Valley of the Moon

by Bronwyn Archer

  I did my standard greeting. “Good evening and welcome, sir.” I looked up at him and smiled politely, holding out my hand for the keys. My field of vision was all flares.

  “Aren’t you a little young to be a valet?”

  I smiled back. “Sir, I assure you I am a highly trained professional driver.” The spots faded from my eyes and I got a look at him.

  After that, no words were possible.

  I found myself staring into wide-set hazel eyes ringed by long black lashes. Dark brown hair, cut short. High cheekbones that perfectly framed the gorgeous symmetry of his features. His skin was smooth and creamy.

  It was him. Tractor Beams. The one who bought my dad’s Aston Martin. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it. My cheeks burned as the realization sank in. First I sell him a car, and then I show up as his valet parker.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do I know you?” he asked. A deep dimple appeared in each cheek. An electric shock flickered down my body. I lowered my head so the brim of my hat hid my face.

  “Um, no, don’t think so, sir.” I tore off his valet ticket and handed it to him.

  “Hmm. Okay, but no joyrides.” He dropped the keys into my hand and walked away. I stared after him, trying to collect my wits.

  Desiree stood next to the valet station. As he walked past her into the party, she swung her head back at me, her eyes huge, and mouthed, “OH MY GOD!”

  I slid into his still-warm seat and drove away slowly. I found a spot in a crowded row of cars and pulled in slowly. Suddenly, a computerized voice said, “Pairing phone.” Startled, I hit the brakes. The car’s Bluetooth had picked up my cell phone.

  I frantically pressed buttons on the console that looked phone-related, but I had no clue what I was doing. The screen in the middle of the console blinked on. I saw the words Call History. Under it was a list of people’s names and phone numbers.

  And right at the top of the list was “R Crawford (707) 244-1213.”

  I knew that number—the Crawford’s house.

  My stomach churned. Was Tractor Beams Ramona’s new boy toy? Her new Louis Quarry? I was so flustered my foot accidentally pressed the gas and the car lurched backwards in reverse. Then things got even worse.

  Lights flashed behind me.

  A second later, there was a loud THWUNKCHHHH and I went flying into the steering wheel. No way. You did not just crash a $300,000 car.

  I put the car into drive and jumped out, ready to rip someone’s hair out by the roots. But it wasn’t a Doll. It was a guest. I ran over to a black Jag and started pounding on the passenger window.

  “Hey! You hit my car, sir!”

  The driver, a pudgy older man, looked up at me, his eyes unfocused. He gave me the middle finger and reversed, narrowly missing Ali, who had pulled up behind him in a white Range Rover. He gunned the engine and his car fishtailed forward, splattering mud on my jeans before speeding away.

  “Wait!” I screamed after him. “Stop, you jerk!” But he was gone. I ran back to the Vanquish to assess the damage. Except for an ugly looking scrape on the rear right bumper, it looked okay. No major bodywork, but still, I was in big trouble. I saw Justine run towards me, with Desiree close behind.

  I called out to her to try and head her off. “Hit and run, Justine! The guy in the Jag was hammered and didn’t see me, I guess.” Justine, grim-faced, knelt down to examine the damage. She stood and jammed her hands onto her hips.

  “We haven't had an incident in 11 months. One more month and my insurance premium was getting cut in half. Fucking great, Lana!”

  “But Justine,” I protested. “The guy drove into me!” She walked over to me and jabbed a finger into my shoulder.

  “Do you know what will happen when the insurance company finds out how old you are!” she screamed. “You have to say you’re 21. You promise?” The full scope of the disaster started to sink in. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes.

  She sighed. “Do you remember what the driver of the Aston Martin looked like?”

  “Oh yeah, she remembers,” Desiree said, suppressing a laugh. I glared at her.

  Justine nodded. “Find him. I’ll pull his car to the front. Meet me there. And be nice—you’re about to ruin his night.”

  I made my way into the party. Waiters circulated with trays of food and flutes of sparkling wine. Fairy lights twinkled in the warm evening air. I wanted to be absolutely anywhere but there. Why can’t I just disappear? Now would be perfect, God.

