West Wind (14 page)

"Okay, I give. Where's the wine cellar," he
asked.

"It's in the kitchen pantry. Grandmother had
a temperature-controlled unit installed in the kitchen years ago.
Where did you think it was?" Sabrina relaxed in the deep water
filled with fragrant bubbles. She dimpled. "Oh, you went into the
basement, didn't you? Ewww; there are spiders down there."

She reached up and stroked his head. "You
have cobwebs in your hair," she said, shaking her fingers trying to
rid them of the sticky threads.

Jay contemplated pulling off his clothes and
climbing into the oversized tub for his second bath of the day, but
the doorbell rang. Sabrina brightened and stood, water cascading
down her body. "Pizza!"

She tugged a soft towel from a nearby bar and
wrapped it around her torso, tucking the corner over her left
breast. She shoved at Jay, immobile on the side of the tub. "Quit
staring and go get the pizza," she bossed. "I'll be right
down."

Jay sighed then stomped down the stairs. He
yanked open the door as the impatient delivery boy's finger hovered
at the bell. Pulling out his wallet, he said, "How much?"

"Sixteen-fifty," the teen said as he leaned
to the right, looking around Jay and at the beautiful young woman
skipping down the steps in panties and a T-shirt. Jay glanced over
his shoulder, then shoved a twenty into the kid's hand, grabbed the
pizza box and slammed the door in his face.

Grinning, Sabrina tugged the box from his
grip and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. She placed it on
the table, then opened a cabinet and withdrew plates. Then she
pulled a couple of wine glasses from a hanging rack. She nodded her
head towards an oak door. "There's the wine cellar," she said.
"What do you think? A shiraz? A zinfandel? Anything but merlot,
please."

Jay flipped open the pizza box and watched as
steam rose. "Couldn't tell you, sweetheart. I'm not a wine
connoisseur."

She opened the wide, nickel-plated
refrigerator. "How about a beer? We have lager or ale."

Folding a slice of pizza and lifting it to
his mouth, he paused long enough to say, "Lager," then bit off
half.

"Save some for me, piggy," Sabrina said,
sliding into a kitchen chair. She twisted the caps off of two
lagers and handed him one. Then she watched apprehensively as he
lifted the bottle and chugged. "What's with you tonight?"

Jay set the bottle on the table and picked up
his pizza again. "Nothing," he said. "I'm fine. Just not used to
all this toff."

Once again Sabrina felt the stab of the haves
versus the have-nots. "It doesn't really mean anything," she
assured him.

"As I said before, money's never a problem
for those who have it," Jay said nonchalantly.

"And I'm a 'poor little rich girl,'
right?"

"Would I have ever met you if it weren't for
your money?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Sabrina's head whipped. "Absolutely not! And
you mean, if it weren't for Rose's money, because I don't have much
of my own. She wouldn't have met Don Windham, either, without the
money. They never would have married and maybe he wouldn't have
built a boat yard with your grandfather. My father and I would
never have been born. Perhaps you never would have been born. Who
knows what affect money has and who knows where it begins or
ends?"

She climbed into his lap, forcing him to
abandon his beer and pizza. Snuggling against his chest, her arms
draped around his neck, she said, "But we can choose how we let it
affect us. In the past few weeks, I've learned some ugly truths
about people abusing each other in the name of love and money. Don
Windham rejected Rose's fortune, forcing her to break with her
father. His obsession and selfish determination drove her into
another man's arms."

Jay stiffened at her words. "That other man
was my grandfather. Maybe her selfishness and greed drove her
husband away. Don't for a minute think it was some tragic love
story."

Sabrina sighed. "No, you're right," she said,
softly kissing his cheek. "She knows she was wrong and she lives
with the guilt. Their blood is on her hands. I believe she
suffers."

Jay looked around at the opulence and
scoffed. "This isn't suffering." He pulled her arms from his neck,
pushed her from his lap and stood. "Being betrayed and then widowed
is suffering. Living as a crack whore is suffering. Watching your
own mother kill herself with drugs and alcohol is suffering."

