Valley of the Moon (4 page)

My dove in the clefts of the rock,

In the hiding places on the mountainside, 


Show me your face, let me hear your voice;


For your voice is sweet, 
and your face is lovely.

Catch for us the foxes, 
the little foxes 
that ruin the vineyards.

The thought of being buried next to your soul mate was so romantic. It was the getting killed together part that didn’t sound so fun.

So many people in my family had met with untimely deaths. It sort of ran in the family. Can bad luck be genetic? Based on my life so far, the answer was yes.

My dad sat on the wall across from me. He stared up at the trees with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He kept his sunglasses on.

“Poor mom, losing both parents at the same time. At least I got to keep one, right Dad?” My father shifted and sighed.

“Kind of cold up here today. We shouldn’t stay too long.” His voice broke as he said the words.

I never met Grandpa Bart or Grandma Caroline. Bart moved to San Francisco from New York for medical school. He met a young nurse named Caroline Abbott and fell in love. When my mother was eight, her parents left her with Caroline’s elderly mother to go out and celebrate his new medical practice.

They were driving up the winding road between Sonoma and Napa when a grape harvester truck lost its brakes and hit them head on. Killed them instantly. Even though, really, there’s no such thing as instant death. Neural impulses travel 200 miles an hour, which is faster than a speeding harvester truck. Faster than a body falling 245 feet, which is going seventy-five miles an hour by the time it hits the ocean.

Even in “instant” death, there can be plenty of time to ponder your impending doom.

Yes, I looked it up.

They shipped my orphaned mother to New York City to live with some of Bart’s relatives.

My mother never told him much about those years in New York and he refused to pry, which left me with only a vague history of her early life. I knew she went to Barnard and I knew she was a ballet dancer and I knew she loved flowers. That was about it. When my dad met her, she was working in a flower shop in Sonoma and studying horticulture.

My dad’s voice broke the misty silence. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” He jammed his thumb and pointer finger into his eyes. But you can’t push tears back in. It’s easier to just let them out. It’s over faster that way. I walked to the mossy dirt next to my mother’s grave. My fingers traced her carved inscription.

ANNIE ROSE GOODWIN

JANUARY 6, 1970 – DECEMBER 26, 2005

BELOVED WIFE AND MOTHER

“LOVE IS AS STRONG AS DEATH”

I placed the lavender roses at the base of her headstone. Ten years without a mother is long enough. In a flash, I felt every second of the ugly span of years I would be forced to endure without her. Days, months, years, decades unspooled in front of me like a ribbon of lonely road.

I curled into a ball and let my tears water the ground on her grave. My heart felt like a ball of lead in my chest. I imagined it pushing down through my body, growing heavier and heavier, plummeting deep into the damp black dirt, back to where it wanted to be.

With her.

Like a magnet forever drawn to Earth’s poles.

“Should we get out of here, honey?” My dad could only take twenty minutes of mourning a year. I sat up, wiped my tears, and took a deep breath. One more year down. I looked at the names of my ancestors.

“Hey Dad? Did Mom ever mention someone named Tanith Fremont? Does that name ring a bell?”

My father froze. He squinted at me behind his sunglasses. “Where did you hear that name?” His voice sounded strained.

“Oh, a letter came in the mail the other day,” I said, watching him closely. “I sent it back. Wrong address, I guess. But...do you think it might have been some old relative of hers?”

He shrugged. “Never heard it before. Northern California’s got a lot of Fremonts.” That frustrating wall of ignorance. I think he was so in love with her he didn’t care about her life story. “I didn’t know I wouldn’t have time to ask her all those questions!” he once said when I pressed him for details. “I never imagined any future that didn’t involve her.”

He took off his glasses, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiped his eyes.

“Dad, why’d she do this to us?” It was my annual ritual. The Asking of the Question for Which There Was No Answer. “Only God knows, Lana. Someday we will, too,” he’d say.

Ten years of the same answer.

But not this time. He stuffed his handkerchief into his pocket and stood.

“She cried a lot that week.” His voice was faint, like he was struggling to force the words out. Wait, this was not the Ritual Answer! This was New Information!

I held my breath as he continued. “I never told you that, did I? At first I thought, oh boy, she’s pregnant again, but when I asked her, she said, ‘No Johnny, it’s just the holidays.’ She always got the blues around Christmas. She said she missed someone who died.”

“Who?”

“She didn’t say.”
And you didn’t ask? Thanks again, Dad.

Something cracked in the branches overhead. A hawk swooped out of a tree and disappeared against the sky.

A rain of dead leaves floated down.

