The Lost Coast

by Jane Kindred

  * * * * *

  Downstairs was a challenge. I had to hang on to Karolina. I wasn’t going to be any use as a physical therapist to Konstantin today. In the kitchen, a marvelous plate of Swedish pancakes with powdered sugar and lingonberries waited for me. I’d been thinking of run-of-the-mill pancakes, which would have been delicious enough. But nothing was run-of-the-mill with Karolina.

  There was just the one plate. Konstantin wasn’t about.

  “How’s Konstantin?” I asked as I eased into the chair and dug into the pancakes. “Is he okay? I didn’t really have a chance to check him for injuries.”

  “He’s fine,” said Lukas from the doorway. “We took a shower, and I put him to bed.”

  Suffering a small pang of memory at the mental image of Lukas in the shower, I shrank in the chair and pulled the T-shirt down, making sure I was sufficiently covered.

  Lukas sat beside me. “Millie, Koste was really upset. He told me you made him climb over you.”

  I looked up from the plate, scowling at him, though it hurt with my face bruised and scraped. “He would have died, Lukas. Did you want me to let him die so he wouldn’t be traumatized?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I’m not angry. I’m…stunned.”

  Behind him, Karolina slipped out quietly.

  I set down my fork. “Stunned? Why?”

  He put his hand against my cheek, but pulled it back with a sad smile when I recoiled. “Sorry. That wasn’t meant to be… It was just gratitude. To be perfectly blunt, your face is a mess, Millie. Have you looked in the mirror?”

  I shook my head.

  “You look like you’ve had the shit kicked out of you. Karolina says you’re bruised and cut from head to toe.”

  “I slid down a hillside on my stomach with a rockslide bearing down on me,” I said. “It’s little wonder.”

  “And you also told a little boy to trample you to get to safety. He remembers kicking you in the face with his cast.”

  “It wasn’t his fault.”

  “I know that.” Lukas shook his head as if he didn’t know what else to say.

  “Honestly, it was a split-second decision. I didn’t have time to think. I was hanging off the cliff with a root through my belt, and if he didn’t get off of me, we’d both have plunged to our deaths. I’m not some fucking saint, Lukas. I wanted to live.”

  “Well, I’m grateful. That’s all.”

  Uncomfortable under his gaze, I went back to my breakfast. “Besides,” I joked, “it’s not like it was much of a face to mess up.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said sharply.

  “Sorry.” I grimaced. “Habit.”

  “Well, I’m sorry you grew up around such assholes that it became one,” he said with unexpected vehemence. “I always hated it when you disparaged yourself.”

  “Okay.” I stuffed a chunk of pancake into my mouth, wishing he’d drop this.

  Lukas sighed and straightened as if he’d forgotten himself. “Anyway, I’m taking Konstantin back down to the house when he gets up. This was a worse idea than I thought. I’m not blaming you,” he added quickly. “We had no way of knowing he’d be so mobile so fast that the cottage would be dangerous.”

  I nodded, swallowing. “No, that’s smart. He’ll be safer at the house, and he’s gotten good enough on the crutches that he should be able to get around with some limited mobility. He needs to keep at his daily exercises, though. It’s crucial for him to regain some muscle. I’d say maybe another week or two on the crutches and he can go without them. Maybe another three to four weeks on the boot. If his doctor approves, of course. I’m just giving you estimates.”

  Lukas frowned. “Why are you giving me instructions?”

  “You know why.”

  “Millie—”

  “Lukas.”

  He held up his hand in a silencing gesture. “You don’t have to stay until Vella gets back. But you’re not going anywhere like this. And your car won’t be ready for at least another few days.”

  I stopped in mid-bite. “My car?”

  “I’ve got a body shop working on it.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Don’t be a jackass. I’m loaded.” He grinned despite himself, and I couldn’t help grinning back—and then groaning at the inadvisability of that move. His smile faded. “Just stay here and recuperate. The cottage is yours as long as you need it. You can come down to the house whenever you want to work with Konstantin, and I’ll stay out of your way.” He waited for my answer while I poked at my pancake. “If you leave now,” he added quietly, “you’re going to break Koste’s heart.” I looked up in dismay, and Lukas nodded. “He didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you, but sheer exhaustion won.”