"You're right; you win. Your family suffered
while mine enjoyed their luxurious lives. A guilt-ridden widow
shunning family and friends, a lonely, confused little boy shuttled
off to military school, and a burdensome daughter that nobody
wanted. But all of that's okay because at least we could cry into
silken pillows, right?"

She shoved from the table and wrapped her
arms around her stomach. "Why are we arguing? Because I suggested
wine for dinner? Do you see how crazy it is, that one small thing
leads to another and it just gets blown out of proportion."

She approached his back, wrapping her arms
around his waist, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "We don't have
to let their craziness affect us. I've just found you. Let's enjoy
this. Enjoy being together. Don't push me away."

He didn't want to, but he could feel Faye's
venom in his veins, the poison closing down his heart. How could he
be here, amid the elegance and refinement of Rose Windham's home
when Faye's old house was practically falling to pieces, the air
conditioner a piece of junk, the lawn overgrown and full of weeds.
And Faye, an anorexic, cigarette-puffing harridan, all because of a
bored prep woman's whim. Seduce another woman's husband to make her
own sit up and take notice.

As chaotic thoughts rushed through his mind,
he felt Sabrina caressing his chest, tugging at his heart, as if
her fingers could push through skin, through muscle and heal him.
He turned in her embrace and clutched her, rocked her against
him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against her glossy
head. "All my life, all I've ever heard is bitterness and hate for
the Windhams. Not you. Rose Windham. Sometimes I think it's the
only thing keeping Faye alive. Her bitterness."

Sabrina stroked his cheek and shed tears for
the little orphaned boy who grew up with a twisted, angry
grandmother. "You have to let the bitterness go," she whispered.
"We have something special and I know it's too soon, but I can't
help feel this way. I love you and I wouldn't want anything, or
anyone, hurt you."

Her simple, heartfelt admission humbled him.
He cupped her face and kissed her, a groan of defeat tearing his
throat.

"I'm going to get dressed and go visit Rose,"
she whispered against his lips. "Do you want to go with me?"

He nodded, his forehead resting on her silken
shoulder.

* * *

Jay stood in the doorway of the hospital
room, watching as Sabrina knelt at the bedside. One hand clasped
Rose's frail white fingers while the other gently smoothed the
blanket, stroking the old woman as if she were a beloved pet. She
ducked her head, glancing under her arm towards Jay. She murmured
and nodded. Jay advanced slowly.

Rose's pale blue eyes lifted from her
granddaughter to the giant towering over her bed. Tears filled then
flowed down her sunken, wrinkled cheek. She lifted a wavering
hand.

"You're so like him," she whispered. "You're
so handsome."

Jay's eyes darted from Rose to Sabrina. He
cocked an eyebrow at the word "handsome."

Rose continued, "So like her. Such a lovely
girl, your mother." Her head lolled to the side sadly. "I'm sorry.
Please forgive me. I took everything from you."

He didn't know how to answer so he stood
silent, stoic. Sabrina reached for his hand and squeezed it.

"Rose, we're going back to Rhode Island on
Monday. Jay runs a boat yard there. I'll be back mid-week. I won't
be gone long," she promised.

Rose blinked, nodding her head once. "Yes,
yes, go. Don't fret. I've got all these doctors and nurses hovering
around. There's nothing to worry about."

Jay watched the gentle exchange between
grandparent and grandchild and thought,
This is how it's
supposed to be. No screaming and slapping. No drugs and
alcohol
.

Sabrina thought she was unloved as a child
but he could see it pouring from the old woman. A worshipful love
for the only person in the tangled web not damaged by Rose's
selfish, destructive past. It was hard to recall his hatred, his
rage while looking at the fragile old woman, silently weeping as
she caressed them with her strange pale eyes. Silently apologizing
for the ruin she caused. He felt a lightness and couldn't help
himself as he laid a reassuring hand on her arm. She reached over,
trailing an I.V. tube, and patted his hand, smiling
tremulously.

* * *

The next morning, Sabrina pulled out the
boxes filled with old letters and journals and they lounged on the
side porch for hours, reading about their grandparents' lives.

