"Maybe you're just being too harsh in your judgments of them, Holden."
"No, I'm not." he insisted.
He surprised me by reaching out to seize my arm at the elbow. I turned in surprise.
"I know you're engaged and all, but you've got more in common with someone like me. I think like you do. I'm interested in the same things. You got engaged too fast. My mother says that your mother-inlaw even says so."
"I don't like that. Holden. I don't think it's anyone's business, and your mother has no right to say such a thing."
"Yes, she does. She's right. You need to, to wait... to meet someone else... to kiss someone else..."
Before I could respond, he grabbed my shoulders and squeezed so hard. I started to cry out in pain. He smothered my cry with his lips. I struggled to break free, but he was incredibly strong, much stronger than I'd imagined him to be. His lust and desire had given him power.
"Think about me!" he cried. "If you just think about me--" I squirmed to get out of his grip.
"Stop it. Holden!" I shouted,
He leaned forward to kiss me again, opening his mouth so wide that he covered my mouth and jetted his tongue into it. I thought I would asphyxiate when, suddenly. I felt him torn away from me and looked around to see Linden, his camera on a strap around his neck.
Before Holden could catch his balance. Linden swung his forearm out and caught him square in the mouth, driving him back. Holden stumbled and fell over into the water, sitting down quite
unceremoniously and, for a moment, looking absolutely stupid.
Linden appeared to swell in size between Holden and me.
"How dare you?" he spit at him. "Get the hell off our property before I bury you in it!"
Holden struggled to his feet and then shot away, his clothing soaked, the sand kicking up behind him. As soon as he was out of sight. Linden turned to me.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes," I said. "I don't know what came over him. He's been such a shy, withdrawn person."
"You shouldn't have gone for a walk alone with him," Linden chastised,
"I had no idea he would behave like that. I just thought--" "You've got to be more suspicious of the men you meet."
He looked in the direction of Holden's flight for a moment, then back at me.
"Thank you for helping me. Linden. I was lucky you were nearby"
"I told you I would be." he said, his eyes still filled with anger. He held up the camera. "I've got a picture of him accosting you if you want to press charges against him."
"No, that won't be necessary. Thanks. I'd better get back to the house. What a terrible finish to a nice afternoon," I muttered, and repeated. "Just lucky you were here."
He stepped closer.
"It wasn't a matter of luck.' he said assuredly. "I'll always be here for you. Willow. Even when Thatcher is not. Especially when Thatcher is not" he added, his shoulders back proudly. "-You can depend on that." He started toward the house, then paused when I hadn't moved. "Coming?"
"What? Oh, yes, yes," I said, and hurried to join him and get inside.
Later. I wasn't sure whether I should tell Thatcher about the incident. I was afraid he would get very angry and might do something like press charges against Holden, but then I decided keeping things from one another wasn't a good way to begin a relationship. His reaction surprised me.
He shook his head and smiled, "What is so funny?"
"The way you describe him reminds me of Boo Radley in To Kill a Mockingbird-- you know, the disturbed man who protects the young girl, who comes out of the shadows to kill her assailant and saves her life. Linden is our own Boo Radley."
"Oh, Thatcher, don't ever say anything like that to Linden."
"I won't. But I can't help thinking it," he said, and laughed again. "And I can see from your expression that you can't help it either."
I shook my head.
I wasn't thinking that. was I? I wondered.
But I tucked it away in my closet of little worries, promising to take it out soon and give it the time it needed to be understood.
Before it grew into something I would regret.
.
As funny as it seems, studying for my exams and then taking them was actually relaxing for me. I found myself under more pressure at home as Thatcher's and my wedding day drew closer and closer. College became my escape. Bunny and usually one or two of her friends were at Jaya del Mar so often, it almost didn't seem like she had moved away. She was planning the logistics, the scheduling of events, every single arrangement as if she really was staging a battle-- and then she added the most bizarre element of all by bringing in her feng shui master to evaluate everything.