  This was the last thing I needed: Lukas’s son attached to me. My cousin attached to me, I amended.

  When I didn’t say anything, Lukas rose as if we were agreed. “Anyway, there’s one thing I want you to see before you leave, when you do go.” He reddened slightly. “It’s a family tradition, and like it or not, you’re family.”

  I went back to eating my pancake. “What is it you want me to see?” I asked with my mouth full.

  “I wanted to take you to see the Grove.”

  Chapter Nine

  I choked on my pancake, and Lukas nearly had to give me the Heimlich Maneuver. I waved him away, coughing and taking a huge gulp of the fresh-squeezed orange juice Karolina had left me.

  Had he actually said the Grove? I flushed horribly, hoping he took it for the aftermath of my choking. How could my dream—that dream—have been about something real? I’d forgotten it, gratefully, in my panicked struggle to save Konstantin and myself from going over the cliff. Now it was all rushing back in horribly vivid detail.

  “Are you okay?” Lukas was poised a few feet away with a look of concern.

  “I think I just need some rest.”

  Lukas nodded. “Of course. I’m just going to hang out here until Konstantin wakes up. You get some sleep.” I grimaced inwardly. Here was the last place I wanted him. Especially while I was sleeping. “Do you need help with anything?”

  “No,” I said with a shudder I couldn’t hide when he lifted a hand in my direction, and Lukas dropped it.

  * * * * *

  I made a hasty escape to my room—or as hasty as I could in my condition—stopping to look in on Konstantin. In the dim light of the oil lamp Lukas had let him keep as a nightlight, I could see the scrapes on the side of his face. He was okay. It could have been so much worse.

  I checked my email again before I climbed into bed. Nothing from Cole. Hopefully, I’d talk to him in the morning. I needed to hear his voice. I needed a sanity check. The thought reminded me I hadn’t taken an antianxiety pill in a while. They made me sleepy. Perfect.

  * * * * *

  The pill knocked me out for a good eight hours, and I woke from a mercifully dreamless sleep to find myself alone in the cottage, and the rain reduced to a light shower. Konstantin’s things were gone. I was surprised to feel a twinge of sadness about it. I was kind of getting used to the kid.

  After pulling on a pair of soft sweatpants—they were cut like yoga pants with a flared leg, and I slept in them when it was cold, the most comfortable pants in the world—I hobbled upstairs and brought my toiletries down to the main bathroom, glad not to have to spend any more time near that burned-out room. I would have to hear from Clara what had happened to my mother—wanted to. But that didn’t mean I liked seeing the reality of where my childhood pain had begun.

  What met me in the mirror was surprising. Lukas hadn’t been kidding. Half my face was swollen and discolored, while the other half looked like a bad case of road rash. I’d had patients recovering from car accidents who’d looked better. “Fuck me,” I murmured.

  “Millie?�
� Aravella was standing in the hallway, and I might have jumped out of my skin if it hadn’t hurt so damned bad. Where the hell had she come from? “Oh my God, Millie. Lukas told me what happened when I got in this afternoon.” She came closer, a look of dismay on her perfect features as she put her hand to her mouth. “Are you all right? I mean—you are not all right. Oh my God.”

  “Honestly, it looks worse than it feels,” I lied. “And cuts and bruises go away. I’ll be good as new in a couple of days.” Everything except for the burn scars, of course. Pretty much stuck with those.

  “Thank you for saving Koste.” Her voice quavered and her lip trembled. “I don’t know what I’d do if…” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, not even wanting to say it. I couldn’t blame her.

  I nodded, not wanting to say anything either. We stared at each other just long enough for it to be really uncomfortable. I cleared my throat. “So your trip didn’t take as long as you thought.”

  “Thankfully, no.” Aravella looked down at the slim aluminum attaché case in her hand as if just remembering she was carrying it. “I brought you… Well, it doesn’t matter right now. We can do it later.”

