Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

"Don't sound so unhappy. It's not even thirtysix hours," he said.

"I need to talk to you, to have some time with you without any dinner guests, without any relatives or distractions, no phones ringing, no interruptions."

"We could fly over to Nassau for the weekend." he suggested. "Yes, maybe we should do that."

"Fine. What's it all about? Your brother?"

"No. Not exactly about him. That's only part of it."

"I didn't want to mention it, but maybe I should," he said. "What?"

"I think your brother spends hours at a time lurking outside our door at night.,"

"Lurking?"

"Last night and once before, I went out after you fell asleep and he practically leaped for his own door."

"Maybe it was just a coincidence," I said.

"Maybe. Maybe not He skulks about more than ever, it seems to me. I know you and Grace think he's made leaps and bounds in improvement, but I'm still very concerned, Willow. Please think about it. And be careful," he added.

"He's not going to hurt anyone. Thatcher."

"There are many different ways to hurt someone. Willow. Just be more objective and alert. okay? I've got to get going. I'll call you." he said.

"Thatcher--"

I heard the phone click dead and stood there with the receiver in my hand for a while. Had Whitney gotten to him after all and poisoned his mind? Was Professor Fuentes's suggestion coming too late? I chastised myself for having waited this long, and especially for keeping my confrontation with Whitney a secret. That hesitation might have nurtured suspicions and doubts. If anything was truly the lifeblood and strength of a marriage, it was trust. People loved each other in relation to the secrets they kept from each other. The fewer secrets they had, the more their love grew. I had no better illustration of that truth than my father's marriage to my adoptive

mother. The secrets they kept from each other could have filled the Atlantic Ocean, and the love they ended up sharing wouldn't have filled a thimble.

That evening. Mother did not come to dinner. Linden told me she said she had a headache and just wanted to take something for it and sleep. I went to check on her and saw she was already asleep.

"She worries about all of us too -much," Linden said when I returned and reported that she was sleeping soundly. He sat there eating with as vigorous an appetite as I had ever seen him have. "I know I am the cause of most of that. I work too much and haunt the house, searching every shadow, but that is all coming to an end," he announced.

"Oh? Why?"

"Today, while you were at class, guess where I was. I shook my head.

"Where?"

"At your school. too." He was beaming. "I did just what I once told you I would do-- I enrolled in an art appreciation class.I'm going every Tuesday and Thursday morning at nine beginning next term. If I like the one class. I'll take two, maybe three the following term."

"That's wonderful. Linden. You should join one of the clubs as well. It will help you meet people."

"Yes," he said. "I might just do that." How encouraging it all sounded.

"Where's Thatcher?" he asked, realizing suddenly that we were having dinner without him.

"He had to attend a very important business meeting in Tallahassee. He'll be back late tomorrow."

"Oh."

He had a strange look on his face for a moment, the look of someone who had drifted off. I ate and watched him, and then he began to eat again, only faster. I commented on it, and he said he had to get back to work.

"I'm doing something that I really like. It's possessed me," he admitted in a heavy whisper. "but sometimes, being possessed isn't bad. Sometimes, its what makes my work special. You understand, don't you? Thatcher wouldn't. I know. But you do." he said confidently.

"Yes. I understand. Be possessed, but not consumed," I advised, and he laughed.