Crimson Rain

by Meg O'Brien

  “No, of course I don’t mind,” Gina said, though truthfully she would have preferred that Rachel stay home and spend the morning with her. Christmas break went by all too fast, and it seemed as if they’d had far too little time together since Rachel came home.

  “I mean, you’re going up to Camano Island today, aren’t you?” Rachel asked. “To work on that house for a client?”

  “Yes, but not till later. Actually, I had hoped…” She stopped, not saying that she had hoped Rachel would spend the morning with her.

  “And Dad will probably be working late,” Rachel said reasonably. “This seems like a good time. I haven’t seen Ellen since summer.”

  Gina smiled and put her arm around Rachel’s waist, pulling her close. “It’s a perfect time,” she said, trying to keep the wistful tone out of her voice. “You should see your old friends when you’re home.”

  Rachel gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll just be overnight. And it’s not as if she doesn’t live right across town.”

  “I know. Do you want me to drive you over there?”

  “No,” Rachel said. “I’ll take my old Mustang. In fact, I can’t wait to drive it again.”

  “Then go,” Gina said, pushing her away with a playful shove. “I’m up to my ears in work, anyway.”

  “What time do you think you’ll be home from Camano?” Rachel asked.

  “Oh, probably not much later than seven. Depends on the traffic. I could call you.” Gina knew that Rachel always liked to know where her parents were, even when she herself wasn’t going to be around.

  “No, don’t call,” Rachel said quickly, then bit her lower lip. Laughing, she said, “I mean, don’t be silly, it would only embarrass me. After all, I’m a big girl now. I don’t need Mommy checking up on me. Besides, we’ll probably be out at a movie.”

  “Okay.” Gina smiled. “Well, have a good time, then.” She went back to her pile of invoices as Rachel headed for the door.

  It wasn’t until after Rachel had gone that Gina raised her head and stared out the window at the last traces of fog breaking up under the insistent morning sun.

  What was that about? she wondered. Why doesn’t she want me to call her at Ellen’s?

  But then she shrugged it off. It’s just like she said, Gina told herself—she’s a big girl now.

  Gina slung her briefcase into the back seat of her comfortable eight-year-old Crown Victoria, the car she had bought for driving long distances. Camano Island was an hour and a half away, but the smooth drive and big, cushy seats made her feel as if she were in her own living room. Add to that a good CD, and the driving time seemed minimal, the traffic bearable.

  Paul had urged her to use the Infiniti when they first bought it, but Gina didn’t like change. She was used to the Vic, and she wasn’t concerned with what her clients thought of her driving it, the way Paul felt he needed to be. Her clients might be as wealthy as Paul’s, but they were usually older, many of retirement age, and more interested in comfort than appearances. By the time they came to her, they already had their success well in hand.

  Take the Albrights, who had hired her to redo their thirty-year-old home on Camano. Ted and Amy Albright had bought it when they hit it big with Microsoft stock. There had been down times with the stock, of course, but Ted had been smart enough to get out of the market before the bad times hit. He’d cleverly taken all he had and put it into more stable investments, and now he was retiring. He and Amy were currently in their condo on Maui, and during their absence they wanted Gina to redesign the two-story beach house on Elger Bay for easier living, with a master bedroom and bath downstairs. The upstairs rooms would now be used only for guests.

  The job had been more difficult than she’d expected, Gina thought, and she would have to finish it before the Albrights returned in March. That meant some long hours between now and then.

  She pressed hard on the accelerator north of Everett, and the Vic, which she fondly called the Silver Bullet because of its color, moved up smoothly to seventy miles per hour. She set the cruise control and thought about the happenings of the past few days as the countryside sped by.

  Was it possible that Angela was back? And if so, had she come here with an intent to harm them? Gina gave a shudder. Their entire lives could be changed overnight.

  Unlike her sister, Rachel had never been any real trouble. There were, of course, the childhood years when she was recovering from having been separated from her twin, and then the teenage years, when she seemed sharp as a prickly pear, always on the defensive, an argument for everything.

  But that was normal, and Gina had done her best to be patient. Even so, she couldn’t stifle a sigh of relief when Rachel chose a college out of state. Not having the responsibilities of day-to-day parenthood would be a welcome change, she had thought, although of course she would miss her. She would just have to find a new life of her own.

  Which she had done, in a way. But not with Paul. He was much too busy, and they had drifted apart, each going in separate directions.

  Gina sighed. She had never wanted to hurt Paul, but she needed more than he was able to give her. She didn’t even blame him; it was just the way things had turned out. They kept their marriage intact partly for Rachel, partly for the business, and partly because divorce after all these years would take more effort than simply going on.

  Although, sometimes the facade was extremely difficult to keep up. She’d had an uneasy moment at the police station the other night, when Rachel was asked by Detective Duarte about the man in the coffee shop. “Come to think of it, he was looking more at Mom than me,” Rachel had said.

  I covered well, though, didn’t I? Gina asked herself now. Paul didn’t suspect a thing.

