by Olga Bicos
He could see the same emotions he felt on her face: guilt, need. Like the song said: words that go together well.
But suddenly, she jerked back, the intimate moment vanishing as she focused somewhere behind him. He watched her pop to her feet like a jack-in-the-box so that the chair almost tipped over.
“I have to go.” She began making her way to the exit—to where Daniel East waited. But Danny boy wasn’t watching Emma. He had eyes for only Harris.
He wondered how much Daniel had guessed from seeing them together just now. He half thought he should walk over, make sure Emma was going to be all right. But they disappeared out the door before he had a chance.
You have no idea what Holly will do for Daniel.
She’d sounded so trapped.
Daniel East had some sort of hold on her. And Harris was betting it wasn’t about the sex.
“Good job, Spiderman,” he said to himself, picking up her beer, ready to dump it behind the bar. “Way to screw the pooch.”
17
Emma stumbled across the room. Daniel pushed her again so that she lost her footing, crash-landing on the couch. She’d never seen him this angry.
“What the hell were you doing with her brother?”
She’d known it was going to be bad. He’d been so quiet on the drive over. It wasn’t like Daniel to be quiet.
“You were following me?” Trying to turn the tables, throwing out her own accusations.
“You haven’t let me touch you in days. Of course I was following you. And wasn’t I in for a surprise.”
“You’re the one who told me to make friends.”
“With Holly. Not her brother.”
“It’s pretty much the same thing, or haven’t you noticed?” She sat up on the couch, making herself less vulnerable. “Daniel, don’t be a dumbass. I met Harris when Holly and I went out for a drink, remember? You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
She was a good liar, a talent she’d perfected with Daniel at the helm. And Daniel wasn’t the most perceptive man on earth.
He came to stand over her, his intimidating best. “There’s a lot at stake here, sweetheart. I can’t afford to blow this with a little impromptu thinking on your part.”
“Stupid me. How could I forget priority number one, your precious Cutty House? Oh, and rubbing Ryan’s nose in it—that most of all. Don’t worry, hon,” she said, pushing some buttons of her own. “You know me. I won’t step out of line or forget my status.”
“From where I was standing, you were forgetting a lot. So I’m asking you again. What were you doing with her fucking brother?”
“Wow. Is that real emotion in your voice?” She leaned forward, taking him on. “Don’t you mean am I fucking her brother? Go ahead, ask me. Am I fucking Holly’s brother?”
She knew Daniel could get ugly, knew better than to push. She didn’t recognize this angry woman throwing confessions in his face, waving the red flag in front of the bull.
“How did it feel to see me with him?” she asked. “Were you jealous? A little scared? Or did it just hurt your stupid pride? Did you think I’d leave you all alone after everything we’ve been through? Because those are my fears, Daniel. That you’ll forget she’s not Nina.”
“Now who’s being stupid?”
“The clothes, the hair, the makeup? Was it all for Ryan? Wasn’t there just a little something in it for you? Trying to bring Nina back—”
“Don’t give me that crap, Ems. You know why I need Holly.”
“I know why you think you need her. But what if there’s more to it?” she asked, voicing her biggest fear. I helped her buy those clothes; I told her how to cut her hair. My fault. She couldn’t be responsible. Not again.
“All those years you let Nina use you, but you were never good enough for her, did you know that? Did you guess? You were, how should I put this? Recreational—or maybe it was comic relief?”
He jumped on the couch and grabbed a fistful of Emma’s hair. But even when he yanked her head back, pulling her hair by the roots, she kept going. “Ryan at least had some pride. He wouldn’t do half the shit you did.”
Straddling her. “Shut up!” Pulling harder. “Shut the fuck up!”
“It’s the truth! It’s always been the truth. You were never good enough for any of them. Your mother’s ugly secret.”
He wrapped both hands around her neck and pressed. Emma tried to kick him off, to break the grip of his fingers, but he leaned his whole weight into her, pushing harder.