  I scanned the crowd for him. He’d be easy to spot—he was younger and taller than most of the other guests, and about a thousand times better looking. He made Caleb look like the third-cutest member of your average boy band. But he knew Ramona—how? Why? Then it dawned on me—maybe he was meeting her at the party. I pulled my fedora down to my eyes.

  After a few minutes, I spotted him at the bar, deep in conversation with a woman. I made my way through the glittering crowd until I was just a few feet away.

  He was chatting with a beautiful older blonde. She was tanned and toned in a sleek white jumpsuit with a low-cut neckline.

  I remembered her—I parked her car. Her date was a grizzled old guy with a weird paunch and a balding white mullet. I took a deep breath and stepped towards them.

  But first, I had to wait for her to stop talking. “…if you go, you have to try the heirloom beetroot soup. It’s just marvelous. The chef grows all his own beets.”

  I cleared my throat and reached up to tap his arm. Whatever was under his jacket was rock hard. In other words, his arm. He turned around, and the blonde glanced over at me and scowled.

  I launched into my speech. “Um, excuse me, sir. Sorry to interrupt, but would you mind following me outside?” Warm, liquidy eyes met mine and sent another electric shock through me. The woman tried to frown at me through stiffly Botoxed skin.

  “Uh oh. Does this mean something happened to my car?” he said, smirking. The cougar cackled. My face flushed hot and I wanted to die.

  “Well, if you could just come with me, sir.” He seemed to sense my mood, and his smirk faded. It was replaced by a sincere look of concern.

  “Let’s go,” he said. The lady’s eyes narrowed.

  He didn’t say a word as he followed me through the crowd to the valet stand outside. When we got there, Justine was waiting by his car with her arms crossed. Desiree, Ali, and a few of the other Dolls stood around trying to act casual.

  “I found him, Justine,” I said. “Sir, this is my boss.”

  She seemed totally unfazed by his hotness. “I have some bad news, sir. Unfortunately, one of the other guests hit your vehicle while it was in our custody.”

  “It doesn’t look too bad. What happened?”

  She cleared her throat. “It seems that one of my employees”—she cocked her head in my direction—“was trying to park when she was hit by an intoxicated guest, who then fled the scene.” He spun away from her and looked at me.

  “You got hit? Are you okay?” I was confused. Most of the people I’d encountered at these events would back over you on purpose—twice—if you messed up their cars. I stared back at him. Tractor Beams.

  “Um, yeah, I’m fine. I’m just really sorry about your car.”

  “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked again. I cleared my throat. Desiree and Ali were making lewd gestures to me behind his back. I nodded and glanced at Justine. She looked like she was struggling not to bare her fangs.

  “It looks like it’s just a scratch on the rear bumper,” Justine said, scribbling something on a pad of paper. “But I assure you my insurance will compensate you for the damage, a hundred percent.”

  He followed her to the back of his car and bent down to take a look. He chuckled. “Well, when you employ underage workers to drive luxury cars, these things happen. Does your mother know you do this, Miss?” He said this to me, his eyes twinkling.

  I wanted to die. Legally, you had to be 18 to work as a valet. Justine only hired me because she was short-sta
ffed last summer, and had kept me because I happened to be good at my job. She made me swear not to tell anyone know how old I really was.

  Justine sputtered, “Sir, I do not employ minors and employees who damage cars are fired immediately!”

  “Justine, it wasn’t my fault! The guy was drunk!” I protested.

  “Be quiet,” she snapped.

  Alexander stepped between us, his face full of concern. “Hey, it was a joke,” he said. “Listen, I can take of the damage. No need to involve your insurance.”

  “Excuse me, this is a personnel matter,” Justine spat. She stuck her finger in my face and yelled, “Go home! You’re done!” Behind me, I heard Desiree and Ali gasp. I felt tears start to burn my eyes, and I felt a burst of anger that quickly sharpened to a fine point.

  “You're firing her?” he asked.

