by Liz Durano
There are no words to describe how happy I am, how I feel like flying through sand and surf, the horse beneath me seeming to glide above the water. My thighs are going to be sore in the morning, but I don't care. I’m having so much fun that I don’t care if Heath and I are supposed to be part of a charade. Right now, everything I feel is real.
When we return to the trail almost an hour later, breathless and exhilarated, I discover that Wally and Fred have been busy. Lorna had packed a basket dinner for us, and it's all laid out on a blanket. Two place settings and wine glasses, with water bottles and white wine peeking from inside the basket. With sunset two hours away, we have some time, Heath says, unless I have other plans.
"This girl has no plans," I say, as Wally leads our horses closer to the path leading back up the residential community and I take my seat on the blanket. "What about you? Do you have plans?”
"Just this," Heath says, sitting down across from me. Then he opens the picnic basket and pulls out two square plastic containers and sets them in the center of the blanket. “And I'm starving."
"Funny, I am, too," I giggle as he opens each plastic container that contains a freshly made sandwich of chicken salad, walnuts, roasted tomatoes and pickled red onions on multigrain bread. There are also two bags of chips and pickles packed in a mason jar.
"This is all Lorna's idea," he says. "She never lets me come down here without food."
As we dive into our beach dinner, I learn that Lorna Crawford is a distant relative from his mother's side, an Ettinger from the East Coast, though she is now a Californian by virtue of her husband, Bob Crawford, a fellow teacher she met in Connecticut. They have three children, all of them grown-up and living close by, and every summer, their house is filled to the rafters with the grandkids, who love having their very own private beach to themselves every time they stay. The horses belong to her daughter, who lives a few miles inland.
"So she's your aunt."
"Yes," Heath says, nodding his head as he brushes the crumbs from his jeans. He then pops open the wine and pours me a glass though after a few sips, I decide to drink water. With mimosas in the morning and all that rosé wine during the afternoon tea, I think it's time to rehydrate myself. After all, riding horses through the surf is hard work.
After we finish our meal, we clear up the plates just as Wally and Fred come by to gather the basket. With the blanket clear, we lie down and listen to the surf.
"If I lie here one more minute, I'll fall asleep," I tell him though I don't even try to get up. Other than the stressful tea party, no day in my life so far could be more perfect than this.
"Would you like to stay and watch the sunset? With a full moon, we should have no problem making our way back up."
"Sure, I've never seen a sunset from the beach before," I say as he turns to lie on his side next to me.
For the next few minutes, we listen to the surf as I gaze at the sky, watching the colors change as the day transitions into night. When I turn to look at Heath, I see that he's watching me.
His eyes are a soft gray-blue against the backdrop of the slowly darkening sky behind him. He looks relaxed, a faint smile on his lips. I hate to ask him the question I'm about to ask, but I can't help it. I need to know.
"Why did you leave out the part where you had your mother declared legally incapable of handling her affairs?"
"My Mother's a proud woman," he says though he doesn't continue. He merely looks out at the surf.
"And?" I ask softly.
"My mother has Alzheimer’s," Heath says a few minutes later. "She's mostly there, still herself, or that's what I tell myself every time I see her. But as of the last year, she's been more forgetful. According to her living will that she drafted years ago, I’m the one responsible for making sure the conditions of her living trust are honored.”
"I'm sorry, Heath. I had no idea.”
"She has full-time nurses now," Heath continues. "She's still able to do physical things, and as long as she doesn't deviate from her routine of museums and old movies, walks to the park or the beach, she's fine. And on days when she's far gone when she doesn't even recognize her nurses, I come in. That's because of all her children, she remembers me."
“What about Jessica and Ethan?”
“If Jessica visited more often, then maybe Mother would recognize her, but she doesn’t. And Ethan is just as busy with his polo tournaments and his training.”
“Being a trustee for a living will is not the same as declaring someone legally incapable.”
A gust of wind sends one corner of our blanket whipping over my head and reaches across me and weighs it down with a rock. ”After Father died, people were coming by the house, asking her to sign this paper and that paper. One of them was to sell her shares of the company, and the only reason she didn’t sign was because she wanted to ask me about it. At that point, I was livid-“
“Who was it?”
“Jackson. He was co-chair then, and I assumed he did it under Ethan’s orders though Ethan denies it,” Heath replies, his jaw clenching. “So I had my mother declared legally incapable of handling her affairs, and in a buy-sell agreement, I bought every single share she owned. Shortly after that, the company went through its first takeover attempt, but it failed because I owned the majority of the stock.”
“Have you ever thought of letting Kheiron Industries go? After all, don’t you have your own company?”
"I could.”
"Why can't you?”
“Probably the same reason you can’t let go of your parents’ shop,” he replies. “But in my case, it’s because of the price my mother paid after she tried to divorce Father.”
“Is that when Edgar had her committed for mental illness?”
Heath nods. “I can give you more reasons, Billie, and each one of them just another excuse for me to keep hold of the company because I can. But maybe one day, I’ll get it out of my system and let it all go, but while she’s alive, I won’t.”
