Entangled (11 page)

“Wilhelmina! Obviously, California living
hasn’t improved your manners. Andrew was a true gentleman. He took
me to the Symphony and afterward to a very nice restaurant. We have
a lot in common and we talked until two in the morning. I couldn’t
believe it. I haven’t stayed up that late in years and years.” Her
voice sounded tired but happy.

I smiled against the phone, picturing my
mother up late enough for her makeup to fade and her hair to grow
limp, entertaining a man with her knowledge of dinner party
etiquette and the perfect mulch for a rose garden. “Sounds lovely.
Are you going to see him again?” I asked, and took another bite of
bagel.

Mother cleared her throat and I heard the
sound of the mattress creaking as she shifted on the bed. “I see
him every month when I take my check to the bank.”

“Now you’re being evasive. When’s the last
time you went out with a man and talked until two in the morning? I
think bellbottom jeans were in style the last time you went on a
real date. Oh yeah — they’re back in style again.”

“Very funny. I’ll have you know I went out
just last month.”

“Right. I’d forgotten.” I picked up my coffee
mug and took a sip. Morning conversations with Mother were always
entertaining. “As I recall, you met him at church. He said he was a
widower, lonely for female companionship since his wife’s death in
a boating accident.”

“Laughing at your elders is disrespectful.”
Now she sounded peeved. “I know I taught you better, but for the
life of me can’t seem to see the results.”

I laughed out loud, unable to keep it in,
remembering her righteous anger when she found out the man was
hopping from church to church, parading his grief around to trap
lonely widows and divorcees into an affair with him, while his wife
was home, very much alive. “I’m sorry, Mother. But I did warn you
about believing every sob story you hear. Con men are known to
frequent churches as well as bars. Remember Judas?”

“Well, lucky for me Jo Martin had already
heard of him at St Christ Lutheran and gave me the low down before
I lost anything more than my pride.”

“Yes, thank God,” I said, my thoughts turning
serious. “You deserve someone wonderful, Mother. I hope you find
him.” I rubbed my finger absently around the rim of my cup,
thinking of the years she’d stayed home to be with me and Adam
after our father died, not venturing out on a life of her own, but
taking care of our needs. Living on social security and the small
check she got each month from working part-time at a local florist,
we didn’t have a lot, but we had each other. She was always there
whenever I had a track meet or volleyball game, cheering me on.

She chuckled softly. “I don’t know about
that. I kind of like my independence. Besides, if I got married
again I’d have to share my bed. It took me half a dozen years to
get used to sleeping alone and now that I’ve learned to spread out
and fill up the empty space I don’t know that I want to go back.
There is freedom in being a bed hog.”

“I know what you mean. Sometimes the small
things are the hardest to give up.” I sat in a chair at the table,
loneliness suddenly overwhelming me. Last night’s conversation with
Handel in the vineyard, my nightmare, and the miles separating me
from the only family I had, were bringing me down to a place I
didn’t want to be. “That’s why divorcing couples fight over the
silliest things,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “They’ll
often give up the house or child, but go round and round over who
gets the matchbook collection or the record player, although nobody
smokes or plays records anymore.”

“Then my name must be nobody. I may not smoke
but I do own a record player. In fact, Andrew and I listened to
some records last night.”

“Really? Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra?” I
asked, a nostalgic note in my voice, remembering winter nights at
home when I was a teenager, sitting by the fireplace playing cards
with my mother and brother, listening to a stack of records and
singing along.

“Yes, and of course my favorite — Doris
Day,” she said, ending with a pleased sigh.

I smiled. “Sounds cozy. And you say he stayed
until two?”

“Don’t be impertinent, Billie! I’m still your
mother.”

“Yes you are. Thanks for reminding me. I wish
you were here so you could make me a proper breakfast. I can’t even
seem to toast a bagel as well as you do.”

“Billie, are you all right? You sound a
little down.”

I shook my head, wondering how she could do
that across thousands of miles. “I’m good. Just tired I guess. I
didn’t sleep very well last night.” I tried to sound upbeat but
knew I failed to pass the test of sound with my mother when she
didn’t answer immediately with the suggestion of an herbal tea or
some such sleep aid.