  “She can’t. Because I quit.” I yanked my fedora off and threw it at Justine as hard as I could. It missed her and Alexander caught it, right before it hit him in the face. My hair spilled down around my shoulders. I had accidentally pulled my wig off along with the hat.

  “It’s not even his car!” I yelled at her. “It’s his mother’s!” He looked at me, baffled.

  “Lana!” Justine screamed.

  Alexander reacted like he’d been slapped. “Lana? Your name’s Lana?”

  I picked up my wig and ran.

  ***

  I was in the kitchen pouring cereal the next morning when my dad called out from his bedroom.

  I found him in his pajamas, sitting up in bed. “What are you doing home? It’s Saturday.” I wanted to tell him about what happened with the psychic the day before and ask him if I had a godmother. But he looked like he was too sick to talk.

  He sneezed into a handkerchief. “Got a cold and I want to rest today. Gotta be healthy for the big day tomorrow, right?” I sat on the bed next to him. His face was thin and gray.

  “Maybe you should call the doctor. You don’t look that great.” I put my hand to his forehead and he pushed it away.

  “I’m fine! Cesar had the same thing last week.” He coughed hard—a thick, wheezy rattle.

  “Dad! Are you sure you’re okay? You look tired.”

  “I’m old. Of course I’m tired.” He smiled at me, but I could see tension in the lines on his face. “What are your plans today?”

  “I just have to go to Maya’s and pick up my graduation dress. Candy made it.”

  “Ah, that’s right! You’re going to look beautiful.” He brushed his hand on my cheek. “You look more like her every day.” He pointed at his dresser. It bristled with photos: the two of them laughing, my mom holding me as a newborn, my mom in her simple, elegant wedding dress, the three of us at the opening of my dad’s first car shop in downtown Glen Ellen.

  It was hard for me to be in his room too long. I walked over to the door.

  “Hey, think you can do me a favor before you leave?” he asked.

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Meet me in the barn in ten minutes.”

  ***

  The barn’s sliding doors were open and all the lights were on. I stepped inside and saw my dad leaning against a car that was hidden under a silky black cover. He still looked pale but he had a huge grin on his face. He looked almost giddy.

  “Dad? What’s going on in here?”

  He raised his eyebrows and stroked his chin. “Oh, not much. But I heard somebody around here is graduating from high school tomorrow—and turning 18 the day after.” Don’t get too excited. He probably put new wiper blades on your Golf. He kept smiling like a devil at me. “I couldn’t think of what to get you. So, I decided to give you this old hand-me-down.”

  He reached down and pulled off the car cover with one dramatic tug. The black silk billowed to the floor, revealing his sparkling, spotless Ferrari Maranello. My eyebrows shot up and my mouth dropped. The navy paint gleamed in the bright lights.

  “No. Way. Dad? Are you serious?” My dream car. It was at least fifteen years old but looked brand-new.

  “Way. A beautiful car for my beautiful little girl. But no speeding—promise?” He couldn’t stop smiling at me. He looked happier than I had seen him look in weeks.

  “But, Dad,” I protested. “What about paying Victor back? Shouldn’t you sell it instead of giving it to me?”

  He shrugged. “Well, turns out that because of its blue book and some prior history, I can’t. I’m stuck with it. So it’s yours.” I just looked at him, waiting for him to change his mind. Instead, he opened the driver’s side door. “Go ahead—get in.” He gathered up the car cover and tossed it into a corner. “You’ve driven it, so you know it’s fast. The speedometer and the brakes are your friends. But—you never know when you might need to make a clean getaway.” He just stared at me. I laughed. He didn’t.

  “I promise I’ll be careful. Wow, this is just—I cannot believe this. Dad, thank you so much, I love you!” I wrapped him in a huge hug and squeezed. He hugged me back, but then started coughing. A deep, phlegmy cough. He backed away.

  “Dad?” I took a step towards him. He grimaced and gritted his teeth.

  “Just this damn cold I caught. Nothing test-driving a Ferrari can’t cure.”

