by Jan Moran
“What else is here that we can use?” he asked, turning over a couple of chairs for them to sit on.
Caterina sank into a chair. “Besides wine?”
“Good idea.” Santo whisked dirt from her bare shoulder, sending a charge through her heightened senses. He reached for a bottle of wine on the floor and then rummaged through the drawer for a bottle opener.
Caterina found two tasting goblets and a burlap pouch containing almonds on the floor. Fine silt covered everything now. She wiped the large wineglasses out with the edge of her shirt.
“This is our wine,” Santo said, glancing at the label. He poured the deep-red wine with an unsteady hand. “Here’s to surviving the big one,” he said, raising his glass to her.
“We’re not out yet,” she said, her glass shaking in her hand—more from his proximity than the shock of the earthquake. “Careful,” she said, her voice faltering. “The rims are chipped.” She sipped the wine and tilted her head back, savoring the rich complexities of the Howell Mountain cabernet. She had to admit, it was good. Or was it just the setting? She blew out a breath.
Santo swirled the wine in his glass and inhaled the bouquet it released. “Now, that’s a damned fine wine we brewed. Hell of a time to celebrate, huh?” He sipped the wine.
Caterina drew the wine into her mouth again and let it linger on various parts of her tongue, where different taste buds revealed a wine’s true personality. The initial sip, the mid-palate, the back of the tongue. After she swallowed, a prickle of excitement quickened her heartbeat. She had an innate knowledge of excellence, and she was almost afraid of what she had just tasted. It was that good.
Or maybe anything tasted great after an earthquake when you were thinking of leaving the only life you knew behind. “I haven’t tried this in a long time. It’s aged well.”
Santo inhaled the bouquet. “Hasn’t it?” His eyes met hers across the rims of their goblets.
Feeling his eyes on her, she lowered her glass and admired the color in the flicking candlelight. Silence grew between them, and a surge of memories swelled within her. Santo was intent on his wine, studying it. She sipped from her glass, remembering the last time she’d seen him.
It was here in this cave, two years ago at summer’s end.
It was on a sweltering day, the kind of day without even a breeze to flutter the leaves. The coolness of the wine cave had beckoned to her.
Caterina closed her eyes, remembering.
She had been working all day in the wine cave, intent on blending a wine from their harvest and excited at the progress she’d made. She was reaching for perfection, and the blend was close. Yet something indefinable eluded her.
It was late in the day, and everyone who worked at the vineyard had already left. Except for Santo. They’d worked together all summer, but that day was special.
Santo strolled in. His white cotton shirt flapped open, revealing his muscular chest and a toned torso that dipped to a V into worn blue jeans slung low on his hips.
Caterina’s neck grew warm at the sight of him.
“How’s it going?” He leaned against the table and let his gaze linger on her shoulders, which were bare in the blush-pink, nipped-at-the-waist sundress she wore. His vibrant blue eyes seemed cool and endless, and when he raised his eyes to hers, she tumbled into their depths.
“Pretty good.” She slid a glass across the plain oak table where she worked. She liked to work in a well-lit area, where she could judge the color, aroma, and taste without other sensory intervention. She’d spent hours testing different blends and searching for the best combination of their grapes, striving to enliven the aroma, balance the tannin level, and enhance the rich mineral flavors of the earth. “Try this.”
As he reached for the goblet, she brushed his forearm, which still held the heat of the summer sun. His bronzed skin was smooth and taut across well-defined, veined muscles. Her pulse hammered in her ears.
Santo swirled the wine to aerate it. He sipped. She watched as he let the wine flow over his tongue, testing it on his palate before he swallowed.
He grew thoughtful, furrowing his dark brows. “The tannin level is good, but I’d still like an earthier taste. Which blocks of grapes are you using to blend today?” He leaned past her, lifting and smelling the vials and goblets she had labeled before her, his open shirt trailing against the table.