He’s going to kill me….
Even as she struggled, a part of her wondered if it really mattered what happened to her. She and Daniel would always be linked by death. Maybe this is how it ends, she thought. This was how she’d finally stop hurting people.
She couldn’t get air in her lungs. She could hear herself making gasping sounds deep in her throat. After a while, she stopped struggling, wondering if this was how it felt to die? How Nina had felt? Maybe she hadn’t even been scared in the end, Emma thought, her hands falling away.
Daniel jerked his hands away. “Oh, God!” He rolled off the couch and knelt on the ground beside her. He helped her to sit up, rubbed her arms as she sucked in air.
“I can’t believe—Did I hurt you? Emma?”
She pushed him away. She pressed her fists to her face, not wanting to see him, fighting the desire to answer that plea in his voice.
“Emma, please. Jesus, tell me you’re all right? I’m sorry, baby. God, I’m so sorry.”
Listening to him, she knew that there was something wrong with her. Daniel had pressed the life out of her—even for a moment, lost control—and still she wanted to comfort him, had to fight the overwhelming need to tell him she was fine. As if she deserved no better.
She knew if she opened her eyes she’d see what she always saw—Daniel, horrified by what he’d done.
Dan sat beside her and turned her body in to his on the couch, holding her even as she pummeled her fists against his chest. She could feel him shaking against her, trembling.
“I’m so sorry. God, I’m sorry.”
He just kept saying it, over and over. He’d never done anything to hurt her before. But she’d known there was violence there; she’d been afraid. That hate of his kept rising to the surface. Every time Daniel clawed and fought for what was his, there was no telling what the collateral damage might be.
When he started to cry, the coil inside her began to unwind, responding just the same. The entire episode felt like an old song they knew by heart. Daniel falling apart, Emma keeping him together.
“Shh,” she said, giving in. “It’s all right.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. Not you.”
“Daniel, I won’t betray you.” That old familiar tune. “I would never betray you.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“I was trying to help,” she said, making it up as she went along, sinking deeper into an alliance she could no longer control. “She’s really close to her brother. You said to be her friend. Maybe it’s not so bad if he likes me?”
“You know what she can do for us. I just want to get back what’s mine. I can’t blow this, Ems. I can’t lose. I won’t get another chance.”
She stroked his face, letting him talk.
“It’s my last chance. You know it is. We both do.”
His last chance to succeed. To make things right. To put the past behind them.
And Nina, long dead and buried, was still pulling the strings.
As the story went, it was supposed to be a cheap vacation. Holly’s father always told it like an apology. I didn’t make enough money—I wasn’t enough for her.
Holly had just turned three, Harris was maybe seven. They’d worn their bathing suits under their clothes and piled beach balls and buckets into the Buick, heading for Alki Beach, the “Birthplace of Seattle,” a sudden burst of warm weather their inspiration. Their mother had packed a picnic basket full of food, a thermos and water. The
y wouldn’t need to spend a dime.
Holly and Harris had been entrenched in the sand, water lapping at their feet, building what, from the perspective of first memories, remained their largest and best sandcastle ever. Harris did the real work, but he coached Holly to fill the buckets or clear the moat. They were a team. The sky, a stunning strip of blue, had lured a crowd away from the city. Turf wars ensued, until a big kid belly flopped on their castle, making Holly cry.
Taking one look at his sister, Harris jumped right on him, fists flying. He had the boy pinned in the sand when the kid grabbed a rock and beamed Harris right above the eye. Four stitches and three hundred dollars and change at the emergency room. No insurance.
Her father had been between jobs; they’d let him go at the private school where he’d been teaching. He was working part-time and tutoring on the side. Things were tight. They couldn’t even afford a decent vacation.
The next year, their mother left them, presumably tired of waging the battle.