  ***

  My body fit perfectly in the snug racing seat. The pedals felt like an extension of my feet. The engine leaped to obey my every command. And the sound of the engine—that unmistakable low Ferrari scream—was exhilarating. I buzzed through Glen Ellen and caught the admiring stares of the rabble, trapped in their boring, ordinary cars. Mortals!

  My dad seemed tense in the low bucket seat next to me. He gripped the side of his seat, hard. He hadn’t been a passenger in my car since 10th grade. He had a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and his mouth was set in a rigid line. I pushed the car a little faster.

  “If you’re really not going to sell this car, maybe we should sell the house. You can use the money to pay back the loans. We’ll get a fresh start, like you wanted. Remember?” I glanced over at him as I cruised north. He wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move his hand off the edge of the leather seat and onto his chest. The edge of the leather seat had deep finger marks where his hand had been.

  A huge cough racked his body. When he recovered, he said, “Don’t worry about Victor Savitch. This business is between me and him.”

  “But Dad! How are you planning to pay him back?”

  “Dammit Lana, drop it, okay?”

  “What do you mean? Who is he?” My foot lowered on to the gas pedal. The car leapt forward.

  “Lana—” His voice broke and a strangled sob choked his throat. He coughed deeply again and started breathing fast. Too fast. His hand clutched his chest.

  “Dad?” He shook his head, his face ashen. Oh no. Not again. No, please.

  “Hospital,” he croaked. His head slumped over and rested against the window. It was all I could do to not crash the car. I drove north like a maniac. By the time I got to Santa Rosa, there were flecks of foam on his lips and his skin had a blue cast to it. I double-parked outside the ER at Santa Rosa Memorial and ran around to the passenger door, screaming for help. A young ambulance driver ran over. He helped me drag him out of the car, then he laid him out on the sidewalk and ripped his shirt open. Buttons flew. He started performing CPR.

  Then I was being helped up and my father was on gurney and we were rushing into the hospital, galloping down an endless white corridor. My thoughts were just one long white scream. Death. It's coming for him. Coming for him, and then me. To finish what it started.

  The gurney flew through the swinging doors.

  I watched him disappear down a long hallway before I sank to the floor, sobbing.

  17

  Mare Cognitum ~ Sea That Has Become Known

  The moaning woke me up. Two Filipina nurses were adjusting the bandages on my father’s chest as he writhed half-conscious in the bed. I crawled out of the cot, stiff and aching, still in my clot
hes from the day before.

  “Lana,” he mumbled weakly. The nurses rolled him onto his side and I took his hand. It was cold and felt paper-light, like all the blood had been removed.

  “I’m here, Daddy.” His blue hospital gown had orange stains on it. His face was gray and drawn. He opened his eyes and tried to smile at me, but it looked more like a wince. “You’re okay, Dad. You had surgery. You’re going to be fine, I promise.” Emergency double-bypass heart surgery, to be exact. The doctors said he would most likely make a full recovery in time.

  “There, all done,” one of the nurses said. “We had to make sure your incisions were draining, Mr. GOODWIN.” She said it loud, as if he was deaf. They adjusted his gown and I pulled the thin blanket back over him and tucked it in. He closed his eyes.

  My cell phone rang and I scrambled to pull it out of my bag.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Lana.” My skin crawled when I heard the gravelly voice on the other end. Victor Savitch. Even over the phone he gave off creepy vibes. “I have not heard from your father, and we have something important to discuss. Do you know where he is?” I debated whether I should stall him or lie. I decided the truth would make the perfect excuse.

  “Actually, he’s very sick. He’s in the hospital.” Because of you, you jerk! “He won’t be able to talk for at least a few weeks.”

  “Ah, that’s a shame. I’m sorry to hear this. And right before your birthday.” My stomach curdled. He knew my birthday. What else did he know?

  “I have to go now, Victor. My dad needs me.”

  “Yes, he does. Now more than ever it seems. If you want to help your father, meet me at my boat tomorrow. We need to discuss your situation, which I’m afraid is not so good.”

  Fear fluttered up my spine. “What do you mean? Look, I know all about the loan he got from you. And don’t worry, we are going to pay it all back, okay? We just need a little time.”