Feng shui; an ancient Chinese discipline focusing on bringing everyday life into harmony with nature, was the flavor of the month in Palm Beach. and Bunny was always one to get on any bandwagon, no matter what, as long it was '"what everyone was doing." Time, space, and action, according to this practice, had to be coordinated to increase energy, harmony. healing.
When she introduced Master Tee to Mother and me, we had no idea what she was up to now.
"The wedding day is like the launching of a ship, the birth of your new life." Master Tee explained. "You want to begin with the most positive energy you can."
Then she and Bunny went out to review the locations of everything, Using Thatcher's and my astrological signs. Master Tee decided the flower altar had to face the direction opposite to the one that had been previously chosen, and we should have our backs to the setting sun when we sat to eat our wedding feast. This meant Bunny had to rearrange the dais as well. It put her into a frenzy. The caterers were called back to redesign their arrangements, and the decorator was informed that the chairs he had suggested were the wrong shape.
On her way out. Master Tee, who had been taken to look at what would become Thatcher's and my suite, told me to get rid of all the mirrors in the bedroom.
"Mirrors mean troubled sleep." she said. "And you must change the color of the ceiling. Just like the earth and the sky, it must be different from the walls."
When they left. Mother and I had a good time imitating both of them. Linden walked in on our hysterical laughter, and when he asked what was so funny, I broke into more laughter trying to explain.
"Poor Thatcher." Mother said, "She'll be on the phone with him warning him that he won't sleep well.'
Linden didn't understand yet, but our giggling brought a smile to his face.
"I don't know what it's all about, but whatever it is. I'm glad it's about that" he said, and left shaking his head.
And so it was easy for anyone to understand how locking myself away to study and then taking my exams was truly an escape.
That weekend at home. however, I received the most wonderful news of all. Just before Thatcher and I were going out to dinner with two of his associates and their wives. Jennings informed me there was a call for me from "some woman who calls herself Amou." and I squealed with delight and rushed to the phone.
"Amou, is it really you?"
"Sim, Willow. Como Sao?"
"How am I? How are you, Amou? When you didn't respond to my last letter. I was so worried."
"I was traveling with my sister. We went to Brazil. I have decided I will make the trip to Florida and be there for your wedding."
"Oh. Amou, that's wonderful. I'll have the guest room prepared."
"Don' t fuss over me."
"I will too fuss over you. I miss you."
"Yes, and I miss you I'm very happy for you. Willow. You deserve happiness after so much sorrow and hardship. I am looking forward to meeting your real mother. It will help me forget the other."
"I already have," I said.
"That's good. Tell me more about Thatcher," she said, and I described him with such hyperbole, she laughed and said, "Is he a man or a Greek god?"
"You will have to tell me. Amou."
"When you are in love, your eyes are full of roses," she remin
ded me. "But you are your father's daughter, too, and I am confident you have your feet on solid ground."
"Send me the details of your flight, and I'll be sure to meet you at the airport. Amou."
"I will, I can't wait." "Me neither. Stay well."
"You, too. Amou Una," she said. and said goodbye. When I hung up, my cheeks were streaking with so many tears of happiness. Thatcher thought I had received some terrible news.
'Oh, just the opposite, Thatcher," I cried. "Just the opposite! Amou is coming!"
The woman of the dreads," he teased.
"We won't let the dreads come into our world, will we?" I asked him.
"Never," he promised.
He kissed away my tears of joy.
Were my feet still on solid around? Were my eyes full of roses? Soon, Willow, I told myself. Soon you will know.
Two days later, Thatcher's friends held his bachelor party. He reminded Linden, who was not eager to go. Thatcher insisted, however, and got me to join in encouraging him.
"Just don't let him drink. Thatcher," I begged. "Remember his condition and his medication."
"Of course. He's my hero. He saved my woman in distress, didn't he? I'll look after him." he promised.
