The Secret of Everything (34 page)

“Oh, come on, give me alluring, at least.”

“You’re mysterious,” he said. “Mostly mysterious.”

“No, I’m not! I told you my secrets.”

“Maybe. You’re still mysterious. Unpredictable. And …”

“Yes?”

“Very sexy.”

She thought of him, over her, kissing her, and a shiver ran down her spine. “Well, so are you.”

“Yeah? What else am I, Tessa?”

“Solid,” she said. “And honorable.” Afraid that was too serious, she added, “And very climbable.”

He laughed.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Tessa didn’t want to let him go, and yet the whole thing could hardly continue this way, could it? “I’m going to be around for a month or so, I think. Do we see each other or not?”

The raggedness was back in his voice when he said, “If we can work it out, yes.”

“Fair enough,” she said.

“Sorry,” he rumbled. “I’m just tired right this minute. I guess I should let you go.”

“All right. Let me know if the treatment works.”

“I will.” There was a long pause on the other end of the line. “Good night, Tessa.”

“Good night, Vince. Get a good night’s sleep.”

“I’ll sure try.”

Sam woke at dawn and walked out on the beach with Loki and Wolfenstein, leaving old Peaches asleep on a blanket that had been on Tessa’s bed.

He had left at least six messages for his daughter, and she had not returned any of them. He was afraid she would not ever return them again. In the quiet of the gray morning, he walked along the shore, watching the restless waves, smelling seaweed and brine and fish. A sharp wind whistled in over the water, and for the first time in more than thirty years, he was afraid. Not of the past. He didn’t believe in regrets. Life came at you like a hurricane, and you did what you could with whatever it blew into your hands, good and bad. Given the choice, he’d do it all exactly the same.

But here life had tossed out this card on the table, a big dark omen when Tessa decided to go back to Los Ladrones. Why had he ignored it? He had just kept telling himself it was all such a long time ago it wouldn’t matter.

Hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, he paused to look out over the wide black rolling sea, which he loved. As a boy growing up in Alabama, he’d dreamed of the ocean, had made models of big fish and old sailing vessels, read tales of pirates, and imagined a life of adventure and possibility.

He’d not actually
seen
an ocean until he was eighteen and headed to Vietnam, drafted into the Army. In his heady foolishness, war seemed to offer as much adventure as a pirate ship. At least he would get the hell out of Nowhere, Alabama, away from the smell of cow shit and the promise of a life like his bitter father’s, who had died mad when Sam was twelve. His mother had followed soon after. Sam lived with relatives, this one and that one.

Vietnam had twisted him forever. Even now he could suffer nightmares over it. But the sea had lived up to her promise. He loved her, more truly than he had loved any woman, that much was sure.

He loved only Tessa more. He sat for an hour on the sand, shivering and damp, saying his farewells, soaking the cool sweet brine into his body. Then he went back to his house, called the woman who knitted dog sweaters for Peaches, and asked for her help packing things up. She’d watch over the margarita shack until he came back and found a renter for the house. She tried to coax him into a little farewell spoon, but he gently refused.

Sam drove an old covered camper truck for this reason—you never knew when you’d need to get on the road, and with dogs, you had to be able to make their lives all right. He packed
his sleeping bag, a cooler full of fresh California fruits, a few cans of tuna fish, some bread and peanut M&Ms and plenty of fresh water for himself and the dogs, just in case. The two big dogs rode in the back, on pallets made of old blankets, and each of them had access to a tiny window through which they could stick their noses for fresh air. He’d leave the vents on the roof open, too, and they’d be fine. Addled, ancient Peaches rode in front with Sam, on a bed of Tessa’s clothes and blankets. The only possession he couldn’t travel without was his thick notebook of CDs. Music could get you through anything. He was on the road by ten, in a drizzle that was cooling and hardly dangerous, drinking coffee out of a plastic go-cup he’d had since the early nineties. The Grateful Dead played “Friend of the Devil” on the CD player, and Sam sang along.

Tessa made a simple breakfast of fruit and bread and tea in her little kitchen. If she was staying for a while, she’d need to get some good English tea bags before much longer; they were easy to order online, but the shipping was horrific. In town, she might get lucky and find a cheaper source.

