Canyon Road (16 page)

Michael walked Sage to the door, where they parted amiably. But each wondered why they felt so miserable.

Chapter 16

Sage was glad for the long drive home after she left Michael's condo. She wanted to think and think, and driving let her do it.

Why would Alison want to tell Michael the story she fabricated? She
must
believe that this unpleasant story was true. Sage didn't know Alison, she
could
be they type of person who made things up to suit herself. But that didn't ring true.

Why, why,
why
did Michael insist on giving her this information? It made her so incredibly unhappy. It made her upset with Michael, it made her upset with Anthony, it made her upset with Alison. And, she was surprised to discover, it made her upset with Aunt Vicky.

Michael was not a malicious person. He hadn't told her to give her pain. It had been clear that it was hard for him to have this talk with her. She replayed the tension she saw in him as he stood at his patio door, his back to her, but his face reflected darkly in the glass. He'd looked as though he would prefer to melt right through the glass than to tell her what his Aunt Alison had told him.

He'd told her, of course, out of some sense of duty or obligation, some belief that it was the right thing to do. But she couldn't understand why just leaving it alone would not have been a better choice.

Then she realized, without a doubt, Michael had gone through these same thoughts. He was trying to tell her to get out of the way and give Anthony and Alison another chance. He'd almost said as much. Of course Michael would consider it very difficult to tell Sage to leave his uncle alone if he believed she was in love with Anthony.

That's probably what it looked like. The easiest action would be to remove herself from Anthony's life. The hard part was believing her Aunt Vicky would intentionally work at breaking up a marriage.

When she got home, she poured herself a glass of burgundy wine, then went into Aunt Vicky's office. There was a small, two-drawer wooden file cabinet that she'd peeked into once. She'd seen that it was personal memorabilia and diaries and she'd closed the drawer, wondering if she would ever have the courage to peer into again.

The moment had arrived.

She pulled a few of the file folders out, set them on the oriental carpet. Then she sat on the floor, took a long deep drink of wine and opened the first folder. It was more or less chronological, from the most recent backwards. There were stacks of letters to and from people she'd never heard of. Photographs of attractive men on yachts, on horseback, on impeccably manicured golf courses. Aunt Vicky was in some of the pictures, generally smiling seriously at either the photographer, whoever that might be, or smiling seriously at the various men she stood next to.

In one unopened letter Sage found an unused round trip ticket to London, dated ten years previous, from a man that Aunt Vicky had apparently so completely lost interest in she hadn't even bothered to open his letter to her.

Sage felt sorry for this anonymous man whose signature she couldn't read, whose heartfelt emotions on the page, what little Sage could make out, were school boyish and pathetically sincere. Sage knew such a man would never stand a chance with her Aunt Vicky. It didn't matter how rich he may be, he'd have to be tougher and harder to have gotten her interest.

She remembered how Aunt Vicky always used to tease her whenever she behaved kindly toward someone. She wanted Sage to be tough like she was.

Sage thumbed through a pile of photographs that she'd never seen before, most of them of her aunt with a variety of nondescript looking men. But then, everyone always seemed to pale and recede when near her Aunt Vicky. Sage remembered her image of herself as a light shadow trapped in the penumbra of her aunt's world.

But there was not one piece of incriminating evidence to support Michael's – or Alison's – premise. Not one note, not one picture, from or of Anthony. It seemed just as Sage believed. That the only time Aunt Vicky socialized with Anthony, Sage was with them. The three of them always did everything together after Aunt Vicky's husband died. It was the same both before and after Alison left.

Feeling relieved yet confused, Sage put the letters and photos back in the drawer and went upstairs to bed.

But as she came to the head of the stairs, she found herself drawn to Aunt Vicky's room instead of her own. She opened the massive walnut door and crept in. She'd never been in this room at night since her childhood. She turned on all the lights. Why couldn't she get the notion of her aunt still inhabiting this room out of her head? Some day she would have to go through everything.