Caterina explained her process, and Santo studied the notes they’d made together in the notebook she held. He pulled a chair to the table and sat next to her. “Here, let’s try this.” He took her pencil and made some notes. With an exacting hand, he blended another sample and handed it to her.
She tilted the goblet against the light above, considering the dark bloodred color before lifting it to her nose and inhaling. As she opened her lips to the wine, she saw his gaze linger on her mouth. She lowered her eyelids and tasted. It was miraculous. She savored the wine, feeling the fullness of the blend. She opened her eyes. “This is definitely the direction.”
“You’ve done most of the work.” He tasted it, made another note, and blended another sample.
“We’ve worked together. Say, let’s try this.” Caterina reached for a glass beaker. They continued back and forth with suggestions, eager in their quest for a wine that seduced the palate and spoke to the soul. The effect of the wine was relaxing, yet Caterina felt a frisson of excitement growing between them.
A little while later, Santo lifted another glass to her. “Now see what you think.”
She swirled the glass and drank, and as she did, one strap of her sundress slipped from her shoulder.
Santo watched the thin strap fall. After a moment, he pushed it back onto her shoulder, but he didn’t remove his hand.
Suddenly, Caterina felt Santo’s gaze on her. Brushing earthquake dust from her eyelashes, she opened her eyes and pushed aside her memories.
Candlelight flung shadows across Santo’s face, highlighting worried creases on his brow.
She circled the rim of her glass with her finger, feeling for chips. “How long do you think can we last in here?”
“I don’t know. As long as the oxygen holds out or the carbon dioxide doesn’t overwhelm us.” He took another sip and then wiped his eyes with a shirtsleeve. “Think there might be an ax in here?”
“I’ve never seen one.” Caterina grew quiet, her thoughts turning to Marisa, her mother, Juliana, Nina, Raphael … their friends and family. Had they survived?
10
“Caterina, where are you?” After the earthquake subsided, Ava scrambled from her bed and raced upstairs to Caterina’s bedroom. Her daughter’s rumpled bed was empty. She called out again for her, but there was no answer. Wearing a thin silk nightgown, she sprinted barefoot through the house in the dim morning light searching for her daughter, but she was nowhere to be found. Adrenaline and terror flooded her.
The back door slammed, and she heard Nina and Raphael yelling for her. She ran back downstairs, sidestepping broken vases and windows in her path. A shard of glass cut her heel; she yanked it out and hurried on.
“Dios mío, are you okay?” Nina ran to Ava and hugged her, crying and praying in Spanish. Juliana trailed behind, her dark tangled hair tumbling around her shoulders, her eyes wide with fright. She hugged a pink terry cloth robe around her waist.
“I can’t find Caterina,” Ava said, catching her breath. “She’s gone.” The argument they’d had rushed back. Had Caterina already left?
“Her car is still in the driveway.” Raphael had pulled on a pair of jeans and had mismatched leather slides on his feet. “You won’t find her dressed like that. You need to put on some clothes and shoes. Careful, there’s glass everywhere on the floor. Hang on.” He lifted Ava and carried her to her room.
Ava clung to him, her arms encircling his bare, muscular chest. The scent of a warm bed still clung to his skin, a musky male scent that Ava thought she’d forgotten about years ago.
Raphael put Ava down on her bed and re
trieved a pair of thick-soled leather shoes from her closet. He knelt to slip her bare feet into each shoe. His hands felt sure and strong. “We’ll start looking for Caterina while you get dressed. Watch where you step, even with your shoes on.”
Ava watched him go, thankful that he was here. As she hurried to dress, she worried about Caterina. What if she’s hurt? Or worse? She had tossed all night, reliving their argument. Even though she was trying to do what was best for Caterina, she regretted the way she’d handled it.
Ava flung her gown across the bed, thrust her arms into a navy-checked cotton shirt, and then slipped on a pair of dark cotton pants. She picked her way past a shattered mirror and left the room.
With the electricity off, the room was dim, though morning rays filtered through the highest windows. “We have flashlights in the kitchen,” Ava said. They picked their way through a jumbled mess in the living room and into the kitchen.
