DeBeers 02 Wicked Forest

by V. C. Andrews

  But we shouldn't worry, should we?" he said, smiling again. "We have each other to keep us company when everyone else disappoints us."

  He laughed again, and returned to his dinner.

  Afterward, I retreated to my suite to do some studying. I ended my evening by checking on Mother, who had woken and had some tea, toast, and jelly brought to her.

  "I'm just feeling a bit on the creaky side tonight," she claimed. "Now, don't go making those big eyes at me and talking about doctors and hospitals. You know how much I hate the thought of it."

  "If you're not back to your usual self tomorrow--"

  "I'll be back. I'll be back." she promised. She asked after Thatcher. and I told her about his meetings in Tallahassee, and then how Linden and I had enjoyed dinner together,

  "He's involved in some new art project." I said. I repeated what he had said about attending college.

  "Oh, that's wonderful. If only he does it."

  "We'll see to it that he does," I assured her.

  I returned to my suite and watched some television until my eyelids grew heavy. I even drifted off while the television was on. Finally I turned it off and put out the lights. In our king-size bed with its massive headboard, I felt more alone than ever tonight. In the relatively short time Thatcher and I had been together. I had grown accustomed to feeling him beside me. Hearing his steady breathing at night, or cuddling up to him when it rained, helped me feel secure.

  At UNC and here. I had girlfriends who placed such a premium on their independence that they mocked me whenever I spoke about someone, especially a man, giving me that sense of security, whether it was my father, or my boyfriend, Allan, at North Carolina, or my husband.

  "Men lord it over you when they realize that. It makes them feel superior and convinces them you should be beholden to them, be grateful they are there. I'll never let a man think that of me," I heard. I heard it in so many different ways and so often that at times I wondered if it wasn't true. if I wasn't too weak, too dependent after all.

  And yet, wasn't it wonderful to find someone to whom you could cling and who would soothe and comfort you? Wasn't it good that we had a soft part to ourselves, a part to be loved and cherished. too? Did we always have to be on guard, ready to stand up for our rights? It gets tiring after a while. After a while you have to wonder what has been gained and what has been lost. There had to be a place of compromise, a place you both came to willingly, seeking ways to become important to each other, to become a part of each other, to lose a little of yourself in each other and move from "you and me" to "we."

  I embraced Thatcher's pillow and inhaled the aroma of his cologne. I felt him beside me. and I closed my eyes and without fear let myself drift into sleep.

  Maybe it was because of the conflict with Whitney, my worrying about Mother, and my conversations with Professor Fuentes, but my pleasant sailing into sleep on a soft bed of flowers was interrupted by a strangely vivid nightmare. In it, the door to my bedroom suite opened, and silhouetted in the hallway light was a male form. He came closer and closer to the bed. I felt myself cringing, pulling myself in so tightly I was in some pain. but I dared not cry out. I had to pretend to be asleep.

  The figure stood there for the longest time, remaining still in the shadows. Then he stepped toward the bed, and I saw it was Linden and he was naked. He reached out to touch my hair. I didn't move a muscle. After a long moment, I sensed his turning and watched him drift away, float toward the door, closing it softly behind him. Still. I did not move. Finally, my body relaxed and I was able to drift back into dreamless sleep.

  When I awoke in the morning, the nightmare was still quite vivid, so much so that I began to wonder if it had indeed occurred. I didn't dare ask Linden. and I couldn't mention it to Mother, of course. I just tucked it away in one of the darker places in my mind and hoped it would disappear, like a Ghost that had grown tired of haunting the same house.

  This is all getting to me, I thought. I do need a holiday, no matter how short and sweet. The moment Thatcher returned, I reminded him of his promise, and he made the arrangements immediately.

  "We'll have a bit of a second honeymoon," he promised.

  "Good," I said "Ours was too short anyway." He laughed and hugged me.

  "Willow, our marriage itself will always be like a honeymoon," he said.