“I don’t get it,” I mutter. “Why is your mother the only one paying the price? What about Edgar and his mistresses? His blatant cheating? What about those? Who's going to expose those?"
Heath smiles wryly. "To him, they were called weaknesses."
“We all have our weaknesses, Heath, but it doesn’t mean we use it to our advantage even when we end up hurting others. I mean, is that going to be your weakness, too? Or Ethan’s? Do your partners have to accept it just because Edgar did it?” I'm sitting up now, wide awake, and he sits up, too.
"I can't speak for Ethan, Billie, but that won't be a weakness my wife would have to accept."
"What would she have to accept then?"
“She’ll have to accept that although I might work too hard sometimes, I love her and no one else.”
"But surely with all your money, how hard would it be to have a woman on the side? Or two?”
“Did your father have affairs?”
“No!” I reply, looking at him incredulously.
“Did your mother?”
“Of course not!”
“And there’s your answer. Not everyone has affairs, Billie. Sometimes, you just need one person.”
The way he's watching me makes my throat tighten. Why this moment has to be part of a charade grates at me. Why can’t it be for real?
I pull my gaze away from him, forcing myself to look at the orange-yellow horizon in front of us, the sound of the surf completing my first time to watch the sun set from a beach.
"In other news, that's one gorgeous sky,” I say, sighing. “It's beautiful."
"I know," he says though he's not looking at the horizon.
"Thank you, Heath, for everything," I stammer. "I've never had such a natural buzz as beautiful as this before—the horses, the surf, the view—everything."
"You're welcome," he murmurs as he leans towards me, and the butterflies in my belly suddenly come to life. "Will I ruin this natural buzz if I kiss you?"
I glance around,
but there's no one but us. "You can stop pretending, Heath. There's no one here to pretend to.”
"All the more reason to kiss you then," he says, and as he brings his hand to caress my cheek, he kisses me.
It's a soft kiss, one that starts along my lower lip, so warm and so soft. It takes my breath away, the combination of the cool breeze, the surf, and his kiss. And then there's his hand caressing my cheek, now moving down my neck as his lips continue their soft exploration of my mouth, his tongue slipping between my lips as he tastes me. My hand moves up towards his face, feeling the stubble along his jaw, my fingers curling behind the back of his neck. When I find myself lying back down on the blanket, I realize that I'm holding on to him as my mind swirls with thoughts of the other things I want him to do to me.
We could lie here like this forever, kissing and exploring each other with our mouths, the scent of his cologne mingling with his own overwhelming me. When he pulls away, I wonder if he realized what a mistake we’re making, but he only looks at me, studying me with eyes that seem dark-gray in the fading sunlight.
I wonder if he’s thinking this is a mistake, too, but before I can tell myself to stop all this nonsense and head back to the hotel, I pull him towards me and kiss him. I want more of the feel of his lips on my own, and this time, not because someone like Andrew is watching us but because no one is.
He’s such an amazing kisser it does things to me I’ve long forgotten. If the butterflies in my belly haven’t been unleashed, it feels as if my stomach is all tied up in knots, my heart thundering inside my chest. I can hear the surf, but there’s also the drumming of blood through my temples, beating like a drum. I can only imagine how he is in bed, and as his tongue explores me, tastes me, I can’t help but yearn to have all of him.
Somewhere, a phone rings and like teenagers caught kissing on a school night, we pull away quickly. Then Heath gets up to his feet and hurries towards the horses where Wally kept our phones.
"It's yours,” he says, handing my phone to me.
It's Mick, and I realize I’ve never even talked to him since this all started. I’d intended to leave a message, but I never got around to it.
“Hey, Mick. What's up?"
"Blythe was here earlier today," he says. "She asked me to let her into the upstairs apartment, and I did."
“Blythe? In Nevada City? What did she want?"
"She said she needed her birth certificate and her old California ID before she got herself a New York one—something to prove she's who she is to some consulate in San Francisco," Mick replies. "I thought you guys were in New York."
“We were. Was she alone?" I ask, my mind racing.
"She was alone when she came to the shop, but she drove into town in some black Escalade, tinted windows, and everything. I had customers in the store, so I didn’t see who was with her.”
"Did she get her papers?"
“No! That’s why I’m calling. She couldn't get into your safe, and she was mad as hell at Norah and me like we’re supposed to know the combination," Mick retorts. "What the hell is going on, Billie?"
"I wish I knew, Mick.”
As I watch Heath gather the blanket, I know I’m lying. Of course, I know what's going on for it’s what Heath has been telling me all this time.
Blythe needs a new passport to get to Geneva.
18
Phoebe and Hilairia
"Talk to me," Heath asks in a low voice as I walk into our hotel suite. When I don't answer, he shuts the door, and takes my arm, turning me around to face him. “You haven’t said a word to me since that phone call. Who called?"
"It was Mick, one of my employees. He said that Blythe was in Nevada City, and she wanted her birth certificate and a copy of her old California ID card. They're all stored in our parents' safe-"
"She's going to Geneva then," Heath whispers, exhaling. "She needs a valid passport to enter the country, first of all, and to collect the money. And with you holding her documents, she's probably applying for a new one."