  I tilted my head and wished I hadn’t. “Do what?”

  Aravella looked distinctly uncomfortable. “This isn’t how I planned this. I—”

  “Does this have to do with the messages you’ve been sending me?”

  Her cheeks went a graceful shade of pink, belying her answer. “I didn’t send them, Millie.”

  I folded my arms, wincing at my strained wrist. “And I suppose you have no idea who I really am.”

  The pink darkened. “No, of course I know. I came here to tell you—well, I had a lot of awful things planned to say to you, if you want to know the truth. None of them seem very important right now.”

  “So…do you want to save it for another time when my appearance doesn’t make you feel so guilty?”

  Aravella gave me a wry smile. “Yes, actually.” She sighed and glanced at the case once more. “I’m just going to leave this with you. It should explain a lot. Take your time and look it over. When you’re ready, come talk to me.”

  She set it down inside the bathroom and headed for the front door without another word. When she opened it, Clara was standing on the porch with her hand raised to knock.

  Aravella turned her head back toward me. “That’s between us, Millie.” Her expression was clear. I was not to mention it to Clara. I nodded, and she turned back to Lukas’s aunt. My aunt. Or great aunt, anyway. “All yours, dear. Whatever you’re up to.”

  Clara’s eyes widened as Aravella went past her. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Aravella’s scornful laugh was her only reply.

  I came out to greet Clara, smiling nervously, and she gasped at my appearance. To my surprise, she stepped in to hug me and I tried not to cringe. “My poor dear. To think I finally found you only to nearly lose you for good.”

  “Finally?” I glanced at her doubtfully when she released me. “Didn’t you find me some time ago?”

  “I did. And I’m sorry I didn’t bring you home sooner.” Home. It was how my mystery texter had greeted me.

  “You sent the text messages.”

  Clara nodded and led me toward the couch with a gentle hand at my back. “I didn’t want Lukas to know, you see, so I told him he was mistaken. I wish you hadn’t shown him those.” She sat and patted the couch. “Please sit down, Emilie.”

  I glanced at the couch and shook my head. “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I kind of slid into home base on the overlook last night.” Clara started to rise, her mouth open to apologize, but I waved her back. “It’s okay. You go ahead. I don’t mind.” I leaned against the mantel with the one shoulder that didn’t feel like I’d scoured it with sandpaper. “Why didn’t you want Lukas to know?”

  “Because he’s all full of questions now, and I can’t give him answers. I’m trying very hard to keep him out of this.”

  I wrinkled my brow. Sort of. “And what is ‘this’?”

  Clara looked down at her hands in her lap, rubbing her knuckles. “The reason I stayed away, Emilie, is that I couldn’t let Signe know you’d survived.” She raised her eyes to mine. “The fire wasn’t an accident.”

  Chapter Ten

  My blood ran cold. “What do you mean, it wasn’t an accident?”

  Clara kept her eyes on her hands as she spoke. “I can’t tell you how it started,” she said. “But I can tell you how it ended. Poor Beverly was shouting from the window upstairs, begging for help. It was too late to save her. But she had you in her arms, wrapped in a blanket, and she tossed you down to me. I barely remember catching you. I was in shock. And then the fire took her, and I looked down at you, wailing in my arms—and I ran.”

  I heard the roar of fire and my mother’s screams. I smelled smoke, and burning flesh. It couldn’t be a memory, but it felt like one just the same. I clutched my arm, expecting to see charred skin, but the pain was only from the early morning’s adventure. “And you think…Signe…?” Goose bumps rose on my arm in place of the burning sensation, and I couldn’t finish.

  Clara raised her head, her eyes wide. “Oh no, she would never! She couldn’t!”

  “Then why do you say it wasn’t an accident? And why did you leave me the box of letters Signe wrote to my mother?”

  “I wanted to warn you. She believes you’re dead. She hated your mother. I don’t know what she’d do if she knew you were alive. You see, she blamed Beverly for the accident that took Sebastian from us.”