Whenever Holly saw a sandcastle, she remembered the story, a hazy memory given shape by years of her father’s sullen retelling. In the late afternoon, with precious sunshine burnishing the sandstone walls of its keep, that’s what Viña Dorada reminded her of: a dazzling castle.
The stone chateau overlooked the ribbons of vines garlanding the hills. A gurgling creek ran past lichen-covered stone walls, ancient gnarled olives and oaks melted into the surrounding forest. Beautiful people strolled in ridiculously high heels over the blue-green lawns marking the entrance to the Napa vineyard. Heck, even the air tasted better here.
Welcome to Viña Dorada.
She tucked the invitation into the silly little handbag she’d bought to match her dress and walked up the path to where the party was in full swing. Ivy and colorful flowering trumpet vines tangled over every surface, making the vineyard appear almost mystical.
Holly passed a rose arbor where a waiter offered her a glass of sparkling wine. She stepped onto the lawn, beginning to mingle, drawing attention with her off-the-shoulder blouse and slit skirt. She’d bought the ensemble with Emma, but the skirt’s cascade of ruffles added a Latin flare that seemed just too perfect for an afternoon of flamenco music. Like any sensible woman, she’d resisted the urge to believe the clothes were cursed, despite whatever Emma’s intentions might have been in coaxing Holly to buy them.
She’d pulled her hair back and wore just lipstick and mascara. Checking the mirror before she left, she thought she looked more like the Holly of old.
Tasting the wine, she searched the crowd for Ryan. A classical guitarist played as a woman, dressed in a flowing white gown laced with red ribbons, danced, clapping her hands, kicking her heels with the music. Holly thought it might not be so bad, acting as a loser worker bee here.
She kept to the shadows, listening to the guitar and rhythmic clapping, watching the dancing woman curve her body around as she flicked the tail of her dress with her foot. Holly told herself she needed to “out” some of those skeletons from the Cutty House closet. If she wanted her work to succeed, best to know what she was up against. That was the only reason she’d come—in these clothes, with her face flushed and her blood zinging, causing the occasional double take.
It’s called playing with fire, girl.
Well, maybe.
After the incident with the floorboards, she’d spent hours evaluating. Despite her brother’s facile prediction, it was no easy choice to stay. But once before someone in her life had driven her from what she loved. She wasn’t about to fall into a pattern of running scared. She’d leave after a proper fight, and today she’d come to do battle. Which again didn’t explain the clothes and her best perfume, or the flower she’d pinned in her hair.
At the center of the courtyard, a stone fountain of a stag watched over the gathering, white and pink lilies floating on the water at its feet. The act of not stepping on toes became a dance in itself until she found a safe haven beside an enormous fern.
She’d stay just long enough to see what Ryan had to say, she told herself. He’d invited her here, after all, an olive branch she’d be rude to refuse. She knew what lay behind his dark stares now; she was more than ready for him.
Across the courtyard, an older woman held court. Along with the dancer, she seemed another reference point. With her own audience gathered around, she still managed a nod to passersby. She had a warm smile and held her glass as she used her hands to tell a story. A neat trick that, Holly thought. The woman wore a dark burgundy dress to the floor that hugged her matronly curves. There was nothing of subterfuge about her; she was the picture of sophistication without the pomp.
The vintner’s wife, Holly decided. No doubt, the heart of Viña Dorada.
And wouldn’t it be nice to someday measure up half as well, Holly thought, drinking from her glass. To be confident that her beauty didn’t come from the size of her hips or a wrinkle-free face.
The music swelled and the woman turned with her audience to watch the dancer. For an instant, her eyes caught Holly’s across the way. Holly smiled.
But the woman didn’t smile back. Instead, she dropped her glass, so that it shattered into a million pieces on the flagstones at her feet. A cry escaped her lips.
The music stopped. Everyone turned in Holly’s direction. She turned, as well, searching behind her.