"Look at this photo of Don and Derek,"
Sabrina said, handing Jay a small black-and-white photo with
scalloped edges. "You really do look like him."

Jay studied the photo. "I've never seen one
before," he murmured.

Sabrina looked up from the box, curious.
"You've never seen a photo of your grandfather?"

He shook his head. "No, Faye burned them all.
There's nothing left."

Placing a hand on his knee, she said, "Well,
I'll share my booty with you. Rose gave me permission to keep
anything I want. And believe me, this is the last thing my father
would want. He and Mom have each other and their Tibetan yaks, or
whatever they ride over there."

Jay tucked the photo in his wallet.
"Thanks."

He'd been quiet since they started the
ransack, reading about the Windhams and the Wests through the
perspective of the young, beautiful and wealthy Rose. He tapped a
box. "Is this the last of it?"

Sabrina looked inside and saw a cache of
letters tied in lavender ribbon. "Yes, this is the end. These
letters are from the final year. There's a newspaper clipping of
the fire …." she said, halting as Jay stood and stretched.

"I'll look at it later," he said. "I'm
getting restless. Let's take a walk."

"Sure," she said, rising gracefully. "Where
would you like to go?"

"Anywhere. Just not here," he growled,
looking around at flouncy pillows and vases. "Too stuffy, too many
flowers."

She slipped into a pair of sneakers, put her
wallet in her jean's pocket and fisted the car keys. "I know just
the place," she said. "But we need to drive there."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled onto a
winding country road. "How far up this mountain are you going to
go?" Jay asked.

"Not much further. Hold your horses."

They rounded a switchback in the road and she
pulled onto a beaten patch. "You're going to like this," she
promised, turning off the car but leaving the keys in the
ignition.

"Don't you want to take those with you?" he
asked.

"Nah, this is the country. People don't
bother locking up here. Come on, follow me."

They walked a game trail between a low cliff
and a stand of hemlocks until it opened to a glorious waterfall,
spilling into a deep, quiet pool. The roar of falling water pounded
his eardrums. Then a bird sang, and another and soon the tree frogs
began chirping to each other. It didn't take long before nature
welcomed them as one of her own.

He reverently took her hand. "What is this
place?"

Sabrina pulled him to the ground, sitting on
a flat, sunny rock. "This is Weeping Woman Mountain," she said.
"And that is Weeping Woman Falls. There's an old Indian legend of a
warrior who died in battle and his wife wept for weeks at the top
of this mountain. When she finally threw herself off, the gods took
pity and lifted her to heaven to be with him. As a memorial to her
love, they turned her tears into this waterfall."

She looked at him and rolled her eyes. "Yeah,
I know. It's hokey. There's always an Indian legend of star-crossed
lovers leaping to death. This one is my favorite."

Jay stretched out on the rock, resting his
hands on his stomach. He studied the clouds, watching as the
billowy white puffs floated through the treetops. The gentle rush
of water soothed him and he knew this is what he missed: water.

He detested being inland. It had been two
days and already the saltwater was drying in his veins. He rolled
to his side, propped his head on hand and watched Sabrina
explore.

She dipped her toes in the pool, looked for
tadpoles and occasionally looked over at Jay. She picked
wildflowers and brought them to the rock, sitting cross-legged in
the sunshine. "We used to make wildflower necklaces at school," she
said, concentrating on weaving stalks. She made a small loop and
held it up for inspection. "More like a crown instead of a
necklace," she said, laying it on Jay's head. Then she reclined
next to him, laying on her stomach. With her chin on her knuckles
she studied him. He hadn't said anything in the past half hour;
just watched her frolic by the pool.

He traced a finger down her elegant nose,
over her lush lips and lifted her chin, leaning in for a gentle
kiss. Closing his eyes and rubbing his unshaven cheek against hers,
he said, "Will you marry me?"

Sabrina blinked. "Is this the definition of
whirlwind?"

"Well, you said you love me."

"Yes," she admitted, sitting up and scooping
him into her arms. She cradled his head against her breasts. "I
did, but that doesn't mean we have to get married."

"You haven't answered my question."

She rocked gently, looking into his dark blue
eyes. "Can I think about it?"