“She had gone to the bridge before. I never told you that. She went every year around that time. So, I don’t know, Lana. Maybe I could have stopped her. I just didn’t think…I mean, I
never
thought she’d…” His voice seized up and he stopped talking.

My fingernails dug into the soft peat so I wouldn’t spin off the face of the Earth. He walked over and knelt in the dirt next to me. “She loved you so much, Lana. You were her life. Her whole life.” He broke off, stifling a violent sob.
Then how could she leave me, Dad?

He had given me more questions I couldn’t answer.

At least not in this life.

I touched the implacable face of her headstone.

Cold as death.

***

That night while I got ready for bed I came across the little diary in my underwear drawer. I pulled it out and rubbed the cover.

“Open Sesame,” I whispered. The brass lock held fast.
Key, where are you? Ghost, you forgot to leave me the key! You dropped that snow globe in the right place, but now what?

On an impulse, I pulled the loose wooden plank up and reached my hand far into the crawl space, but I didn’t find anything except dust and dried glitter.

I sat down at my desk and typed “Tanith Fremont” into Google.

There were dozens of links to the city of Fremont, California. Links about Tanith Belbin, the ice dancer. Links explaining how the name Tanith means Phoenician goddess of the moon. There were three Tanith Fremonts on Facebook, but two lived in Australia and one was a teenager in Canada.

Finally on the ninth page of links, I recognized a name.

“Dr. Bart Fremont and his wife Caroline.” It was their obituary from 1978. I scanned it for clues. The last line read: “Their young daughter will be cared for by Mrs. Fremont’s relatives in New York City.”

But no mention of a Tanith Fremont who lived in Glen Ellen. It was like she didn’t exist.

Or had been erased.

***

I am in a park sitting on a bench under trees filled with white flowers. The sun is so bright I can barely see. Children run past me in winter coats holding balloons on strings. The old lady sitting next to me has long white hair in a braid draped over one shoulder. She hands me a huge balloon as clear as glass. The children shriek and laugh. She takes a long silver pin out of her pocket. She reaches up with a tiny, gnarled hand and stabs the balloon.

It explodes. Silvery snowflakes float down around us.

I reach out to catch some in my hand. They’re ice cold.

Her feathery voice whispers something. I can’t hear her so I lean forward.

Into silence.

The narrow street outside
the Blodgett’s midcentury modern home was lined with cars.

Inside, the minimalist living room was packed with teenage hordes stampeding across Mrs. Blodgett’s pristine white carpet. I squeezed through crowds of people I’d never seen before. All the girls were decked out for New Year’s Eve. Loud bass music blasted from the backyard.
Mrs. Blodgett is going to slaughter Piper.

Even worse, the place was positively crawling with boys—and I was in head-to-toe boy repellent: an old flannel shirt, my least-flattering jeans, and my dad’s musty pea coat. All I had in my overnight bag was a nightgown, a toothbrush, and clean underwear. My beauty routine for the evening had consisted of pulling my wet hair into a ponytail and putting on deodorant.

I think I still had zit cream on my chin.

I hurried into the kitchen to hide. A gaggle of younger girls I didn’t know in spangled mini dresses clustered around the island pouring themselves shots of Jagermeister. Dark brown liquid splashed onto the white counter top. I was about to lay down the law when Piper shouted behind me.

“Take it outside, girls!” The mini dresses scattered. Piper saw me and grinned. I stared at her. I had never seen her so made up. She was in a tight red dress, high heels, and had applied the entire contents of a Sephora store to her face.

“Thank God you’re here! Can you BELIEVE this scene? I have NO idea who half these people are, but I decree this party to be AWESOME.”

“Who are all these kids? Are you drunk, Piper?” I said. As a star athlete, she kept herself on a strict regimen. She ignored my questions and looked me up and down like I was wearing a kilt of dead squirrel pelts and a coconut shell bra.

“You had one job, dude. I told you there would be boys you show up dressed to
saw logs
?”

“You never said it’d be black tie! I thought there’d be like four people here! Four girls.”

Piper shook her head. “Oh, ye of little faith. I emailed the invite to everyone on the Northern California tennis roster. Worked like a charm.” She sighed. “Maybe too well. Now go up to my room and change before anyone sees you. Into a dress, please. And show some cleavage. And would it kill you to put on some makeup? I need a wingman, not a lumberjack, okay?”

“Isn’t Maya here?” I asked.

“Yes, but she’s been talking to the same dude for like an hour. And he has a brother. And I think we’re in love. Meet me outside by the pool in five or you’re dead to me.” She jabbed a freshly manicured finger into my shoulder and wobbled out of the kitchen.