“It’s the nightmares, isn’t it? You’re having
them again.”

I sighed heavily, and propped my head on my
hand at the table. I knew there was no use lying about it. She
would know and worry even more. “Yes. I did have the nightmare. But
you don’t need to worry. I’m not going to fall apart and seek out
the nearest psychiatrist. I worked through this years ago, and came
out the other side. I’m not going to let it take over my life like
it did before. This was a one time thing.”

My positive attitude hung over the kitchen
like a shroud of insecurity. I wished I believed the words I
spouted, but was afraid that when night fell I would be staring
wide-eyed into the darkness, unable to let myself sleep for fear of
the dream pulling me in.

“Honey, I’ll be there by this evening. Adam
doesn’t have classes this morning. He can drive me to the airport
and I’ll take the first flight out.” I heard the bed creak again
and imagined her hurrying to dress and pack so she could come take
care of me.

I stood up and went to the window over the
sink, my thoughts as heavy as the rain clouds gathering overhead
again. “I can’t let you do that, Mom.”

“Why not? That’s what mothers do. We love our
children until the day we die, and we won’t take no for an answer.”
I heard dresser drawers being opened and shut and knew she was
already in the process of packing.

“No,” I said, my voice firm with resolve. “I
have to deal with this myself. I’m an adult now, not a teenager.
You were there when I needed you, but now I need to find my own
strength. I don’t know why it started again. I do know it’s going
to end. I’m not afraid of Paul anymore, and I won’t endure this
dream as penance for past sins.”

“You have nothing to do penance for, Honey.
I’m so sorry I left. I should have stayed to support you instead of
rushing home when you needed me,” she said, her voice choked with
tears.

“Mom, you didn’t desert me. I told you to go
home. This has nothing to do with you leaving. It has to do with my
own unresolved issues. Funny thing though - I didn’t know they were
unresolved.” I bit my lip and watched as fat raindrops began to
pelt the windowpane, a soft pinging melody playing on the
glass.

“I should have known after our dinner with
Handel. You brought up the incident with Paul as though you were
talking about someone else. So flippant and casual, and yet I knew
it hurt you to speak of it.”

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply,
refusing to give in to emotion. It was easier to shut down that
side of my brain and deal with things logically as I did at work.
“I don’t know if that had anything to do with the nightmare coming
back. But I do know that Paul can’t hurt me anymore and that’s why
I was flippant. He doesn’t scare me. He never really did. I was
angry, furious at his lies, but not really afraid. That’s why I
don’t understand the dream. In the dream I’m terrified of my
attacker.”

Mother’s silence accompanied my statement
like a seeing-eye dog. She finally spoke, her voice reserved as
though she were holding back. “All right,” she said. “I’ll stay
home for now. But if you need me, I’ll be there.”

