The stories had been devastating to read. The accompanying photographs had broken her heart.
When she simply couldn’t take any more, Alex had turned her attention to Harlan’s first wife, Susan. The accident that killed her had been both tragic and gruesome. During a process called punching down, she had been overcome by the fermenting wine’s high CO2 content, tumbled into the tank and drowned.
She hadn’t been wearing the safety harness required by CALOSHA of all persons working on the catwalks above the tanks. Her brother-in-law and another winery worker had seen it happen and rushed to save her, but it was too late.
Exactly nine months after that had come the first local news blip about her mother and Harlan.
Alex sat back and rubbed her temple. It seemed odd to her. Nine months seemed a short time to mourn a wife and the mother of your child. How could the man suddenly appear, all smiles, with her mother on his arm?
Alex backtracked. Read the gossip columns and society news, looking for a hint of marital problems between Harlan and Susan. Even the whiff of a rumor of an affair. She found none. Indeed, in each of the published photos they looked happy.
A happy family. The way the photos with her mother all looked.
The Sommer family’s story read like a script for a made-for-TV tearjerker. They had suffered so much tragedy, it was as if a dark cloud hung over them, beginning with Harlan’s father’s generation. Accidents. Unexpected deaths. Broken marriages.
A kidnapped child.
Alex realized she was trembling. She glanced at her watch, shocked to realize how late it was. She collected the copies she had purchased, a stack over an inch thick, and stood.
What did it all mean? she wondered, sliding the copies into her tote. Nothing? Everything? Was this why her mother had stripped these years from their lives? To outrun the cloud of tragedy?
But she hadn’t outrun it, had she? She had dragged it along with her.
Alex hurried toward the exit. As she passed the information desk, she glanced that way. Rita was on the phone. When she saw Alex’s glance, she quickly turned away, as if she didn’t want Alex to see her.
Frowning at the thought, Alex stepped out into the brilliant day, squinting against the light. She rummaged for her sunglasses, found them and slipped them on.
Guided by her GPS, Alex made it to the Sonoma town square and the girl & the fig-wolfing down a sandwich on the way-arriving only a few minutes late.
Reed was waiting for her, leaning against the front fender of his vehicle, arms folded across his chest, face lifted slightly to the sun. He might’ve been sleeping. Cat quiet, she thought. Absolutely still with the ability to pounce without warning.
The sunlight caught the gold and red highlights in his chestnut-colored hair and she was suddenly struck by how ruggedly good-looking he was. She wondered how she had missed that before.
Alex parked beside him and climbed out. “Sorry. I lost track of time.”
“No problem.” He straightened. “Sightseeing?”
“Researching. Would you believe, I met someone who was a good friend of my mother’s?”
“Yeah, I would. It’s a small world around here.” They both climbed into his car. “Who?” he asked, after they had buckled their seat belts.
“Rita Welsh. A librarian at the main branch.”
He backed out of the spot. “Learn anything interesting?”
“Several things. She said my mother was happy. And that Harlan doted on me.”
“He did.” Reed flashed her a smile. “But you were pretty darn adorable.”
She felt herself flush, but didn’t know if it was his smile or the comment that caused it. “She didn’t know who my father was. Mom was very secretive. She met him at a Robert Mondavi party. She worked there, in the tasting room.”
“Why so secretive, do you think?”
“My guess, he was married. Maybe in the public eye as well.”
“A classic story,” he murmured.
She angled in her seat so she could clearly see his face. “Rita told me that Harlan’s first wife died in an accident.”
“That’s true.”
When he didn’t offer anything else, she frowned. “She drowned in a wine vat.”
“Asphyxiated, yes. What are you getting at, Alex?”
Did she just come out with it? Tell him she wondered if Harlan Sommer was her dad? Or mention the fact the man had gone from “happily married” to madly in love with her mother pretty damn quickly?
Instead, she shrugged. “It seems the Sommer family’s had more than their share of tragedy.”
He looked at her oddly. “They have. But I don’t think I’d bring that up when you meet them.”
“I’m not a complete idiot.”
“I don’t think you are, Alex. Far from it.”
They fell silent. She gazed out the window. Under different circumstances, she would have marveled at the natural beauty before her. The eucalyptus, madrone and oak trees. Rolling hills of dormant vineyards. The narrow, serpentine road, spiraling upward.
Circumstances didn’t get much more different than these, she acknowledged, chest tightening. In a matter of minutes she was going to meet the stepfather two days ago she hadn’t even known she had. In fact, these circumstances were so far out of her frame of reference, she had no idea what to expect.
Would he like her? she wondered. Would he look at her and see the little girl she had been? Or had he forgotten everything about that girl? Did it really matter to her either way?
Could Harlan Sommer be her father?
She cleared her throat and folded her hands in her lap. “What did he say when you told him I wanted to meet him?”
“Harlan? He agreed. Isn’t that enough?”
“That excited, huh?”
“Can you blame him, Alex?” He glanced quickly at her, then back at the road. “It’s been a long time. We’re talking some pretty painful territory.”