  While Gina was driving to Camano Island, Paul was making the rounds of the five huge warehouse rooms that comprised Soleil Antiques. The name, which meant “sun” in French, came from a large eighteenth-century wooden sign Gina had given him the day he opened what was then a very small shop. Composed of a large sun with rays issuing from it, the sign had originated in France. Dark spots of wear on the face made it seem as if the sun were smiling.

  “It’s to make you smile during the dark winter days,” Gina had said, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “You know, the kinds of days when you can’t bear to drag yourself to work. You’ll park, get out of your car, and this will be greeting you, rain or shine.”

  Those were the days when they still had their lives and the entire world ahead of them. Since then, the business, at least, had gone well. Paul now owned three buildings at this end of the block, each connected to the other. The main building was three stories tall, with stairs going both up and down from the first floor, where customers entered.

  He had been incredibly lucky, he knew. It had been a matter of timing, and he’d done the right things at the right time by depending on a certain intuitive sense about the way things were going, both in business and with the world.

  It had taken a while to acquire this amount of inventory, of course, but now he had one room dedicated to Chinese antiques: altar tables, cabinets, chests, screens and small accessories like wooden plates and food buckets. Another room held English antiques, and yet another a mixture of Early American and Colonial. These included nineteenth-century maps and engravings, lamps, quilts, pewter—a sampling of the kinds of accessories a client might want. There was a scattering of Civil War memorabilia, jewelry and vintage china, as well as some collectibles that weren’t expensive, but that clients bought in order to fill their homes with a bit of the past.

  A fourth room held art deco pieces, which always seemed to be popular. Paul stocked but personally didn’t care for the Billy Haines revival—furniture of the forties, designed by the actor-turned-designer who’d been “found” by Joan Crawford. Its sharp angles and metal and plastics were too hard-edged for him. In decor he preferred the Hollywood “Glamour” era: the soft pastels, crystal water carafes, penguin cocktail shakers in glass and sterling silve
r, and soft creamy draperies. It was a style that always reminded him of the old Thin Man movies of the thirties, which he had loved watching on TV as a kid. When he walked into a room decorated in this fashion, it was as if the stars of yesterday were saying to him, “We know what it’s like to feel nurtured, and now you do, too.”

  This, then, was Paul’s business, and he had been content enough with it. It was the fifth room, the closest to his office, however, that he truly loved. Called the Crystal Cave, it was an entire room dedicated to hundreds of pieces of art glass from a variety of periods. Paul and Gina had spent innumerable hours designing just the right lighting to make every piece sparkle at any time of the day. His personal favorites were the Gallè vases, and the contemporary pieces by Dale Chihuly, of which he had only a few. Still they seemed to overshadow everything else in terms of beauty, and Paul had made a special alcove for them. He had visited Chihuly on his houseboat hot-shop on Lake Union some time back, and had been held in thrall by the long hallway ceiling he had lined with a wild array of some eight hundred pieces of brightly lit glass, the most beautiful art forms Paul had ever seen. While he knew that the work behind Chihuly’s art glass must be monumental, the end result seemed whimsical and light, as if it had come together out of a spirit of fun.

  Paul deplored the fact that there was little whimsy left in contemporary life, and every morning when he first arrived at Soleil he would enter the Crystal Cave and stand stock-still, as if listening for some ethereal voice, or the notes of a forgotten song. This room had been inspired by memories of a book he’d read when he was small, about a cave that had gems of all sizes and colors hanging from the ceiling. They would tinkle at the slightest breath of air, like fairy wind chimes, and Paul had imagined having a room like that one day. Lying in bed at eight, nine, ten years old, with the sounds of his parents arguing in the next room, he would squeeze his eyes shut tight and vow to himself that he would one day, in some way, have something magical in his life. A place to go where there were no sounds, no violence.

  The Crystal Cave had become that for him. On difficult days, when the bad memories settled down around him like a dark cloud, he could always escape into this room for a few brief moments and soak in its beauty and peace. It had also become a favorite of his clients, who never failed to remark upon its warmth and radiance.

  When the earthquake struck in Seattle, Paul had panicked. He was in his office at the time, and it took him no more than a minute to run from there to the Crystal Cave, his heart beating wildly. Catching his breath, he saw with relief that only a few pieces had toppled to the floor. Since he’d purposely put in deep grooves to hold the plates on their shelves, and thick, lush carpeting in the event a customer should drop anything, the few pieces that had fallen had not even suffered a scratch.

  Later Paul learned that businesses on either side of him had been damaged, and he had thought that perhaps the gods had smiled on him that day. From that point on he had not entered this room even once without a deep feeling of gratitude.

  The house on Queen Anne Hill, however, had been furnished by Gina with older, more traditional antiques. “It cries out for the elegance of Queen Anne, Chippendale, Hepplewhite,” she had argued. Gina had excellent taste, and for that reason Paul had gone along with her. But when it came time to furnish Lacey’s apartment a few months ago, he had decorated it in the 1930s Hollywood style of his own taste. Lacey had loved it, and sometimes he wondered how it was possible that he and Lacey had so many more things in common than he and Gina did.