But for the moment she was just trying to maintain her peace of mind. Where to begin? The room was full of closets and dressers. She cautiously opened a few drawers.

Aunt Vicky's distinctive perfumes poured over Sage like rain. All of the feelings of loss she'd been trying to keep under control pounded on her until she felt her head and heart would burst. But, for once, she would be tough like her aunt always wanted.

She began cautiously, running her slender hands in and around the scented lingerie and sweaters. Aunt Vicky is gone, Sage told herself, she'd never come back and interrogate her about why she'd gone through her personal things, or why the perfectly folded clothes were rumpled.

Sage felt an anger mounting in her towards her aunt. Why did she have to make people hate her so much that they wished her dead, like Bill Rattnor had? Sage had never heard
anyone
say they liked Victoria, much less loved her.

Then Sage remembered what Rattnor had said in his rantings, all of which she had dismissed as insanity talking, that awful day in court. He'd said that Victoria had teased him, and after her husband had died, she'd become involved in Anthony. Sage remembered now the look Rattnor had given Anthony when he began this harangue.

As she threw things from drawers with no longer any regard for their carefully folded placement, she thought about the change in Anthony's character since Aunt Vicky died. Before he seemed always on edge. Even, sometimes, a bit mean.

Was it possible that after Alison had left, if Aunt Vicky was indeed trying to break up that marriage, that she didn't want what was now accessible? It would be like her to no longer want Anthony, but she
would
consider it expedient to keep him and all his wealth in the family by having him marry Sage.

Sage came upon a blue crushed velvet box with a small gold lock. She tried picking at the lock with a safety pin, but losing patience, she ripped at the lock until it broke open. This behavior was so unlike her, she felt, for a minute, inhabited by her aunt's personality.

In the blue crushed velvet box lay everything she hoped she would not find. A few love letters from Anthony dated prior to his divorce, pictures of Aunt Vicky and Anthony together – without Sage. All those times Aunt Vicky had said she had to leave on business, she'd been with Anthony.

Here it was, carefully and unmistakably documented. Unlike the pictures downstairs of the nondescript men, these were pictures of two strong, attractive, powerful people. Aunt Vicky did not over-shadow Anthony.

But after Alison divorced Anthony, there were only a couple more letters from him to Victoria, and gradually their expression changed. There were fewer pictures of them touching each other or looking at each other.

Sage sat on the floor in the middle of clothing and pictures strewn around her. The letters from Anthony made it clear that Aunt Vicky had gone out of her way to cooly seduce him. His letters began with protesting that he was happily married, didn't want to hurt his wife and, although he found Victoria very attractive, he begged her to respect his marriage and not try to interfere. Then the letters expressed a more confused state of loyalties, until finally he declared he'd do anything to make Victoria happy, now that Alison was gone, if she would just set a date.

Then there were no more letters. She recalled what Tina had said about her "readings" of Anthony. That there was some sort of tinge upon him. And here it was.

Sage couldn't get angry, she couldn't cry. She stood up, left everything just as it was and dragged herself to bed.

....................................................................
* *
When Sage woke the next morning, she realized that now it was her turn to practice what she preached, she would not speak ill of the dead, or, for that matter, the living. She felt liberated. Aunt Vicky had been, after all, just a person. At times a not very nice person.

Sage realized she could finally let her go. And she could let Anthony go as well. He was a dear sweet man who wanted and who deserved to be loved. One way or another, she'd convince Alison to come to Anthony's birthday party.

Not only that, but somehow she'd apologize to Michael. It had taken real bravery for him to tell her what Alison told him, but he'd done it out of love for the people involved.

As she thought about it, Sage admitted to herself that she loved Michael, too. She loved him from the first moment she saw him when he unwittingly rescued her from the motorcyclists, to this very moment when she realized he would sacrifice his own pride in an effort to make those he cared about happy.

What had she been doing all these months, marking time, thinking about him from afar? She didn't have to wonder if he cared about her, she knew. She knew, even if he didn't.

