Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

"I'm not very hungry this morning," he said,

still not looking my way.

I was beginning to wonder if he would speak to

me at all. Why wouldn't he at least say hello to me? I

guess he truly was angry at me simply for existing, for

dropping my mother and father's past in his lap like a

ball of cold lead. Perhaps it was the age-old fury that

required recipients of bad news to kill the messenger. He turned, his eyes brushing over me like a

passing feather, and walked out and down the

hallway.

As soon as I thought he was out of earshot. I

told my mother about being woken by footsteps in the

hallway.

"I came out because I thought it might be you

and something was wrong. I discovered it was Linden

and he was out there." I said, nodding toward the

beach, "walking in his sleep."

I described what I had done and how he had

remained asleep the whole time.

She pressed her lips together and closed her

eyelids as if to keep the tears contained. Then she

sighed so deeply, I thought she had cracked her heart. "It's been one thing after another like this since

he came home from the hospital. His therapist there

predicted his depression would deepen and suggested

a more intense therapy with medications. She wanted

me to have him admitted to a nearby psychiatric

hospital, but I could not do it, even though I have

always wondered if he has inherited my manicdepressive condition."

"No. Mother. Your condition wasn't anything genetic," I said firmly. I had read my father's reports

about her.