  I was so happy and excited about us going, but in the back of my mind I decided that my going or not would depend on Mother's health, Fortunately, she did improve over the next two days. Maybe she was putting on an act so I wouldn't hesitate to go, but if so, she was doing a good job of it. She ate better, went for her walks again, and even did a little shopping with me so I could act some things I needed for my weekend in the Bahamas.

  And what a weekend it was!

  Not once did Thatcher mention any of his work, any meetings, any clients. He didn't even bring his cell phone along!

  "For the next forty-eight hours," he said, "I don't want to know about anything but you."

  The moment we landed in Nassau, we were both giddy. As soon as we arrived at our hotel, we went out to the pool, swam, and drank something called a Miami Ice tea that Thatcher claimed was wonderful. It tasted wonderful, but I had no idea how potent it was, Later I found out it had vodka, peach schnapps, gin, and rum in it, as well as the sour mix and orange juice. We both had three. and I got into a laughing jag that I couldn't stop.

  We had a room off the pool but toward the rear of the property, so it was isolated well behind trees and bushes. Thatcher decided that I'd had enough, especially when we realized we had been in the sun too long and were both quite red-faced. I didn't feel a thing and never realized I was getting a burn. He literally picked me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me to our room. Once there, we began to make love almost immediately. My head was spinning from the drinks and now, making love as hard and as fast as we were, I felt I would pass out I might have, for all I knew.

  Exhausted, we both fell asleep and didn't wake up until nearly 8 P.M. I was still groggy, but Thatcher had revived and, before I knew it. he was kissing and fondling my breasts, running his lips over the small of my stomach, and teasing me until we were at it again. Our lovemaking wasn't as soft and sensitive as it had been on our honeymoon and thereafter. It was more lusty and demanding.

  "You act like you just got out of solitary confinement or something," I told him. "If we weren't married, it would be more like a rape."

  He laughed, then urged me to get up, shower, and dress.

  "I'm starving. That's what drinking and making love does to me," he said.

  He seemed so different. I wasn't sure I completely liked him like this. but I did appreciate all the attention he was lavishing on me and I did like that he wasn't thinking of anything else. We had a wonderful dinner, overlooking the water. This time I stayed with white wine. Thatcher had a vodka martini and then some wine.

  Afterward, we walked along the beach, holding hands. The sky was practically cloudless, the small clouds off on the horizon looking like they were in fast retreat. With the night blazing, my skin feeling so warm. and Thatcher holding me tightly, I felt a sense of contentment and peace.

  I slept better that night than I had in a long time. He was up ahead of me, dressed in shorts, and vent out for a run on the beach. I found a note on his pillow telling me so. Where did he get his stamina? I wondered, struggling to sit up and think about dressing for breakfast.

  My skin was very sensitive and itchy where I had gotten too much sun. Better spend most of this day in the shade; I told myself.

  I rose, showered, and dressed, finishing just before he returned, hot and sweaty but exhilarated,

  "It was wonderful out there. I haven't run on a beach in the morning for so long. I had forgotten how beautiful it could be. You're getting up with me tomorrow, if I have to get you up and dress you myself."

  "Then don't wear me out tonight," I warned.

  "Moi? Little me?"

  He pressed
his chest out with male pride, then hurried to shower and join me on the patio for breakfast. I had my juice and coffee by the time he came to the table. We both ordered, and then I sat up, folded my hands between my breasts, and began to tell him of my incident with Whitney.

  The small smile on his lips faded slowly and turned into a nasty smirk as I described my

  confrontation with her, the things she had been saying, and, finally, the acquisition of Linden's pictures of me.

  "What were these pictures?" he asked, his eyes drifting to the food that had been brought to us and then up at me. The way he asked. I had the creepy feeling he already knew most of it.

  "Linden has been influenced by some artist who believes in consuming yourself with your subject," I explained. He warned me that he was going to take candid photographs because he wanted to capture the, quote, real me."

  "Holy candid?"

  "Candid. He took some pictures he shouldn't have taken. There is no doubt about that. and I chastised him for it, but your sister had no right to pay someone to spy on us and steal those pictures."

  "And what have you done with them now?"

