Canyon Road

by Thomas, Thea

  "Yes?"

  Even more non-plussed by his coolness, she plunged on. "I'm planning a birthday party for Anthony three weeks from Friday at, I thought, the Ritz-Carlton. I'm just calling a few of the people on my tentative guest list to see how that suits everyone."

  "Sounds fine, Sage, but why are you asking me? I don't even know the Ritz-Carlton."

  "Oh...I didn't realize. I thought the Ritz-Carlton would be nice because it's on the ocean, and has very nice facilities. I don't feel up to having it at my place since I have no staff. And I'm asking you because you're his closest relative and I want to make sure the date doesn't conflict with your schedule. I want to be sure you'll be there."

  "It sounds fine to me, Sage. Sounds like a very nice thing for you to do."

  "So you'll be there?"

  There was a long, and to Sage, a peculiar silence from the other end.

  "I ought to, oughtn't I? I've no schedule conflict. But I have to say Sage, that I feel... I feel I have to talk with you about something beforehand."

  Now it was Sage's turn for the long, silent pause. "Of course, Michael. Anytime. Can you give me a clue as to the subject?"

  "It's... it's complicated. In fact, I need some time to think it through. This is Monday, how about Wednesday evening?"

  "Okay. I have a class from seven to nine, shall I meet you somewhere in your neck of the woods after class?"

  "That'd be very convenient... I usually get home from work around seven or seven-thirty. Perhaps you wouldn't mind coming to my condo."

  "Okay."

  Michael gave her his address and cell phone number. Sage was left to puzzle for two days what he could possibly have to talk with her about.

  ....................................................................* *

  Sage could hardly pay the least bit of attention in class on Wednesday night, and now she pressed the doorbell at Michael's condo, curious and nervous.

  "Hi," he said, ushering her in. "How are you?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You look great," they both said at the same moment, then laughed.

  "Well, you do!" Michael insisted. "Would you care for anything?"

  "I'd love a glass of water. I always feel so dehydrated after class."

  "Water coming right up. Please, make yourself comfortable." Michael gestured to the sofa.

  Sage took in the room as she moved it to the sofa. Nice. Clean. A bit spartan, but a couple of elegant paintings on the wall. Nice furniture.

  Michael returned and handed her a tall glass of ice water.

  "What class were you in this evening?" He asked politely, but not sitting. His hovering made Sage yet more nervous.

  "My worst... statistics."

  "Statistics! What's your major?"

  "Anthropology. I... my father was an anthropologist. Anyway, I don't want to get into my personal... ahm... not when you have an urgent subject. What is it you wanted to talk with me about?"

  Sage turned her huge blue eyes up to him.

  "Yes... well, ah..." Michael paced to the patio sliding door, looked out at the dark yard. "Ah... boy, I'm having more trouble with this than I expected. It suddenly seems to me I should keep my mouth shut. I dislike meddlers and I'm beginning to feel very much like one at this moment."

  Sage said nothing, closely watching his discomfort, entirely mystified.

  "I design computer chips...."

  "Yes."

  "A few weeks ago I got sent up north to work on one that's in production. So I was near San Francisco. Do you remember my Aunt Alison?"

  Confused, Sage's brow furrowed. "Yes, Michael, I do, with affection."

  "Yes. Good. Me too. With affection. So I... I looked her up."

  "Wonderful! How is she?"

  "She's very well. Beautiful, hasn't aged a bit and sweeter than ever. She's become an artist of some repute and has done some nice work. At least, I liked it. I guess that's what everyone always says about art... 'I know what I like.' "

  "I'm glad you've shared this with me, Michael," Sage said, friendly yet ever more mystified.

  "That's not all, though. I was thumbing through a portfolio she had and there was a pencil sketch of you and Uncle Anthony. She had wonderful things to say about you, by the way."

  "Did she really? The last time I saw her, I was only a child."

  "Nevertheless, she feels you're very special and was happy to hear that you're doing well. But then our conversation turned to your Aunt Victoria."

  "Oh?" Sage didn't care for the subtle change in the tone of Michael's voice.

  "Aunt Alison didn't know about what happened to her," Michael went on.

  "Really? That's surprising. She must still have some friends in common, or read the paper."

  "Whatever the case may be, she didn't know. Anyway, the subject of your Aunt Victoria brought up some interesting information."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I wish I understood why I feel so compelled to tell you about this. In part I seem to need to make amends to my Aunt Alison. Which is ridiculous because these are events that happened when I was a child and lived thousands of miles from here. I couldn't be less involved. And you were a child too. I'm assuming you knew nothing...."

  "Please, Michael," Sage interrupted, becoming agitated, "get to the point, or to some point!"

  "Yes, the point, which is, that after your Aunt Victoria's husband died, she attempted a flirtation with my Uncle Anthony, until she succeeded in seducing him into an affair for several years which eventually led to my Aunt Alison leaving him and divorcing him."

  Sage felt her temper rise. She stood up. "Why is it everyone feels the compulsion to attack my Aunt Vicky? What ever happened to the notion of not speaking ill of the dead? She's not here to defend herself. She was a strong woman. People always seem to hate strong women, I've noticed. And you, Michael, we're not personal friends, but you've seen the effect castigating my aunt can have on me. Why would you communicate Alison's imagined wrongs to me?"

  Michael came over to Sage and pulled her down on the sofa beside him.

  "Please, Sage, relax." Consternation on his face, in his voice. "I told you, I hate this sort of involvement. I avoid it like a plague. But, for this particular set of circumstances, I'm positive Aunt Alison is not fabricating. You and my uncle obviously have a commitment to one another. It's completely none of my business, but I come to you because you and I are the people who care about the people involved."

  "What do you want me to do, Michael?" Sage asked, trying hard to be calm and polite.

  "I honestly don't know. But since I saw Aunt Alison, I've been at my wits end. I didn't know how I'd behave, or what I'd say when next I saw you. Then you called. So I've just talked. But, in addition to my concern for my Uncle Anthony and Aunt Alison, wouldn't you be upset if you married him and then sometime later found out he'd had an affair with you aunt. And not only that, but that it was the cause of his divorce?"

  "It's not true. You don't strike me as the type to be a gossip-monger, but I've been wrong before." Sage breathed deeply. "Further, you're not only demeaning my aunt, who cannot defend herself, but you're saying awful things about your own uncle, too."

  "I know. I know. That's why – it's all why I haven't talked with you. I didn't want to know what I now know. But, I think Aunt Alison still loves Uncle Anthony. I think she never stopped loving him, she just couldn't stand the humiliation."

  "I think this whole notion is a fabrication of Alison's," Sage interrupted. "I like her too, Michael, and I don't like to speak badly of her, but it just sounds like a lonely woman's unchecked imagination."

  "But why would she leave Uncle Anthony in the first place? And why would he let her leave, and divorce him?"

  "I don't know, Michael. I've never pried into Anthony's personal life. What he chooses to tell me, fine. What he does not choose to tell me, that is also fine. Why don't you ask him?"

  Sage stood up again, this time calm and collected. "He's my friend. Friends h
ave the right to share what they want to share and to withhold what they consider private. I have a boundless respect for Anthony."

  "I know that, Sage. I do too."

  "He's been a wonderful, dependable friend. Now I'd like to thank him in small measure by giving him a little birthday party. I'm hoping you'll come. You're absence would be very conspicuous, and would hurt Anthony."

  "You're right, Sage. I'll be at the party, of course. Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Regarding the past, I will respect your opinion and let it rest."

  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, a
lthough 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.