Even in the dark, Nina knew her way around the kitchen. She rummaged through a drawer. “Here we are. Plenty of flashlights for everyone.”
“I’ll check the house and the cellar,” Ava said.
“Juliana, you go with her,” Raphael said, flicking on a flashlight. “Nina, look in the front of the house. I’ll check the propane tanks and turn off the gas. We don’t want this place blowing sky-high.”
“Even the icebox overturned. What a mess.” Nina stepped around the refrigerator, which had pitched forward onto its front. She picked up the telephone, jiggled the hook, and spun the dial to zero for the operator. “There’s no dial tone.” She replaced the receiver.
Raphael hitched up his jeans and then opened the door for Nina. “Santo’s around somewhere; if you see him, let me know.”
Ava stood with her feet fixed to the ground. A shiver coursed down her spine as she remembered when Santo had come to see her two years ago. She’d denied him her daughter. How angry he’d been. But she’d made the correct decision, the responsible decision. Though now, look at what Caterina has done. A baby. She’d failed her daughter.
“Come on, let’s go.” Juliana was impatient. “Cat might be hurt, or she might be unconscious, unable to hear us.”
Ava hurried after her. “Caterina, are you here? Where are you?”
The two women strode through the large stone house, swinging beams of light into darkened rooms, exclaiming over the damage as they searched for Caterina. Two large windows had shattered, and bookcases had toppled onto other furniture. Lamps lay broken on the tile in the living room. In the dining room, china and crystal had smashed to the floor, though the wine bottles in the wrought-iron enclosure had survived.
Paintings hung askew, vases and picture frames were broken, and the stench of gas hung in the air. They climbed the stairs to the second level and checked it thoroughly, but Caterina wasn’t there.
Ava and Juliana descended the stairs, opened the door to the cellar, and started down. Halfway down, the earth began to rumble again.
They pressed against the rock wall, terrified.
The vibration only lasted a few seconds and never reached the intensity of the last tremor.
“Are you okay?” Juliana asked.
“As well as can be expected,” Ava replied. “That must have been an aftershock. We should expect quite a few of those.” She picked her way down the stairs and looked around, but Caterina wasn’t there. Except for the chandelier, which had crashed onto the top of the tasting table, not much had been disturbed. The wine racks in the cellar were secured to the walls, and all bottles were intact.
After the women emerged from the cellar, they heard scratching and whimpering at the rear door. Juliana rushed to open it. “It’s Vino, poor boy. What’s wrong, sweetie?”
Shaking, Vino held up a front leg.
“Maybe it’s his paw,” Juliana said, stroking Vino’s thick fur.
Raphael appeared at the door.
“The gas is off now. Hey, what’s the matter with Vino?” He knelt beside the dog. “Let me have a look.”
Juliana ruffled the fur around the dog’s neck while Raphael took the dog’s front leg in his hand. As he did, Vino whimpered and pulled it back.
Raphael steadied the dog and scrutinized his injury. “Just bruised, nothing broken.” Raphael released him.
Nina came in, winded, her hand pressed to her chest. “I looked everywhere in front and around the rear of the house, but I didn’t see the kids. Anyone else see a sign of Caterina or Santo?”
Everyone looked at each other and then shook their heads. “Maybe they got up early to watch the sunrise,” Nina said.
Ava pressed a hand to her mouth. Surely they weren’t together. They mustn’t be.
Vino stood up behind them, barking.
“Santo was leaving early to go home,” Raphael said. “Both of their cars are parked in back of the house, so they’re here somewhere on the property.”
Vino began barking again. He hobbled to the door and tried to nose it open.
Raphael looked in the dog’s direction. “I think Vino knows where they are.”
Juliana opened the door. Clearly agitated, Vino limped out, barking at the mountain that rose behind them. He started off toward the cave.
“Mon Dieu, the cave,” Ava said, turning to Raphael. “If Caterina couldn’t sleep, she might have gone there.”