I ran upstairs, dropped my backpack in one of the guest rooms, and sprinted down the hall to Piper’s room. I picked my way through her heaps of rejected outfits and made my way to the closet, where I spied a simple black dress that looked New Years Eve-y. I took off my clothes and pulled the dress over my head. It had thin straps and a V-neck, but at least it fell almost to my knees, so I wouldn’t totally freeze.

I stood in front of the huge mirror in her bathroom in her size ten suede wedges. I was a size eight-and-a-half in shoes, but they’d have to do. Because it was New Years and there were boys, I did my usual work makeup routine times two: darker around the eyes, extra blush, a double coat of mascara, and lip gloss. I pulled out my ponytail and pinned the sides of my hair back with the bobby pins I found embedded in her shag bath mat.
Seriously, your poor housekeeper, Piper.
I was no neat freak, but Piper was a disaster.

Of course, having a pathetically tiny wardrobe makes it a lot easier to keep your bedroom clean.

I stowed my stuff back in my room and went downstairs. Outside, Piper and Maya sat by the pool with two guys who looked like identical twins.

Maya squealed when she saw me. “Lana, finally! Where have you been?”

I gave her a huge hug. “Ugh, the usual. School, work, school.” She wore skinny black jeans and a loose, lacy peasant top. She had her long brown hair coiled into a glossy bun on top of her head.

“I miss you,” she said, squeezing my hand. “My mom says hi. She’s worried about you. She thinks you’re working too hard.” Maya Hidalgo and I had been close friends ever since her dad Cesar started working at Valley Imports years ago. He was a master restorer of classic cars. She went to the local public school. She’d known me in my pre-Crawford family, pre-Briar days but I never got to hang out with her anymore.

I never got to hang out with anyone anymore.

“Not tonight, Maya! We can just chat and hang all night!” I grinned at her. She got a weird look on her face. Like she was desperately trying to tell me something with her eyes.

Piper cleared her throat behind us. “Lana, may I present Evan and Wyatt? They’re brothers.” Both boys stuck out their hands in unison. I shook them one at a time. Both of them had short, light brown hair, huge grins, and square jaws.
Perfect. Your only friends found boyfriends. On the same night. You will never see them again.

“Nice to meet you, Lana,” one of the boys said. “We’re a year apart, so any twin fantasies your friends are having are totally ruined.” Piper and Maya giggled uncontrollably.

“I’ll make a note,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Hey girls, I think I’ll go grab a soda.” Wyatt whispered in Piper’s ear and she nodded.

“Lana, since you’re going inside, could you do me the hugest favor and put a box of toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom? Blanca keeps it in the laundry room. Wyatt said it was all gone.” Piper smiled sweetly at me.

“Yep. You do not want to know what I had to wipe with,” he said.

“You’re right, bro. We don’t,” Evan replied.

I could hear them all cackling behind me as I made my way back into the house. There were at least ten people waiting for the downstairs guest bathroom when I got there. I stepped into line holding a giant package of toilet paper. 24 rolls. Double ply.

A guy in the line turned and saw me.

He was cute. Very cute.
And you’re holding a supersized box of toilet paper.

“Planning on being in there a while?” He held a large plastic cup filled to the brim with fizzy amber liquid.

“This is how I roll.”

He smirked.

Someone yelled from the bathroom, “Yo! We need some paper in here stat!”

My new friend grinned at me. “Hey, you’re up!” He walked to the door and yelled, “Open up! Incoming!” The door swung open a few inches. Someone stuck their hand out. I tore a roll out of the plastic package and dropped it into the hand. The door slammed shut.

“You’re welcome!” I yelled. Silence.

“Some people have no manners,” my new friend said. “What time do you get off work?” He pointed at the package in my arms. I dropped it to the floor and kicked it towards the bathroom.

“I just quit.”

He grinned. “I’m Caleb. What’s your name?”

“Lana,” I said. Then he very deliberately checked me out, from head to toe.

He cleared his throat. “Since you’re unemployed now,” he said, “maybe you’re free to escort me to the bar. I heard a rumor about illegal underage drinking at this party, and I need to investigate that immediately.” He held out his elbow to me and I stared at it, not sure what he wanted me to do.
Be charming! Flirt!

“Shall we?” he asked.
He wants you to put your arm through his. So do that, now.
I laced my arm through his elbow and we made our way through the crowded living room and out the sliding glass doors to the pool.

Music blasted out of the large rock-shaped speakers. Clusters of teenagers had erupted in the two poolside cabanas, at the teak patio tables, and all over the benches set up around the big fire pit. White lights were strung in the trees. Piper and Maya were deep in conversation with their brother husbands.