“I know,” I said, wiping my eyes. “You always
have.”

~~~

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
ometime after
closing, when Charlie’s pickup finally disappeared down the gravel
drive, I slipped into the winery. Flipping lights on as I passed
through different sections, I reached the door to Uncle Jack’s
cellar some ten minutes later. After getting turned around a couple
of times I now felt I knew the winery well enough to navigate it in
the dark. Of course, I wasn’t about to shut off the lights and test
my theory.

I stood before the door, key in hand, wishing
I’d let Charlie in on my plan. Why had I ever thought going down
there alone was a good idea? I pressed my ear flat against the oak
panel of the door and listened. For what? Jack’s ghost? There was
no sound, other than the buzzing of fluorescent lights above my
head. It was now or never.

I turned the key in the lock. The deadbolt
slid back easily, leaving me without an excuse to hesitate any
longer. Ignoring the shaking in my hands, I turned the knob and
opened the door. Darkness confronted me, stairs receding down into
a black hole. I reached out and flipped the light switch. The bare
bulb in the stairwell flashed and sparked out.

“You weren’t going to explore without me,
were you?”

I jerked around, dropping the key from my
hand. It clattered against the stone floor, the metallic clink
sounding like a crashing cymbal in the quietness of the winery. I
bent to retrieve it, hiding the sudden relief I felt at Handel’s
presence. “What are you doing here?” I asked, feigning a fair
amount of annoyance in the lift of my brows as I stood and faced
him.

He smiled and shrugged. “I’m a sucker for
punishment I guess.”

I pushed the key into the pocket of my jeans.
“If you think being around me is insufferable than why don’t you
stay away?” I turned toward the stairs and started down, anger
replacing trepidation quicker than oil floating to the top of
water.

He hesitated at the head of the stairs and
cleared his throat. “I find your rejection of me appealing in a
strange way.”

“Fine,” I said, hiding a smile, “then tag
along.”

“I believe I will, since you asked so
nicely.”

We descended stone steps to another door that
creaked upon its hinges as I swung it open. The room beyond lay
cloaked in darkness. My heart sped up, the rapid bu-bump filling my
hearing to the exclusion of all other sounds. I groped for a light
switch along the inside wall but couldn’t find one within reach. I
felt Handel’s hand on the small of my back as he paused behind
me.

“You want me to get a flashlight?” he asked,
his mouth close to my ear.

The thought of his deserting me even for a
minute filled my heart with dread. I half turned and grasped his
arm. “No, don’t go.”

“Are you all right?”

I nodded and released his arm, embarrassed at
my clinging. “I’m sure Uncle Jack wouldn’t have worked down here
all the time without electricity. I just need to let my eyes adjust
for a minute and I’ll find it.”

Handel stepped around me and entered the
room, his tall form quickly blending into the shadows. I felt
something drop onto my shoulder and barely contained a shriek
before jerkily brushing the small spider to the floor and stomping
it to death in my fear.

“Serves you right,” I muttered.

“Did you say something?”

I looked up just as the light came on. Handel
stood in the middle of the room where a string dangled from a naked
bulb. I quickly shook my head and he turned away to
investigate.

Strangely enough the room did not divulge
long-held secrets merely by stepping inside its walls. But it did
send a chill down my spine and along my forearms. The temperature
had dropped as we descended the stairs and inside the stone room it
felt even colder. I rubbed my arms as goose bumps appeared, and
followed Handel across the room. Stacks of cardboard boxes leaned
haphazardly here and there, as well as old machinery, crates, and
odds and ends that I couldn’t identify.

“What do you think this is?” he asked,
stopping before a long-forgotten machine rusting away in the
corner.

“Too far gone to be worth anything.”

He raised his brows. “I didn’t come along
just to search for treasure, you know. I came for moral
support.”

“Really.” I pulled open the top drawer of an
old file cabinet and flipped through the mostly empty folders lined
up inside. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but it was simpler
than facing Handel’s wide-eyed innocent look. “Moral support for
whom?”

“Billie. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Handel’s voice softened and he stepped closer. “You’re looking for
answers. I want to help you find them. I don’t know what
significance this winery and vineyard have for you, but the past
affects all of us in one way or another.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Uncle Jack left me a key to a secret cellar. Anyone with a lick of
curiosity would find that hard to resist.” I slammed the drawer
shut and opened the next one down. “What’s the past got to do with
it?”

“Fine,” he said, putting up his hands in mock
surrender, “if that’s how you want to play it.” He turned away,
whistling the classic Tina Turner hit,
What’s love got to do
with it
.

I tried to ignore Handel as I finished going
through the drawer, not finding anything of interest beyond a few
ancient purchase tickets and sales receipts. The bottom drawer was
bent and required the use of muscle to pull it open a mere six
inches. I peered inside. It looked as though the back of the drawer
was missing. Perhaps the mice had run off with the contents because
as far as I could tell it was empty.

A low counter ran along an entire wall, racks
of wine bottles stored beneath it, layered in dust and cobwebs. I
bent and pulled one out, lifting it to the light. The label was the
same as the bottle in Uncle Jack’s video, although up close I could
see the hands of the clock as well. They were set at six o’clock.
Was the hour significant or just a child’s passing whimsy? The
amber colored bottle glowed with a life of its own, the liquid
within dark and seductive. I couldn’t take my eyes from it.