  "I tore them up and threw them into the garbage. But for her to go about spreading these vile rumors--"

  "In this town, people treat the old adage 'Where there is smoke, there is fire' as if it were one of the Ten Commandments, Willow. You have to put an end to this before it goes any further."

  "An end to what? There's nothing to put an end to. Thatcher. My brother was following a technique and he went overboard, that's all."

  "You know it's more than that. He dotes on you. It's not healthy. I tried to get him interested in other women, but he resists. Look." he said, putting down his fork and reaching across the table to take my hand, "what Whitney did was inexcusable. I'll speak to her about it myself, but that's not the real problem. Whether it is Whitney or some other snoopy, gossipy person, someone is going to try to make something sensational out of your brother's relationship with you."

  "But--"

  "He's disturbed. I've been telling you in little ways. I see what's going on in the house. That's why I told you about his slinking about outside our bedroom door. I don't doubt he eavesdrops on our lovemaking, and that picture he did of you... we have to take it down. It's just too... too revealing. You know I'm right," he added quickly.

  "He's not going to understand. He'll be very hurt. Thatcher. It might make matters worse."

  "Nevertheless, we've got to do something." "Let me think about it more," I said.

  He shrugged.

  "Fine, only I'll make this prediction. I'm afraid Linden will have to have more serious treatment, and sooner than you think." he said.

  In my heart of hearts. I knew he was right. I looked away, tears building under my lids.

  "Hey, hey." he said, reaching across the table to take my chin and turn my face to him. "Let's put it all aside for now This is our extended honeymoon. remember? I've rented a Sailfish for us. We're going out for a while."

  "But I'm so burned already!" I protested.

  "Cover yourself up and put on lots of sunblock. We're going to have fun," he insisted. "And forget everything but ourselves."

  In the end I did what he wanted, of course, and we did have a good time. We made love again in the afternoon, slept, and dressed for dinner. It was a wonderful and romantic time, a true escape. It wasn't until we went to sleep the second night, in fact, that I realized I had been so carefree and frivolous that I had not taken my birth-control pills. It frightened me for a moment. but I forced it out of my mind. This was supposed to be a worry-free interlude, a time of magic.

  Surely, I convinced myself, nothing bad could happen because of one moment we had spent in our little paradise.

  .

  As if we were being punished for being too happy, there was sad news awaiting us the moment we stepped through the front doors of Java del Mar, Jennings !greeted us and, despite his professional demeanor and an aloofness that made him seem mechanical at times, his face betrayed his secret thoughts. I had often caught him looking with amazement at some of the things

  he saw and heard here, especially whenever Bunny Eaton was present. I also guessed from the way he looked at Mother that he liked her very much, perhaps even romantically, although it was difficult to imagine him that way with any woman.

  I had expected to see Mother almost

  immediately and knew from the vacant air within, the stillness, and the shadows that were draped over the wall like curtains of despair that something wasn't right.

  "What's wrong. Jennings?" I asked even before he could say hello .

  Thatcher was surprised at my concern and lifted his eyebrows,

  "I'm afraid your mother has taken ill. Mrs. Eaton." he began, "It happened yesterday, but she insisted no one call and bother you. The doctor has been here. He wanted her to be admitted to the hospital, but she absolutely refused."

  "What happened to her?" Thatcher asked.

  She became very dizzy after dinner, so much so that if Linden had not been standing nearby, she might have fallen. She complained about a pain in her head and weakness in her arms and legs. Linden carried her to her room and we called Dr. Hackford, your mother's physician," Jennings told Thatcher. He came right away. When she wouldn't go to the hospital, he gave her something to help her relax, but he stated clearly that he couldn't be responsible for her if her condition deteriorated."

  "What condition?" I demanded,

  "Whatever is causing her dizziness. I imagine," Jennings said.

  "I'll go right up to her," I told Thatcher. "Where is my brother. Jennings?"

  "He's with her. He hasn't left her side. Last night, he slept in a chair by her bed," Jennings informed me.

  "Thank you."