  Yet, he loved Gina. They had survived so many bad times together over the years, and the one thing he knew for certain was that Gina would always be there. With Lacey, he felt as if, like a butterfly just breaking out of its cocoon, she might disappear one day—fly off to have a life of her own. That wasn’t at all unlikely, and he knew that when he was with her, he had to make every moment together count.

  Gina pulled into the semicircular driveway at the Albright house, which overlooked the Sound and, across the way, Whidbey Island. A few sailboats dotted the water, and sunshine skipped over the wakes they left behind. The air was unusually warm for December. When days like this appeared, people in Washington took advantage of it. There were far too many of the other kind.

  She unlocked the white double doors with the key Amy Albright had left with her, and walked through the foyer into the living room. Whether the sun was shining or not, the tall wall-to-wall windows in here always set her back a moment or two. Her own house in Seattle had heavy draperies to close out the dank weather, and she always felt as if she were safe and cocooned there. Here in this harsh, bright light, she felt stripped, exposed, as if every flaw, every wrongdoing were laid bare.

  Guilt rose in her throat and almost choked her, but she forced it back down. Guilt never helped anything, or so the priest at the small, out-of-the-way church Gina had sought out last year had told her. At least not without a confession of sins and a vow not to sin again. Gina hadn’t been able to do that. She couldn’t explain why, but she needed her sin, the way a fish needs water or a bird its tree.

  Frowning, she shook off the dark thoughts and made a quick pass through the house, retaking measurements for new ideas she’d come up with. Then she shot new photographs to work from at home. Most of her work here had already been done, but she had thought of some changes she would like to suggest to the builder. He wouldn’t be happy with getting her ideas this late, but she thought the Albrights would love them—especially since they would add significantly to the value of the house.

  Ending up in the former den downstairs, Gina stood still and felt the change in vibrations, the feng shui. The den had already been expanded and turned into a large master bedroom. It was a wonderful room now, she thought, so different from the formerly dark, paneled one. The walls were done in a wallpaper that was white with light sprigs of blue flowers, which was what Amy Albright had asked for. Though this wouldn’t have been Gina’s choice, she believed in pleasing her clients. She also knew precisely what accessories she would bring in to give the room the country look her clients had asked for.

  Amy Albright particularly loved a Louis XV armoire that they’d had for years, and she wanted it left against a wall. Gina thought she could make it fit into the new decor, especially if she leaned toward a French country look. Large blue-and-white checks on a sofa angled in a corner would work, leaving free the broad expanse of glass that looked out onto a flagstone terrace and the Sound. Only Ted Albright’s telescope would go there, and both inside and out there would be wooden containers filled with bright, vibrant flowers. An old dining room table in the garage could be cut down and refinished, then distressed, to serve as a large coffee table in front of the fireplace.

  When appropriate, Gina liked using an occasional piece belonging to her clients, and didn’t mind doing the work of making them look like antiques to match the rest of the room. Her clients appreciated the fact that she kept an eye on costs, and when the job was finished they never felt as if they were walking into a showroom, but rather their own, comfortable home that still had some familiarity to it. She would find paintings and other accessories with blue hydrangeas, Amy Albright’s favorite flower, and in the new connecting bathroom she had already placed thick white towels with blue hydrangeas on the border.

  Some designers would call this look too “cute,” but again, it was what the Albrights wanted. Genuine antique tables and a bed would come from Soleil. Gina had already picked them out with Paul’s help, and when they were moved up here, he would come with the delivery truck to assure that every single piece arrived unscathed. Paul had built a successful business by giving clients this kind of personal attention, and over the years that was one thing that had never changed. Gina was proud of him for that.

  She had finished her work today early, and she headed into the new bathroom to look around. It was a large room, with a big, square jetted tub, and windows on three sides. The windows didn’t face the Sound, but rather the s
treet and neighbors. Amy had asked for an atrium to be built on all sides, for privacy. Gina thought she would be delighted with the plants, trees and flowers she and the landscape gardener had come up with.

  At least in this small way she could please someone. The burden of guilt became a tenth of an ounce lighter.

  She was tired, and her limbs ached from running around this past week with Rachel, not to mention all the work of the holiday. The new tub called out to her, and at first Gina hesitated. Then she thought wearily, why not? Amy was a great person, and they’d become friends. She wouldn’t mind if her designer stole a moment or two in her bath.

  But had she locked the front door? She thought so, and could almost see herself turning the dead bolt. Yes, she was pretty sure she had done that, and she was much too tired to walk all the way back through the house and check.

  Gina put her cell phone on a white wicker table by the tub. Then, shrugging out of her suit jacket, she bent over and turned on the new but old-style chrome water faucet. Removing her blouse, skirt, stockings and underwear, she stood before the large new mirror. Looking at herself, she thought, not too bad for forty-one. My face looks tired, but the body has held up pretty well.

  She gave credit to the exercise classes she’d been taking at the sports club, since Paul had been so busy and she’d had time to kill after work. Three days a week, regular as clockwork. She hadn’t missed until this week, when Rachel had been home, and she now had well-developed muscles in her arms and legs to prove it. Not to mention great abs, she thought with satisfaction. It was her strength that pleased her most, however, not the aesthetics of having a good body—the feeling that no matter what happened, she might be able to handle it.