  “But what does that have to do with the fire?”

  Clara’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Signe set a fire in the Grove.”

  A chill washed over my flesh. “What grove?”

  “The Grove of Ancestors.” Her soft voice held a tone of reproof as if I ought to know this. “We are all connected to the Grove. Even when we pass on from this world, the trees still stand. The ancestors watch over the living, and sometimes they require a sacrifice.” There was something in her eyes that spoke of a sort of wild fanaticism. “My sister made an offering of fire, asking the Ancient Ones to punish Beverly. That same day, faulty wiring in the upstairs room started an electrical fire.”

  “I see.” Aunt Clara, it seemed, was more than a little unhinged. Fires started in a remote grove did not cause electrical fires at some altogether different location. “If I’m in such danger, why did you bring me here?”

  Clara’s brow wrinkled. “I didn’t. I thought you’d learned of your connection to the family and come on your own.” But if Clara hadn’t sent me those emails, who had?

  “Well, thank you for telling me, Clara—”

  “Aunt Clara, dear.” She smiled warmly and rose to take my hand between both of hers. “I’m so pleased you’ve come home. It isn’t wise to stray so far from the Grove, but I had to take you as far away as I could. Now that you’re here where you belong, things will be better. You’ll see.”

  It seemed best not to pursue the Grove topic any further, but I still wanted to know more about my mother. “Can you tell me anything else about Beverly? I read in the letters that she was an intern at the winery. Where she was from? Did she have any family?”

  A troubled look crossed Clara’s features and then was gone. “As far as I know, she was on her own. I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t think the winery has any records going back that far. She was a sweet girl, though. Auburn, like you, though hers was darker and she wore it long.”

  “And Sebastian… One of Signe’s letters to Beverly said she wanted a paternity test. Did…that ever happen?”

  She patted my hand and released it. “Don’t worry, dear. You’re a Strand. You don’t have to prove anything to me.” That hadn’t exactly been my worry. For my own sanity, I was clinging to the small chance that Sebastian hadn’t been my father.
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  * * * * *

  When Clara had gone, I took Aravella’s attaché case to the kitchen and opened it. Inside was a file containing a document that shattered that slim hope once and for all: my birth certificate, with Sebastian Strand plainly listed as the father. Now that there was no escaping that I was Lukas’s niece, I allowed myself to sit with the knowledge that for the first time, I knew exactly who I was and where I’d come from. Emilie Grace Petty, female, 7lbs. 13oz, born December 13, 1985. I had a middle name. And I had parents.

  Beneath the birth certificate was a longer document, “The Last Will and Testament of Sebastian Strand,” dated the same day as my birth. I flipped through it, skipping over the legalese to find the part that mattered to me.

  I had to read it several times. I couldn’t possibly be understanding this correctly. If I was, the Strand Winery belonged to me. How could the winery have been Sebastian’s sole property to bequeath? Surely, Per would have left it to both his sons.

  And it was Lukas’s now. How had that happened if he hadn’t owned any of it at the time of his father’s and Sebastian’s deaths—assuming this was a valid will? Would it naturally have gone to him as next of kin? Didn’t Signe and Clara own any of it? Shocking as the revelation was, it presented more questions than it answered.

  Except where Aravella was concerned. It brought her motivation into sharp focus. If the winery was really mine and not Lukas’s, I stood in the way of “the standard of living to which she’d become accustomed”. And if Lukas was right, and she’d been looking for a loophole in their prenuptial agreement that would let her walk away from their marriage with half of everything he owned, my existence put a very serious cramp in her plans.

  I shook my head, staring at the words on the page. This was insane. It had to be some kind of mistake. And even if it wasn’t, what did I want with a winery on the Lost Coast? Well…having money wouldn’t exactly suck.

  It was all too much for me to take in. I hadn’t eaten yet, and Karolina’s pancakes were already a distant memory. I put the papers back in the case and closed it. I still had the lunch and dinner Roger had delivered for Konstantin and me the day before. There was bound to be something amazing in the kitchen to let me forget all this for a little while.