Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

"I'm not taking anything out on anyone, and who said things aren't what I expected?"

"Protesting too much!" Sharon sang.

"You're all being quite ridiculous," I said. "I've got to go."

I started to dig into my purse for money to pay for my lunch.

"Don't worry about money. Willow. We'll take care of the bill. I wish you wouldn't go off in a huff." Manon said.

"I'm tired and I have some studying to do. Thanks for all the dirty revelations."

Marjorie reached up to grasp my arm. It took me by surprise.

"Someday, maybe someday soon." she said, "you will be sincere when you thank us like that."

I pulled my arm free. Tears were burning under my lids, but I fought hard to keep them there.

"I hope I have more important things with which to concern myself." I said. "Thanks for lunch. That's sincere." I added and stormed away.

For a while I just drove, not paying much attention to where I was going. I made some wrong turns and went in circles. The tears streamed down my face freely now. Why would Whitney do such a thing? Why would family members try to tear their own family apart like this? What did she hope to accomplish?

How could I go home and face Mother and Linden, knowing what people were saying about us, about me, and all because of Whitney?

Anger quickly replaced emotional pain. In a snap. I made a decision. I turned the vehicle sharply and headed for Whitney's mansion.

It took so long for me to gain entry through those fortress gates. I thought I would be turned away. Finally they were opened and I drove up to the mansion. A maid greeted me at the door. She had a dust mop in her hand and looked annoyed that anyone would dare an unannounced visit and interrupt her important work.

"Mrs. Shugar is on the terrace." she said. She nodded down the long entryway. "You can go out the French doors on your right."

"Thank you," I said. and marched over the tiles, my heels clicking like tap shoes, the noise echoing up the walls and bouncing down from the high ceiling.

Under a large umbrella. Whitney was lounging in a pair of shorts and a white halter. The book she had been reading was beside her on a table, next to a tall glass of what looked like a pina colada. It even had the small umbrella sticking up. In my mind a thought flashed: She thinks of our home as a hotel and herself as a perennial guest.

As I approached, she opened her left eye, then closed it and, with a sigh of annoyance, sat up, fixing the chaise behind her.

"What brings you here. Willow?" she asked. "I thought you were so busy with your college and your brother."'

"That's what brings me here. Whitney."

She raised her eyebrows and reached for her drink. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, I'm not staying that long."

"Oh. Well, you can sit so I don't have to keep looking up at you, can't you?"

I sat on an upright chair by one of the tables.

"So? Where is the fire?" she asked with a crooked smile. "Better you should ask who is the arsonist," I retorted. She put down her glass.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she

demanded,

"It has been brought to my attention, painfully brought to my attention, that you have been saying nasty things about Linden and me.

"Oh?" she asked, without attempting to deny anything. "Have you?"

"I haven't said anything that everyone else around here doesn't think or believe:," she replied with her haughty tone.