She got up, got dressed, went downstairs and called Anthony.

"You busy?"

"Never too busy for you, dear Sage."

"I'll be over in about twenty minutes."

Robert led Sage into Anthony's library.

"I hope this is not another visit prompted by trauma?...." Anthony asked hesitatingly.

Sage smiled. "No, Anthony, not at all! I want to make sure that the guest of honor comes to his own party."

"What?"

"I'm planning a birthday party for you. I've called a few people, they're all set to have a gala event at the Ritz-Carlton the day after your birthday, on the Friday."

Anthony smiled boyishly. "Sage, you shouldn't!"

"I
should
and I want to. I need something concrete to put my mind on. I've only been planning this party for a couple of days and it's been a lot of fun already. All I need from you is for you to say you'll be there."

"I'll be there! This is amazing. No one has given me a birthday party since... well, in years."

"Since Alison, isn't that true?"

Anthony's expression sobered. "Yes, since Alison. And now you, Sage, you give me this honor."

"You deserve it, Anthony. By the way, did you know that Michael recently saw Alison?"

"Really? No, I didn't. I haven't seen him in weeks."

"He happened to mention it when I invited him to your party."

"How is she?"

"He said she's doing very well. I guess she's an established artist, and is pretty successful."

"Yes," Anthony said, "I know about her art, a little."

"Do you ever think about her?" Sage asked.

"Of course I do, sometimes... I mean, I remember, you know, our past, when we were young, when things were easier."

"Hmmm."

"Well, she was my first love. You know how bonding they say a first love is. I think it sets your tone of mind for life. Quite frankly, Sage I have to admit that's one of the things that attracts me to you. You remind me of Alison, your quiet yet strong character. Isn't it strange that you're more like Alison, whom you barely knew then like your Aunt Victoria, with whom you lived?"

""But Anthony," Sage pointed out, "if my character is as you say, and I hope it is, it stems from my parents. My father left this area, to be with my mother for the very reason that he was drawn to her wise and quiet nature."

"That's true, that's true," Anthony became quiet, reflective. Sage could see that he was putting together all that she had just said. And in that moment she had the understanding that Anthony was drawn to her to try and fill the void of losing his first love. That he hadn't been seeing her for herself, but as an Alison clone. Perhaps not flattering, but an important insight all the same.

"You know, Anthony, I've always been very fond of Alison."

"Yes? I'm glad to hear you say that." He returned his full attention to her. "A birthday party – for me! I'm not going to ask any questions, I'm just going to let everything be a surprise."

"That's a good birthday boy," Sage giggled. "I'll talk to you later. But right now I've got to get back to getting it organized."

At home Sage scrounged through her desk until she found a letter Alison had written her years ago when she first moved to San Francisco. In it she'd given Sage her phone number – "In case you ever need to talk with me."

That time had arrived. Sage dialed the number and, miraculously, Alison answered.

"Alison, this is Sage Elgin."

"Sage? Little Sage?" Alison's youthful voice sounded thrilled to hear Sage.

"Well," Sage laughed, "all-grown-up Sage. Michael mentioned he'd seen you recently. He had such glowing things to say about you. I believe he mentioned the misfortune that befell my Aunt Vicky. And I... I've come to realize how important people are to one another. I'm so glad Michael talked to you, reminding me how much I miss you."

"Oh, Sage!" There was a catch in Alison's voice, "you're going to make me cry!"

"Don't cry! I have a much better idea. I'm giving a birthday party for Anthony the day after his birthday. I want you to come down, I want you the be my guest that week-end, and...."

"Oh, I don't know, Sage, it sounds a little...."

"It's
not
," Sage protested. "It's not a little sticky or whatever. I don't want to betray a confidence, but you should hear the way Anthony talks about you. The two of you should at least be friends. If anyone is fortunate enough to live long enough to bury the hatchet, to forgive and to be forgiven, I think, I mean, I
believe
that that is one of life's greatest gifts.