  I hurried up the stairs to Mother's room. She had her eyes closed, but she wasn't asleep. Linden was slouched in the chair, his eyes closed as well. I entered slowly, softly.

  "Mother," I whispered, and touched her arm when I was at her side. Linden's eyes remained closed.

  She opened hers and smiled.

  "Now, don't go bawling me out. Willow. I'm feeling much better. Rest was all I needed. In fact. I'm hungry," she said. She looked over at Linden. "Poor Linden has been so worried. He hasn't eaten or slept since I felt ill. Get him to eat and go to his own room. Willow," she urged. "I don't want him having any relapses because of me.

  "Did you have a good time?" she added quickly. "Never mind that. Mother." I said. I knew she wanted to change the subject as soon as possible. "What happened to you exactly, and what did the doctor advise?"

  She smiled.

  "Why is it I think you already know the answers to those questions. Willow?"

  "Well, how could you or go into the hospital if the doctor thinks it's prudent?" I countered.

  "I know my own body. I'm fine." she insisted.

  Linden's eyes fluttered and then opened. The moment he realized I was standing there, he sat up.

  "Willow, when did you get back?"

  "Just now. I might have expected Mother would keep it all a secret from me, but not you. Linden. Why didn't you call me at my hotel? I left a detailed description of where we were."

  "I was going to call you, but she absolutely forbade it," he said, glaring at Mother, "She threatened to get even sicker if I did."

  "Mother."

  "Oh, he's exaggerating. What's the difference? No harm has been done and I'm fine. Now, get on with you," she said. "Both of you. Out of here. I'm getting up and dressed and going down to get something to eat, and then I want a detailed account of your holiday. Linden, go wash up and get something in your stomach immediately," she snapped, and he rose.

  I shook my head and smiled.

  "All right. Mother. You win, far now," I said, nodded at Linden, and left with him. "I-low bad was she?" I asked as soon as we were sufficiently away from her door.

  She was too weak to stand. And pale, as pale and gray as a wet tissue, If I hadn't
insisted, she wouldn't even have permitted the doctor to come here," he said.

  "You did well. Linden. We'll have to watch her closely and see that there is no recurrence."

  "Right." he said. smiling. "I'm glad you're home. I missed you. And soon I'll have a new work completed for you to see."

  Without any warning, he pressed forward to kiss me on the lips, a quick peck, and then he turned and hurried off, truly demonstrating what was meant by "a stolen kiss."

  By the time I returned to our suite. Thatcher was already on the phone with business associates. I had unpacked and nearly finished changing my clothes before he was free to ask how Mother was. I told him, and he shrugged and said, "If she feels that good, let her be."

  Maybe he was right, I thought. Maybe half the time we make people sicker by doting on their illnesses. In truth, as the days and weeks went by. Mother never showed any signs of being sick. If she had any recurrences during that time, she kept them to herself well. She moved slowly. I thought, and was still not as energetic and as bright as she had been when I first arrived at Joya del Mar, but she was at every meal, listening to our conversations, taking her walks, and sitting out on the loggia reading or just staring out at the sea and looking content.

  It was nearly the end of the trimester for me. so I was very busy preparing papers and prepping for upcoming exams again. Professor Fuentes and I continued to have our occasional tete-a-tetes, and Linden returned to his studio, working feverishly on his newest project. All he would tell me was we needed a very large work of art for the wall facing the entrance to the house. The Eatons had taken the tapestry they had bought in Europe, leaving a nearly twenty-by-twenty-foot empty space.

  We all settled into a comfortable and pleasant existence, but what I didn't realize was it was more like the calm before a storm.

  Six weeks after Thatcher and I returned from our brief but passionate holiday in the Bahamas, I realized I had missed my period. I had been so occupied with my work, worrying about Mother, and the social events Thatcher insisted I attend that I hadn't thought about it. It hit me like a gust of cold wind while I was walking to my car in the student parking lot late one afternoon. I stopped, mentally reviewed the dates, then felt myself go numb, the blood rushing out of my face and down my neck.