But they were staring at her. At Holly. The woman’s hand rose, then dropped limp to her side as those around her stepped forward to shore her up. Even at this distance, Holly could read her lips as she whispered, Nina.
After that, the revelations came easily enough so that Holly knew that once again she’d been outmaneuvered, falling, despite all her care, into another trap.
Out of nowhere, Ryan appeared. He grabbed her arm, hustling her down a covered path. Holly could hear the murmur of guests as they passed, the champagne spilling from her glass. But Ryan seemed intent only on getting away. He dragged her along a walkway that hugged what appeared to be the back of the main building. Holly tried to keep up, almost losing her shoe.
Eventually they ducked into a small room, entering through a pair of French doors. It was a sitting room of sorts, sun-filled, with a sturdy round table bracketed by two chairs and a banquette by the window. His breath coming hard, Ryan pressed her against the door, tucking her out of sight.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked her.
She could still see that poor woman’s face. She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
She knew Nina.
“You invited me—”
“No way.” He was shaking his head. “I would never invite you here.”
He pushed her down onto the banquette. She could see he was terrified. Behind him the door opened. She heard the scrape of a cane as a man struggled inside.
“Gil.” Ryan blocked the man’s view of Holly. “It’s not Nina.”
“I want to see her, dammit!”
The man stepped around Ryan. The woman Holly had seen in the courtyard followed, coming to stand beside him.
“She looks like Nina, Gil. That’s all. It’s not her.”
But the man wasn’t listening to Ryan. He inched forward, every step a struggle, reaching for Holly.
“Come on, Gil. Catch your breath.”
He would have fallen if Ryan hadn’t been there to hold him up. Holly saw there was something wrong with him. The right side of his face had fallen, as if paralyzed. A stroke, she thought.
The charity at the Samba, Samba! club. Daniel had insisted on her going. The party had been to benefit stroke victims.
Ryan telling her: The charity tonight. Daniel knew I’d be here. That’s why he brought you along. He’s showing you off. To me.
She could hear the woman speaking to Gil in a foreign language. Spanish, Holly thought. Ryan helped the older man turn for the door, the woman taking over so he could lean on her and his cane.
“No,” the older man said. “It’s not her.” He stopped at the French doors
to give Holly a final glance, appearing almost apologetic. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made a fuss.”
He shuffled forward with the woman who was most certainly his wife, stopping just outside the doorway to rest. When Ryan tried to help, he gestured him off.
Holly heard him say, “See to our guest, Ryan. I think I’ve given her a fright,” followed by a self-deprecating laugh. The woman spoke again in Spanish, this time to Ryan.
Holly watched as the couple disappeared outside, feeling incredibly numb. She could see Ryan standing at the door, so stiff he looked frozen in place.
“I’m sorry,” she said. But if Ryan heard her, he didn’t turn around. She was speaking to his back. “I didn’t know.”
“You have to go now.”
It was all he said before he, too, vanished, leaving the “guest” to fend for herself. Holly felt out of breath, almost stricken by what she’d pieced together.
She looks like Nina, Gil. That’s all.
Apparently, it was enough.
It took her a good ten minutes to find her way out of the labyrinth halls, avoiding the courtyard and the crowd. At the entrance, there was a small table with a stack of glossy brochures and a little note card painted with the word Welcome. Inside the colorful pages of the brochure, the printed text told the tale of the vineyard’s modest beginnings.
The Travers family opened Viña Dorada…
Nina’s family. Her father…her mother.
She hadn’t put it together. The name of the vineyard sounded Spanish, Travers did not. That Ryan worked for Nina’s family seemed too incredible, given the fact that everyone blamed him for her death.
The disbelief on their faces. Disbelief and pain.
She was the bully now, stomping on their sandcastle, throwing the rock.
Driving out of the parking lot, she turned for the road heading home. Whoever had sent that invitation had planned their assault well, with incredible cunning and care.
She’d thought coming here was her move. But all along, she’d been nothing but the pawn.