It was a relief to be awake after a night tossed with strange fragments of dreams, minglings of Sam and the rivers and Lisa and even Vince mixed in there somewhere.

She sat at the counter in the kitchen, enjoying the moody, misty light. The house was ancient, with slightly crooked window frames, wide pine boards on the floor, and adobe benches built right into the wall next to the fireplace and beneath the window in the kitchen. Both kitchen and bathroom had been recently outfitted with modern appliances and new tiles. The furniture was battered, but what could you expect from the VFW?

She braved the mist and clipped some of the cosmos from the garden along with one long red rose and arranged them in a Ball jar she found in the cupboard. The pink and red and white flowers in the simple jar were so beautiful that she took out her camera and shot a series of photos, finding serenity again through the lens. Scatters of yellow pollen littered one ridged pink cosmos petal. The rose was velvety, like chocolate cupcakes. She even enjoyed the clear blues and greens in the stems sticking into the water in the jar. She shot it all on the table, then put it on a windowsill and experimented with the light coming through the jar, through the petals and stems.

It was startling to realize she’d been at it for more than an hour. Even then, she wasn’t ready to stop. She photographed the open door leading to the courtyard filled with flowers, and the smeary blue of mountains beneath low clouds, and the kitchen window by itself, and the curve of adobe on a bench, and the rumpled bed in the low, clear, pale light.

Her heart danced.

She shot Felix gazing up at her in the wary way dogs had with cameras, captured his black ears and his long white muzzle, and she fell so in love with him that she put the camera aside, kissed his forehead and nose, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He made a low, grateful sound in his throat and licked her neck.

“I guess,” she said to him, “we have to make a trip out to the farm. Let’s get your leash.”

Loading him into the rental car, she realized that was something she’d need to address, too. She didn’t have a car and couldn’t afford to keep driving this one. It was due back in a couple of days, and she’d have to figure out what to do. A bicycle, maybe. The area was easily navigated with a bike, at least until winter set in.

By then she’d be gone. On to whatever tour she and Mick decided upon.

In the gray day, she drove out to Green Gate Farms. Before she spoke to her father—no, not her father; Sam—she wanted a few more answers on her own.

Rather than parking in the main lot, Tessa drove farther up one of the side roads, looking around for the one that would take her to the hot springs she and Cherry had talked about. From there, she could walk down to the house and see if they’d let her in.

A green pickup truck stopped, and a man with gray hair in a long braid said, “Can I help you with something?”

Tessa smiled. “I was just driving around. It’s pretty. Do you mind?”

“We have specific times for guided tours. I’m sure you can understand why we can’t let the public go traipsing through the fields.”

“Oh, I’m not going to get out of the car. Promise.”

He smiled. “I’m sure you wouldn’t, sweetheart, and I know it sounds downright paranoid, but we have to protect the integrity of our products here. Been a lot of food scares in recent years.”

Tessa nodded. “Right, I get it.” She put her hand on the gearshift. “Maybe you can tell me where to find Paula or Cherry, then?”

“At the greenhouse, probably. But if you go up to the visitor center, they’ll find anybody you want.”

“Thanks.” Tessa turned the car around and headed back to the main lot. The guy followed her, so there was no way out. She thought she might elude him by waiting until he went wherever he was headed, but he simply parked and got out of the truck, pulling a cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans.
“You wanted to find Paula or Cherry, you said? Particular about which one?”

“Both; either.”

The man was about sixty or a little more, with an aristocratic face sharpened by years of harsh sun and wind. He punched in a telephone number and waited for somebody to answer, and Tessa felt in her bones that she knew him, but she couldn’t call it up. Frustrated, she looked away as he made his phone call.

And from this angle, she saw a stand of aspen trees and the edges of a tepee. She took an involuntary step toward it, remembering an open meadow, pale green dotted with tiny white daisies, and the inside of the tepee itself, with sleeping bags and beds and—

“You all right, sweetheart? You look like you saw a ghost.”

Tessa shook her head. “I’ve been seeing ghosts since I landed in this place. I can’t really remember anything, but I was here with my … father as a child.”