When they left that night. Linden looked back at me with such dark, fearful eyes. I nearly rushed out after them to stop him from going. My heart actually stopped and started again after the cold wave of fear washed over my breasts. I avoided my mother, afraid she would see my anxiety and it would heighten her own.
Making excuses. I went to bed early, but I didn't close my eyes. I wanted to be awake when Thatcher and Linden returned, no matter how late. My determination wasn't strong enough, however, and my eyelids turned into lead, shutting and dropping me back on the pillow, where I was drifting away until I heard the first scream.
I practically flew out of my bed and out the door. Hurrying down the hallway in my nightgown, barefoot, I stopped at the top of the stairway and called down. Mother, who apparently had waited up for Linden, had been there when Thatcher and he came through the front door. It was more like Thatcher carrying him through the front door. He had his arm around Linden, whose head bobbed and swayed on his neck like one of those funny animals people put in the back of an automobile, its head on a spring.
Mother had her left fist pressed against her mouth to stifle another cry. I came down the stairs slowly. Thatcher looked drunk himself. his eyes silly and wild. a wide grin on his face.
"He's all right." he said. "We're both all right-- right. Linden. buddy?"
It was then that I saw the small trickle of blood that had come out of Linden's nose and dried over his upper lip. He barely opened his eyes, then closed them again.
"What did you do. Thatcher? He wasn't supposed to drink at
"It was a bachelor party. They got me drinking and I lost track of our boy. I didn't know he was in the sauce until I heard him topple over a chair. He's all right. He's all right. He'll just sleep it off, like everyone else. He's one of the boys now, finally one of the boys. Everyone was calling him Superman because of the way he saved you from an ugly fate."
"What?" Mother managed to ask. "Nothing. Thatcher's being an idiot.-
"Let's get him to his room," Thatcher cried. and moved toward the stairway, tripping and nearly bringing himself and Linden down, I rushed to Linden's other side and took most of his weight onto my shoulders.
"Tha's a good girl." Thatcher declared. "Worry. not. Grace. He's fine. I'm proud of him. Everybody likes him, especially the belly dancer." Thatcher smothered a giggle with his free hand.
Mother moved up behind us as we climbed the stairway.
"I'll tend to him," Thatcher declared upstairs. "This isn't for you women to see."
"Forget it. Thatcher. You've done enough tending to him. Go to bed," I ordered.
"Ex-squeeze me?"
"You heard me, go to sleep," I cried, and pushed him away from Linden. Mother took up the slack and we guided Linden to his bedroom,
"Unhand that Superman and let him go down with pride, Thatcher screamed.
-Go to sleep!" I screamed back at him.
He fluttered about, then turned and stumbled his way to our suite.
Mother and I guided Linden into his room and managed to get him on his bed. She went into the bathroom to get a washcloth and cleaned away the dried blood while I took off his shoes and socks.
I'll take care of him. Willow," she said, stepping back and gazing down at him. "I've done it all his life."
"I'm sorry. Mother. I'll make sure Thatcher is sorry. too."
"It's all right. Don't do anything more tonight. He isn't in a condition to understand you anyway. Men are often boys. Maybe it wasn't so bad for Linden to have the experience," she concluded. "as long as it doesn't set him back.'
"Okay," I said. I watched her for a moment as she lovingly washed off his face and unbuttoned his shirt.
When I walked back to our suite. I found Thatcher sprawled over the foot of the bed, lying on his stomach, his arms dangling over the edge. He was fast asleep.
Mother has her little boy to put to sleep, I thought. And now I have mine. After I struggled with Thatcher, who periodically woke to giggle and kiss me. I managed to get him into bed. The moment his head settled on the pillow, he was asleep, snoring away as loud as a tug-boat. He reeked of alcohol. To get some sleep myself, I retired to one of the guest rooms.
.
I awoke shortly after darkness began to pull its blanket of stars back, retreating before an insistent sun that promised a bright, hot day. The house was still quiet. I looked in on Thatcher. The way he was wrapped around the blanket and the pillow, he appeared to have been struggling with some demon and collapsed in exhaustion. His eyes were shut tight. his mouth slightly opened.