She was a physical connection to the loss of his son and the end of his marriage. No doubt he’d have preferred never to see her again. It hurt, but how would she have felt on his side of the situation? “I appreciate him doing the right thing.”
“What if it’s not?”
He asked the question in such a matter-of-fact way, she thought she had misheard him. “Excuse me?”
“One person’s blessing is another’s curse.”
“Maybe you should have become a philosopher instead of a cop?”
“Maybe so.” His mouth turned into a sheepish grin as he navigated the narrow road. “Think about it this way. Refusing to allow the past to be dredged up by refusing to see you would’ve been a hell of a lot easier. Harlan’s not an ‘easy way’ kind of guy.”
“He let my mother go. He let me go.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice?”
Maybe, she thought, turning her gaze once more to the window. She would just have to see.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Friday, February 19
4:15 P.M.
A short time later, as Alex gazed into Harlan Sommer’s cool gray eyes, she acknowledged she might never know what choices Harlan Sommer had made or what they had cost him. He would most probably never let her close enough for that.
“Alexandra,” he said, “it’s been such a long time. It’s hard to believe it’s you, all grown up.”
Time had not been kind to him, Alex thought, comparing him to the robust man in her mother’s photographs. Not handsome, no. But full of self-confidence and swagger.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” she said.
“Of course I would.” He smiled, though the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s sit down. I’ve opened one of our 2004 cabs. Do you enjoy red wine?”
“I adore red wine.”
“Very good.”
He poured them each a glass. Reed, she noticed, abstained. Harlan handed her one and sat. The awkward silence she had anticipated-and dreaded-ensued.
After several moments, it was broken by an attractive brunette rushing into the tasting room. “Where is she?” Her gaze landed on Alex and she broke into a huge smile. “Oh my God, it is you! My annoying little shadow!”
She crossed to Alex and hugged her hard. “I wondered if I would ever see you again.”
Tears stung Alex’s eyes and she blinked against them. “You must be Rachel.”
“When Dad called and said you were in Sonoma, I couldn’t believe it. Tell me everything that’s happened to you in the last twenty-five years. Absolutely everything!”
Her father handed her a glass of wine. She tasted it, then nodded. “The ’04. I continue to be impressed with this one.” She turned back to Alex. “Are you married?”
“Divorced.”
“Children?”
“Let the poor girl take a breath,” Harlan said. “This isn’t an inquisition.”
“Sorry.” Rachel smiled. “I’m a little nosy. And bossy.”
Reed chuckled. “A little?”
“Stuff it.” She turned back to Alex. “So, do you… have children?”
“No. What about you? Husband? Kids?”
“Neither. Beautifully unencumbered.” She laughed. “Except for this freaking albatross of a business. Sorry, Dad.” She bent and kissed his cheek, then took the chair across from Alex. “I love my position here at Sommer, but it’s all the responsibility I want just now. How about you, Alex? You must work.”
“I’m working on my PhD right now, tending bar to pay the bills.”
“A PhD?” She looked at her father. “Dear God, she’s an academic. I never would have guessed that.”
She turned back to Alex. “What are you studying?”
“My thesis explores the role of belief systems in the human experience.”
“Belief systems?” Her eyebrows rose. “As in?”
“Studies suggest we’re actually hardwired to believe in a creator, a controlling creative force we pay homage to through ritualistic acts. That’s why we see again and again, across all cultures, a search for meaning through religion.”
“Sounds like the Catholic Church to me,” Rachel quipped.
“Judeo-Christian beliefs represent only a fraction of the world’s belief systems,” Alex said softly. “Paganism is actually the world’s oldest religion, with literally an endless number of variations. Some of the earliest artifacts are clearly items of pagan worship…”
Alex let her words trail off. The room had gone stone silent and its three other occupants were staring at her. “Sorry, I get a little carried away with my work.”
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up and she leaned forward. “Mary Mother of God, you left the church, didn’t you?”
“What church?”
“The Catholic Church, of course. Father would’ve killed me if I’d tried. Believe me, some Sundays I think I would have preferred death.”
“Was I Catholic?”
Rachel looked stunned. “Your mother was a rabid Catholic.”
Alex struggled to process what her stepsister had just said. She and her mother had never attended church, not even on Christmas and Easter. Nor had her mother ever mentioned having been a Catholic-even after Alex had begun studying world religions.
Reed spoke up. “Rabid, Rachel? Interesting word choice.”
Rachel ignored him. “How long are you here for, Alex? We could go to lunch. Get reacquainted.”
Rachel, Alex decided, was like a small tornado. She’d spun into the room and sucked all of them into her vortex. “Just today. I have to get back and begin making arrangements for my mother.”
Rachel sat on the arm of her father’s chair. She laid a hand on her father’s shoulder, as if to comfort him. “Reed told us about your mother. We’re so sorry.”
“Thank you.” To her horror, she choked up. She struggled for composure. “Excuse me, I… It’s still fresh.”
