Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

There was no doubt in my mind and no doubt in my heart that the hand coming- from the darkness toward me wasn't Thatcher's. It was his.

That small cloud of concern was wiped out of the diamond-studded sky of stars the moment we got into our limousine, Mother. Bunny. Asher. and Amou came out to see us off. everyone wishing us a wonderful time.

It was a spectacular wedding after all, wasn't it?" I asked Mother.

"Yes. Well have to give the devil her due. Bunny pulled it off in true Palm Beach spectacular fashion. Did everything else go all right?" she asked. meaning Linden's picture.

"Yes. It's really beautiful, different from anything else he has done."

"Good. He needs some success."

We hugged. I hugged Amou, the tears running down both our cheeks intermingled.

"We'll come to see you next. Aram," I promised. "I hope so," she said. "0 deus abencoa-o."

"God bless you. too," I said. and Thatcher and I at into the limousine. I looked back at them all and waved one last time.

"Stop crying." Thatcher said. laughing. "You're not going to prison. You're going to the Cote d'Azur."

"These are tears of happiness. Thatcher." He laughed.

What else do we do that has such diametrically opposite meanings besides cry? We cry when we're happy; we cry when we're sad. Someone looking at us from afar might not know which we are feeling. Maybe we're always feeling a little of both. On this most important of days. I was saying goodbye to the little girl left in me. It was time to let go of most of that.

But I saw her standing there with Amou, waving to me, crying herself.

How do you feel about that? I heard Daddy ask.

I ache inside. Daddy. Why can't we keep it all, our innocence and our dreams, keep them alongside reality and maturity?

Why do you think we can't? Responsibilities, responsibilities for others. But sometimes I think it's too high a price to pay.

I could see him in my mind, nodding, looking thoughtful, thinking about his own life and those dreams he he'd had and lost.

"Hey," Thatcher cried. "Stop looking so serious already. We're free of it all. For a week we'll be in paradise, okay?"

"Okay," I said, cuddling up to him and under his arm. We kissed. and I looked ahead and tried to do just what he wanted, forget everything but ourselves,

.

In Eze, France, that was not a hard thing to do. After we landed in Nice, we were driven for about twenty-five minutes up to the walled medieval hill village with streets too narrow for cars. The limousine stopped at the parking area just outside the ancient walls and the chateau. Converted from eleventhcentury houses-- which meant some bedrooms were in separate buildings-- the chateau looked old but had very modern conveniences, including fax and Internet lines in the suite, which made Thatcher happy, even though he had been the one to demand we throw off the world and step into this storybook place.

I felt sorry for the bellhops who had to carry the luggage all the way up. I made sure Thatcher gave them a bonus tip. The view from our balcony was truly breathtaking, overlooking the coast and Cap Ferrat, The water was a turquoise shade I had never seen, and with the sailboats, ocean liners, and motorboats out there, it was like looking through a magic window into a make-believe world.

The first thing we did was order in some food, and then we crawled into bed to deal with our jet lag, but we weren't beside each other long before we began to make love. I kept thinking about my cousin's revelations concerning her honeymoon and sexual relations. Thatcher was not perfect-- no one could be--but he was not a selfish lover. At times I suspected that came from his male pride. It was always important to him to hear that I was satisfied. He made it seem like a performance.

There you go, Willow, I told myself, always analyzing even your lovemaking. I tried to shut myself up and just enjoy our days.

How wonderful they were. Breakfast on a patio that overlooked the bay. Walks through the ancient village with its little shops full of handcrafts, the gardens, the restaurants in town, the perfume factory where we behaved like two teenagers spraying each other with the test bottles until the saleslady pleaded with us to behave,

"People on vacation always feel younger and act younger." Thatcher declared, "There's this sense of abandon, of freedom, don't you think. Doc?"

He had begun to nickname me "Doc,' teasing me about the way I studied people and analyzed their behavior,

"I can see now who will be the one who doesn't leave her work at the shop," he said.

The world is my shop," I told him, and he said. "Touche. I'd better watch myself."

It was he, however, who surprised me with a strange announcement after the phone in our room rang the morning of our fourth day. He thought I was still asleep so he spoke very softly. When he hung up, I stirred and asked who that was.