They rushed outside, and as they did, they drew a collective gasp. The side of the mountain had given way in the earthquake. The entrance to the cave was buried under dirt, rocks, and debris.
Ava clutched Nina’s trembling hand. Nina was murmuring prayers for Caterina and Santo.
She shot a worried look at Raphael and saw grave concern in his eyes. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she let it stay there, needing his comfort.
“We’ll find them,” he said. “Let’s all start digging. I’ll get some shovels.”
* * *
“I’m almost through the door.” Santo was breathing heavily from the exertion. Perspiration beaded on the muscles lining his bare back and wrapping his torso. He had ripped a couple of iron bilge hoops from wine barrels and was using a piece of one to gouge through the thick oak door to the cave, chipping and stripping small pieces of wood from the sturdy planks with splintered, bloodied fingers.
Drenched in the blackness of the cave, they’d lost track of time. Santo was determined to free them.
“I wish you’d let me help you again,” Caterina said. She sat at the table with the lone candle before her, resting her chin in her hand. Her white top was stained with dirt and blood. She had helped him dig through the door for a while, but he’d stopped her when he saw her hands were bleeding. Despite her protests, he’d bandaged her hands with strips torn from the bottom of his cotton shirt.
“Shouldn’t be much longer. You’re a stubborn woman, you know that?”
“Thank you. I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He scowled at her. “That’s not the way I meant it.”
“Then you probably meant … what, courageous? Indefatigable? Or insouciant?” The room seemed to crackle with tension between them.
“You learned some nice words in college.”
“Like you didn’t?”
Santo jabbed at the door again. “Fearless.” He paused. “I remember when a pack of coyotes had threatened a new litter of puppies, you defended them with nothing but a wine stave clutched in your fist.” He motioned to her, and she leaped to her feet to help him.
“We’re not kids anymore, Caterina.” Santo wiped perspiration from his forehead, and as he did, his gaze took her in from head to toe. “Something is different about you.”
She straightened her spine. “Just older and wiser. No one takes advantage of me anymore.”
“Is that what you thought?” He frowned and swung his head slowly.
“You never called.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“It sure wasn’t mine.”
Santo drew in a breath, his powerful chest expanding, an
d then forced it out. “Did your mother ever tell you I called on her?”
“What are you talking about?”
“After we made love, you fell asleep. I showered and dressed and went to see Ava.”
“About what?”
Santo drew his brows together. “I asked for her permission to marry you, of course.”
Caterina’s lips parted in astonishment. “Because we’d made love?” Was it an obligation he’d felt? “What did she say?” But even as the words left her mouth, she knew.
“Clearly I wasn’t good enough for you.” He quirked the side of his mouth in a wry expression.
“And you let that stop you?”
Santo put his fists on his hips. “She threatened Raphael’s employment if I went against her.”
Caterina felt as if the air had been punched from her chest. She would never have believed it, except that now, she knew Ava had lied about other important things, too. Her knees buckled, and she touched the stone wall for support.
“Are you okay?” Santo caught her in his arms.
“I don’t know what to say.” Santo, you have a daughter. No, not here, not like this. Instead, she asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about seeing my mother before now?”
Santo shook his head with remorse. “I’ve asked myself that a thousand times. You and Ava were so close. If I came between you, if I forced you to choose me over your mother, I knew you wouldn’t be happy.”
“I understand.” Caterina composed herself and picked up a piece of an iron bilge hoop. “Let’s get this done and get out of here. We’re wasting oxygen.” When they got out, she would tell him. And if they didn’t, there would still be time. She whacked the door.
Ava. If his story was accurate, what on earth had her mother been thinking? She hadn’t even told her.
As Caterina worked beside Santo, breathing hard from exertion, she was achingly conscious of his sheer virility. She also caught him glancing at her exposed, suntanned shoulders. A moment later, she could’ve sworn his eyes rested for a split second on the curve of her breasts. Was there still something between her and Santo, or was it her imagination?