"She can collect the money for all I care," I snap, walking away from him, past the luxurious living room with a view of the green gardens and the ocean just beyond the double doors. "I'm done protecting her. If she's so stupid as to let someone give her four million dollars and think it's all a gift or whatever, then she can stay stupid. I am done with her, Heath. And if she's guilty, then I'll just visit her in jail."
Heath frowns. "You can't just give up on her, not when you're so close-"
"Close to what? A woman who refuses to believe me because I'm with you, that I made my choice and hedged my bets on the losing team? She could be next door for all I care, but I can't do anything about stupid," I say, standing in front of the full window that overlooks the gardens and beyond it, the full moon hanging above the water.
But I’m so angry that I don’t see any of that. All I can see is the futility of running after my sister who’s too blind to see what’s happening. Or maybe she’s not blind at all. Maybe she does know what’s going on, and I’m just wasting my time.
Heath doesn't say anything right away, but I know it's coming. He stands next to me before the window, and he gazes up at the dark sky. There are a few stars, but not as much as I usually see from Nevada City, not when the full moon seems almost ablaze with light.
"Ever heard of Orion?" Heath asks.
"Orion's belt?" I ask though that's as far as I know about Orion—three stars in a row in the night sky.
"Legends say he was the son of Poseidon and Euryale, daughter of the king of Minos, the King of Crete. They say because of his father, he could walk on the waves," he says, looking at the sky, framed by the trees. "He hunted with the goddess Artemis, the great huntress — or Diana as she's also known — and her mother, Leto. One day he bragged that he could kill every animal on earth and of course, Mother Earth wasn't happy about that. And so she sent a scorpion to sting him."
"Did he die?"
"Of course," Heath says, smiling ruefully. "In all versions he dies, whether it's from the scorpion's sting, or Diana's arrow that never missed its mark, even when they were lovers."
"How'd that happen?"
"That's another legend—that her twin brother, Apollo, who was against her match with Orion, challenged her to hit a moving target in the water. If she was as great a huntress as they say, then how could she miss, he challenged her. And so she nocked her arrow against her bow and took aim at this faraway circle that was moving towards them in the waves-"
"Orion," I exclaim, my anger dissipating. Heath has a very calm way of talking that one has to silence everything, even one’s thoughts, to listen to what he has to say.
"-and she released her arrow. Like I said, she never missed."
"And so she killed the man she loved,” I say, scoffing. "That's kinda whacked."
"Most myths are,” Heath says, before pointing to the sky. "It's too soon to see it, not with all the glare from the city, but Orion's belt, the three stars in a row, is usually what you see first. Once you spot those three stars, look up about 11 o'clock, and then you'll see this bright star called Betelgeuse-"
"Like the movie about the afterlife?"
"No," he says slowly, chuckling. "It's the armpit of the giant because it's a supergiant star. And above Betelgeuse—not the movie—at another 11 o'clock, is the planet Jupiter. You can't miss it because it's a planet, not a star, and therefore, it's very bright. But diagonally above Jupiter are the stars Castor and Pollux, representing the heads of the twins."
"Gemini."
"Yes, Gemini, though that name came after they both died and were set upon the sky as the constellation that we know now," Heath says, finally turning to look at me. "Did you know that Castor and Pollux married sisters?"
I shake my head.
"The sisters, Phoebe and Hilairia, were betrothed to two other brothers. But Castor and Pollux were determined to have the sisters for themselves, so they carted the women off to Sparta and each had a son with them."
>
"They kidnapped them then."
"Basically," Heath says shrugging. "That's kinda whacked, isn't it? Just like you said. But then, most everything in history is—and life for that matter. Brothers fighting other brothers, in this case, Castor and Pollux fighting Lynceus and Idas of Thebes over the sisters. And then there's us. Only this time, it's brother against brother, and sister against sister."
“It is what it is." I cross my arms in front of my chest, my gaze outside the window again. We should just open the doors and step outside, but I can feel the tension building in the air between us, reality settling back in after the respite of Greek and Roman mythology.
“Can I ask you a question?” I ask, turning to face him, and he nods. “Aren’t you even curious to know who your real father is? Don’t you want to know who wrote those letters that Ethan took from your mother?”
He shrugs. “Not exactly. I figure that if my real father really cared for me, he’d have come out of the woodwork by now. Besides, I have other things to worry about, companies to run and a mother to take care of. And then there’s someone’s twin sister to get out of trouble.”
“You don’t have to do that anymore, Heath. She’s made her decision, and there’s nothing you and I can do to change it.”
“What if someone is using her, Billie? What if they’re taking advantage of her love for Ethan?”
His phone beeps before I can answer. Heath reads the text message and returns the phone back to his jeans pocket.
"That was Fred,” Heath says. “Blythe, Jackson and Charlene are back."
"So she wasn't hungover like Richard said she was.”
Heath shrugs. ”Does it matter if she was hungover or not? If she’s looking for her birth certificate and her old driver’s license, then she’s trying to apply for a new passport so they can fly to Geneva. My pilot told me that they just filed the flight plan after Santa Barbara, and Geneva is one of their stops, so it makes sense that she’ll need a valid passport to collect that money.”