The night air was chilly, but I felt warm and tingly.

He handed me a paper cup filled with champagne from the self-serve bar.

“Oh, no thanks.” I didn’t drink. I studied.

He looked offended. “Come on, it’s New Year’s. This is how I roll.” He smiled at me. Well, one glass wouldn’t kill me.

“Okay, fine. I don’t have to drive tonight, since I’m sleeping over.” His hand brushed mine as he clinked my plastic cup with his. I stared at his dark blue eyes.
This guy is a total babe.

“Thanks for the helpful info. That’s a great dress, by the way.”

“Uh, thanks.” I took a huge gulp of lukewarm champagne.

“Where do you go to school?” he asked.

“Briar. We’re seniors. My friend and me. It’s her house.” Babbling. I was babbling. I looked for Piper. Her head was bent close to Wyatt’s. His hand reached up and cupped the back of her head. Wait, were they kissing?

Caleb choked on his champagne. “Briar? The Briar School for Girls?” I nodded and he laughed. “I should have known. Only Briar girls serve teenagers champagne instead of warm beer. But I never met you before.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t go to Briar parties.”
Any parties. I don’t go to any parties.
I sipped my drink.

“I used to go to some. My cousins live up here.” He refilled our glasses.

“Do you come up to Sonoma a lot?”

“Not anymore. I’m from San Jose. I went to Harker; now I’m a freshman at USC.” I smiled to hide my disappointment.
He lives in L.A. He’s in college. Forget it.

“Good school. Do you like it?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t get into Stanford, which was my first choice. But no one gets in to Stanford anymore. USC’s water polo program is amazing, and I made the tennis team, so I can’t complain.” Water polo? A vision of Caleb dripping wet in a Speedo popped into my head.
Down, girl!

***

Caleb stretched his legs out in front of him and draped his arm over the back of the bench, so his fingers just grazed my shoulder.

“This is more fun than I was having with my cousins.”

“Are they here?”

He nodded. “They’re cretins. They share a one-track mind. Each one has half a track.”

“How many tracks is your mind?” I countered. Caleb turned to me. Our faces were so close.

“Oh, my mind has many tracks, young Lana. I am a sensitive, cultured young man.” He pointed across the pool to the chaise lounges where Piper and Maya were draped across their party husbands like wet sweaters. “There they are in action now.” I watched Wyatt hold up an entire bottle of something to Evan. Evan clinked it with his own entire bottle.

“Wyatt and Evan?”

Caleb laughed. “You know them?”

“The girl in the red dress is my friend Piper. It’s her house.”

“I should tell them that before they get us all kicked out.”

“They look like twins,” I told him.

“It’s the haircuts. And the fact that they’re equally ugly. Who’s that dark-haired girl?” Caleb asked. “She’s exactly Evan’s type.”

“My other friend, Maya.”

“So many friends. Any boyfriends?” I shifted on the cold bench. He crossed his leg and his knee brushed my thigh.

“Nope,” I said. “I mean, not at the moment.”

Caleb raised one eyebrow and made a sad face. “I had no idea I was dealing with such a tragic situation. Maybe I could help?”

My heart tightened in my chest. I took another sip of warm champagne.

“What about you?” I asked. “Girlfriend?” He shot me a sideways glance.

“Not at the moment.”

“How come?”

He grinned. “I’m too good in bed. Girls can’t handle it.” My mouth dropped open. He paused for a beat. “I’m kidding. They can handle it.” He burst out laughing at his joke.
A little arrogant, but funny.
His blue eyes met mine and he grinned, while my stomach tied itself into thick knots.

***

Caleb and I talked until the pool area emptied out. When we walked inside, people were grabbing their coats and heading out front to wait for Uber or hike to their cars. I led him through the stragglers to the back staircase that led up to my guest room. I hadn’t seen Piper or Maya in a while.
They’re both probably engaged and planning a double wedding. Maybe I can run the valet stand.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” I said at the base of the stairs. I stepped up and felt his hand on my waist.

“What’s up there?” he asked. The alcohol swirled in my stomach. I swallowed hard.

“My bedroom.” He leaned closer.

“I’d really like to walk you to your door, if you don’t mind,” he said. “Make sure you get home safe.”

“Well, you can’t wear shoes on the carpet.” I slipped off my wedges and picked them up. Caleb watched me, pulled his shoes off, and flashed me a wicked grin.

“Is there anything else you can’t do on the carpet?” he said. I blinked at him. He put his hand on my arm and squeezed it. Chills.
You are totally out of your depth here. Do not let him come upstairs!