“There were a lot of people here for a little while, off and on. What’s your name?”

“Tessa Harlow,” she said without thinking.

He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” He offered a strong, hardworking hand. “My name’s Jon Nathan. My brother and I founded the place.”

“Oh, hey. Good to meet you. I’ve been reading a lot about it all, trying to get a cooking tour into the school.”

Light dawned. “Ah, right, right. Cherry told me.”

“You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished here,” she said. She took off her hat, shaking out her hair, and tucked her hands in her pockets.

“What’s your name again?” He had gone quite still. “Who did you say your father was?”

Even if she was furious and wanted answers, Tessa couldn’t bear to tell anyone else just yet. Giving Jon Nathan her most charming smile, she sidestepped the question. “Now you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do I remind you of someone?”

He frowned. “Paula is on her way down. She’ll meet you in the café.” His cell phone rang, and he punched a button. “Hello?” he barked, and pointed Tessa up the hill to the café.

She didn’t have any choice—she lifted a hand and headed for the café. Felix trotted behind her, sitting politely at the door while she ordered a cup of the heady tea. “I’d like to buy a half pound in bulk, too,” she said.

When the girl handed her cup over the counter, Tessa was snared again by the scent and bent her head down, closing her eyes so she could smell it, breathe it in deeply.

A vast sense of well-being moved through her, but no memories surfaced. She carried the cup to a table beneath the roof outside. It was chilly, but she wanted to stick with Felix, and the light was fantastic. She’d left her camera in the car but took mental photos of the squashes spilling out of whiskey barrels and the quiet mood of the fields.

A woman in jeans and a jacket and a bandana came over. “Hello,” she said. “You must be Tessa, right?”

It was the eyebrowless woman from the farmers’ market. “Right.”

“I’m Paula, Cherry’s mother.” She shook hands by encasing Tessa’s hand in a sandwich between her own and looking deeply into her face. “Has anyone told you that you have the eyes of the children born at the commune?”

“No,” Tessa said, startled. “What kind of eyes?”

“Green eyes,” Paula said. She didn’t let go of Tessa’s hand.

“Like Guinnevere,” Tessa said, without thinking.

“Yes.” She smoothed her palm over Tessa’s knuckles. “Are you one of Xander’s children?”

To her horror, Tessa’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know.” She looked away. “Maybe.”

“It’s all right. Drink some tea.”

“I do remember this tea,” Tessa said, trying to calm herself, to think of something besides the tide of emotion that was rising so suddenly and emphatically. “I remember the smell.”

“I’ve been making it a long, long time.” She kept a hand over Tessa’s. “How old are you, honey?”

“Thirty-seven—I mean, thirty-nine.”

Paula chuckled. “Do you lie about your age already?”

“No, it’s complicated. I thought I was thirty-seven, but my … birth certificate was … lost.”

Beyond the roof, the rain began to fall more heavily, pattering on the ground and the leaves. Felix moved closer to Tessa.

“You’re not really here for the tour possibilities, are you?” Paula asked.

“Actually, I am. I didn’t remember all … of … this until I got here.”

“I see.” Paula leaned forward. “How can I help you, sweetheart?”

Tessa shook her head, then bowed it. “Dang it,” she said fiercely. “This is embarrassing. I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d feel so emotional.”

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

“One thing I keep remembering is a sister. I think I had a sister. Who looked like me.”

Paula nodded. “You probably have many sisters. And brothers. You all look alike. Blond, green-eyed, lanky. My daughter,
Cherry, is one of Xander’s children. He was a beautiful and charismatic man.”

“How many children?”

Paula shook her head. “I don’t know. A dozen, maybe more. Not many stayed after he died.”

My mother killed him
. “How did he die?” Tessa asked.

“That, I’m afraid, is something we don’t talk about.” Her smile was as beneficent as a nun’s, her hands neatly folded. “It was one of the darkest days of the commune, and we nearly didn’t get through it.”

Tessa nodded. She took a breath. “There is something I’d like to do, if it’s possible.”

“I’m happy to try.”

“When I was here a few days ago, Cherry told me that there was a conference going on in the house, that old Victorian. I’d really like to see the tower room. I remember playing there.”