Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

The first time he said that. I thought nothing much of it. It was all part of his new and wonderful enthusiasm about life and our future, But I began to have a worried feeling about it when he pronounced "our Hannah" or "our baby" with a real sense of possession in his voice every time he repeated it Of course. I told myself I was overreacting and should be grateful for this new demonstration of joie de vivre. It was only rarely that I'd seen Linden enthusiastic and jubilant about anything. and I certainly had feared that after Mother's death, I would never see anything like that in him again.

Now he not only insisted on doing our driving and all of our shopping, he refused to permit me to carry anything and was continually watching me to be sure I didn't do too much in the house, even though I wasn't quite halfway through my second trimester. If I began to clean something, he immediately took the

cloth or the mop away from me and promised to do it all himself.

"Just do your walking." he ordered. "A pregnant woman should do a lot of walking, but no lifting and not so much bending."

"Yes, Dr. Montgomery." I kidded, but he had no sense of humor about it.

"I'm not a doctor, but you would be surprised at how much I know that they don't, or don't care about. They never really care," he stated with conviction. "Not the way I care.

Of course. I thanked him for his concern.

"Why shouldn't I be concerned? You don't have to thank me for that." he practically shouted at me.

Although he moved about with more energy and dressed and took better care of himself than before, he was still susceptible to instant explosions of anger and long periods of pouting if I challenged or seemed critical of anything he said or did. It was truly like walking on thin ice or navigating through a room filled with tissue-thin china. terrified I might bump into something and send a good and happy moment crashing into smithereens.

Nothing, however, seemed to bother him as much as Miguel's now frequent appearances at Joya del Mar. I had decided to take my sabbatical from my college earlier than I had first intended. It seemed to me I had to spend more time at home caring for Linden, although he was convinced it was he who was caring for me, and, of course, handling all the legal problems Mother's death engendered, as well as my pending divorce from Thatcher and my pregnancy.

"How can this college professor come around here so often?" Linden asked me after one of Miguel's visits. "Doesn't he have papers to correct, tests to create. work at college?"

"He doesn't work around the clock. Linden. Don't you think it's nice of him to take the time to see if we are doing all right?" I asked.

"He's not coming here to see if we're all right," he declared. -"He's coming here to see if you're all right. It's disgusting. You're a pregnant woman and you're-- you're not even legally divorced from Thatcher. He's like some buzzard waiting to pounce."

-"Oh no," I said, disagreeing as gently as I could. 'He's not at all like that. Linden."

He simply glared back at me, then huffed and puffed away to do some preparations for our dinner.

.

One afternoon. Miguel remained longer than usual. He and I sat on the rear loggia talking, mostly about college and his classes. He discussed his students in general and how, even after the few years he had been teaching, he could see a definite decline in their skills and their work habits.

"Everyone wants everything quickly. If they could take a pill that would enable them to learn all they needed in order to get that degree, they would line up for days. No one seems to enjoy the pursuit. the work, the challenge anymore. It's all bottom line: What's in it for me and how fast can I have it? Most of all, how can I get it with the least amount of effort?

"Someday, happiness will be distributed through vending machines-- and college degrees, too!"

I laughed at his vehemence, and then he laughed at himself as. well.

"I'm on my soapbox again. It takes someone like you. Willow, someone sincere and perceptive, to set me off."

"I don't think it's a soapbox. Miguel, and there is nothing wrong with being enthusiastic about the things that matter the most to you." I said.

He smiled and reached out to take my hand.

"You are truly a lovely, wonderful person. Willow. You don't deserve all these problems."

We held each other's eyes for a few moments, during which he kept my hand closed gently in his. Then I heard a French door slam, and saw Linden standing behind it looking out at us. I let go of Miguel's hand and turned to him.

"Linden, why don't you come out and sit with us for a while?" I suggested.

After a hesitation, he opened the door. "I have something on the stove," he said.

"Oh, what are you making. Linden?" Miguel asked him. "It's a pasta dish, a primavera."

"Oh. Sounds good," Miguel said.

"-Why don't we invite Miguel to dinner. Linden?" I suggested. He stared for a moment.