I left him and went to check on poor Linden. Mother, exhausted from worry and concern, was sleeping soundly, as was Linden, his arms still at his sides. I looked at his nose and saw it was a little swollen. He looked like he had spent the night in battle rather than in reverie with Thatcher and his friends. I did hope Thatcher was right about Linden enjoying himself and being accepted as one of the boys at last.
I smiled to myself, recalling how one of my teachers. Mrs. Foggleman, had once compared our socially accepted rituals, such as bachelor parties, to primitive tribal events.
The line between what is primitive and what is not is often blurred by who is deciding," she lectured. "Sort of like history being written by the conquering army."
Maybe what was basic and natural to humanity made us all more alike than we would like to think. I concluded, although to compare people here to people in primitive lands would surely cause a social nuclear explosion. I laughed to myself, thinking how Bunny Eaton would react to such an idea.
As I turned to leave Linden's room. I caught sight of a stack of photographs on his dresser, Curious, I walked over and looked at them. They were all pictures of me, his famous candid photographs. I was astounded not only at the number of pictures he had taken, but at the variety of locations, the things I was doing at the time, the times of day, the people I was speaking to when he'd snapped them. It was as if he had been truly a fly on the wall, invisible and so inconspicuous. I couldn't recall his presence at a single one of these occasions.
He had me sitting at a table on the loggia, bent over my notebook, my face intense as I read and reread notes. He had me eating, speaking with the servants and with my mother: to my surprise, he even had pictures of the Butterworth twins. Holden, and me studying before he had arrived to join us for coffee that day. There were many close-ups of me, catching almost every expression on my face.
But it was the second pile of pictures that shocked me the most. These were taken of me in my room during various stages of undress. Somehow, like some voyeur, he had snapped photographs of me totally naked. There were even pictures of me taking a bath and stepping in and out of the shower stall, as well as bending over the sink, fixing my hair, putting on make
up, in every conceivable place and position-- even going to the bathroom.
After my initial astonishment, my first reaction was a blood-angry rage. I wanted to tear each and every picture in two and throw the pieces at him. When he had told me he wanted to take candid photographs. I had no idea that meant he would invade my most private moments as well. There was just so much abhorrent behavior I would tolerate in deference to his emotional and psychological problems. This was totally unacceptable and inexcusable. I couldn't wait for him to recuperate enough to be chastised.
After my boiling anger receded somewhat, however, and I looked at the pictures again and then at him still dead to the world in his bed. I had a secondary reaction, one based upon a more thoughtful and objective analysis. This wasn't just annoying and infuriating: it was also somewhat frightening. To what would Linden's obsession with me lead? Was he capable of ever accepting who and what we were to each other? Could he ever have a substantial and satisfactory relationship with another woman?
If I ranted and raved at him and threw these photographs in his face, would he charge madly toward some dark abyss again, and would I then have to live with the knowledge that I had driven him there? Would I stand over his gravesite with my mother beside me and feel it was all my fault? Here I was, a student of psychology, someone who, if anyone could, should be able to step back, calm down, and first seek to help him, not punish him.
I once asked my father how he was able to maintain his objectivity and remain calm enough to help his patients after hearing about some of the terrible things they had done to themselves as well as to others.
"It's a balancing act," he explained. "A surgeon performing a heart transplant on a convicted killer can't think of who he is. He has to think of the medical issues, the problems to solve, and treat the body, not the man.
"People often accuse doctors of being too cold, too indifferent, but sometimes they have to be that way to survive and to perform without prejudice. Caring too much for your patient might make you tremble at the wrong times, just as caring too little might make you negligent.
"I have had patients so full of belligerence and rage, they want to leap out of their seats and choke me to death. Their eyes are sending darts at me. but I can't show them I see that as a threat or see them as so terrible I won't want to help them.
DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest Page 22
