Wicked Forest (DeBeers 2)

"Are you all right?" Sharon asked, putting her hand over mine. "No," I said. My eyes stung with hot tears.

"One of us should drive her home," she told Manon, "Of course.

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I shook my head.

"Willow, we hope you understand why we did this for you and don't resent us for it." Mallon said.

I looked from one to another. Were their motives so altruistic? Did they do it for the cause of womanhood, as they would have me believe? Or did every betrayal, every little treachery they uncovered, reinforce their own cynical beliefs about loving relationships? Did it help them feel better about their own failures? No one was honest and true: therefore, what happened to them was not unexpected or unusual and they certainly needn't blame themselves.

Maybe that was their true motivation, but I still couldn't blame them for it. Who wants to feel unwanted, unneeded, victimized, and, especially, at fault for it? At least they were doing something to give themselves a sense of self-respect and self-worth. I thought.

"No,' I said. "I don't resent you for this.'

"It's better that you know all this now, Willow. You're fortunate, in a sense.'

"Fortunate? How can you say that?"

"This early, your investment in someone isn't as deep and complete as the investment other women have made and lost."

"We're having a child!" I cried.

All of the glue I had called upon to keep my face together crumbled. The tears broke free of the dam my eyelids had tried to put up against them. My lips quivered. My whole body began to shake.

"I understand," Manon said softly. She reached for my hand. but I pulled it back and stood up.

"I have to go home," I said. "Sharon will drive you."

"No. I don't need anyone to drive ine. I have to go home," I muttered and started away, but in the wrong direction, nearly falling over a couple at another table. They looked up with surprise. I shook my head, mumbled an apology, and turned toward the door.

The members of the Club d'Amour all stood. "Willow!" Liana called. She took a step toward me.

I shook my head and rushed out of the restaurant. When I reached my car. I fumbled with my keys and dropped them. I got down on my knees and found them. then hurried to insert the key in the door. The girls were right behind me.

"Willow, don't rush off like this." Manon pleaded. "Take your time. Let someone go with you."

I got into the car and threw the folder on the passenger seat. After I started the engine. I looked out at them, all of them standing together, gaping at me with so much pity it made me feel even sicker. My tires squealed on the parking lot pavement as I backed out, and then I shot onto the highway, nearly cutting off another vehicle. The driver leaned on his horn and accelerated, passing me by with a face of brutal anger.

Taking a deep breath. I slowed the car and tried to swallow a lump that threatened to choke the air out of me. Finally. I was calm enough to breathe comfortably. I drove on, but when I reached the entrance to Jaya del Mar. I did not turn in. I kept driving until I found a place to pull off the road.

After I stopped. I sat there staring out at the water. I could hear him so clearly now. What was it he had said?

"I knew there was a good reason why I married you. You're going to make me a respectable man yet. Willow."

Respectable?

I started to laugh through my tears. Then I stopped, sucked in my breath, and reached for the dreaded folder. With a shaking hand. I opened it and began to read the documentation. The first few pages delineated the dates, times, and places Thatcher had met secretly with Mai Stone, just as Manon had described. After that were copies of some motel slips, the most recent one being the night he was supposedly meeting those all-important clients in Tallahassee. Then there were the pictures, some of the two of them sitting in a restaurant, one of them walking and holding hands, her head on his shoulder, and one, the most devastating, of them kissing near a fountain in front of some hotel.

Without much warning, my stomach revolted. I had just enough time to open the door and vomit outside the car. I thought I might lose the baby right there and then, the ache was that ueat in my stomach and chest. When it was over. I sat back with my eyes closed. All I could see were images of Thatcher looking at me lovingly, saying loving things, telling me how much I meant to him. Each vision was like another sting of the whip.

"Daddy!" I cried, but I didn't hear or see him this time. This time I was all alone.

I was more alone than I had ever felt or been before. This time I would have to find the answers all by myself.

17

Guilty