despised Thatcher. How would he like to learn that Thatcher and he were related, were brothers!
DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest Page 3