Rachel handed her a purse-pack of tissues; Alex pulled one out and dabbed at her eyes. “Mom battled depression for years,” she said when she found her voice. “She attempted suicide twice before… I guess third time was the charm.”
She heard the bitterness in her voice and regretted it. These people, despite the past they all shared, were strangers. They knew nothing about her and her mother’s relationship. That revealing glimpse felt wrong.
She shifted her gaze to Harlan. “Did my mother… did she suffer with depression while you were married?”
He shook his head. “Not until after Dylan disappeared… but I thought that was to be expected. We all-” His voice thickened. “We were all different after.”
It was obvious how much the loss of his son had hurt him. How much it hurt him still.
“Why are you here, Alexandra?”
Alex realized she was shredding the tissue and wadded it into a ball. “Until two days ago, I didn’t know anything about you. About my early life living here, or even that I had a brother.”
He frowned, but didn’t comment.
“Mom never spoke of her early life or my father. She insisted we were it, that we had no other family. No grandparents, aunts or uncles. I accepted that but always felt… felt something was missing in my life. Frankly, I thought the feeling was brought on by my mother’s mental illness. Now, I think it’s this. You, my time here. But mostly I think it was the brother my subconscious knew I’d had.”
Rachel gasped softly. “That’s so awful,” she said. “How could she do that to you? How could she pretend Dylan never existed? I’m sorry, but that just seems cruel to me.”
Alex fought falling apart. Her thoughts exactly-which was why the words hurt so much.
This time it was Harlan who attempted to comfort by laying a hand on his daughter’s arm. Alex noticed it shook.
“Dylan was a sweet little boy. Happy. Hardly ever fussed. Slept through the night from his third week. A joy.”
He looked away, as if gazing deeply into the past, then met her eyes once more. “You doted on him. So did Rachel. His mother and I, of course. We all took it hard, but Patsy the hardest. Somehow, she blamed herself. For going out that night. Not being there. She didn’t bounce back.”
“You tried to make the marriage work?”
“Of course. Tried everything I could think of. Time. Counseling. Gifts. The truth is, I loved her, but she couldn’t get beyond her grief”-he cleared his throat-“to love me back.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Do you have any pictures?”
Rachel stood and crossed to an ornately carved desk. She selected a framed photo and brought it to her.
The photo depicted a young girl-Rachel, Alex presumed-holding a beautiful, cherubic infant. Alex lightly touched the glass. “I found a photo album in the attic,” she said softly. “Hidden away in a trunk. It held a photo similar to this one, only I was holding him.”
“It took me years to be able to bring that out,” Harlan murmured, “to look at it without falling apart. I thank God that I’m able to now. It seems unfair to his memory to pretend he didn’t exist.”
Again, tears burned Alex’s eyes. Ones of grief-and anger. At her mother for having done this-it was an affront to Dylan’s memory.
She blinked them away and held out her hand, displaying the ring. “You mentioned gifts. Did you give this to my mother? I found it in the trunk with Dylan’s things. It appears to be grapevines and a sna-”
“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t recognize it.”
“You’re certain you’ve never-”
“Yes, I’m certain.” He paused a moment as if to give her time to come to grips with his words. When he spoke again, his voice held a note of finality. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Alexandra?”
“Yes. Do you know who my father is?”
She held her breath; his expression altered slightly. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“But you were married, surely she-”
“It wasn’t important to me. I loved her.”
&
nbsp; He said it simply and in a way that left no doubt he really had loved her mother. But it didn’t answer her question. “I appreciate that. But I find it hard to believe she never talked to you about him.”
“Alexandra,” he said gently, “I don’t think she knew who your father was.”
Alex thought of the things Rita the librarian had told her about her mother’s love affair. He knew more than he was saying, she thought. He knew what he’d just said was a lie. But why keep the truth from her?
Maybe because he was her father?
“She was young,” Rachel murmured. “Things happen. You know that.”
“But why wouldn’t she just tell me the tru-”
She didn’t finish the question, hearing how inane it sounded-she’d already revealed how much her mother had kept hidden from her.
“It didn’t matter to me,” Harlan said again. “I fell in love with her. And with you, Alex.”
His words washed over her in a bittersweet wave, and she struggled to speak. “Then why… all these years…”
“When it became obvious Dylan wasn’t coming home, Patsy took you. Legally, you were her daughter, not mine, What could I do?”
“She wanted nothing to do with any of us,” Rachel said. “She left us, Alex. All of us.”
There was no denying the edge in the other woman’s voice. For the first time it occurred to Alex that Rachel had lost two mothers-and how painful that must have been.
“We never forgot you. But as Dad said, what could we do?”
What indeed, Alex wondered, reaching for her wineglass and bringing it to her lips, only then realizing she had already emptied it.
“It’s so odd.” Rachel went on. “You’ve forgotten it all. Even your own brother. I’d have thought all that trauma would be burned onto your brain. I know it is mine.”
Reed stepped in. “Maybe that’s the very reason she forgot.”
They fell silent. The fire hissed and crackled. The mantel clock struck the hour.
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