Erica Spindler - Blood Vines

Alex struggled to process what her stepsister had just said. She and her mother had never attended church, not even on Christmas and Easter. Nor had her mother ever mentioned having been a Catholic-even after Alex had begun studying world religions.

Reed spoke up. “Rabid, Rachel? Interesting word choice.”

Rachel ignored him. “How long are you here for, Alex? We could go to lunch. Get reacquainted.”

Rachel, Alex decided, was like a small tornado. She’d spun into the room and sucked all of them into her vortex. “Just today. I have to get back and begin making arrangements for my mother.”

Rachel sat on the arm of her father’s chair. She laid a hand on her father’s shoulder, as if to comfort him. “Reed told us about your mother. We’re so sorry.”

“Thank you.” To her horror, she choked up. She struggled for composure. “Excuse me, I… It’s still fresh.”

Rachel handed her a purse-pack of tissues; Alex pulled one out and dabbed at her eyes. “Mom battled depression for years,” she said when she found her voice. “She attempted suicide twice before… I guess third time was the charm.”

She heard the bitterness in her voice and regretted it. These people, despite the past they all shared, were strangers. They knew nothing about her and her mother’s relationship. That revealing glimpse felt wrong.

She shifted her gaze to Harlan. “Did my mother… did she suffer with depression while you were married?”

He shook his head. “Not until after Dylan disappeared… but I thought that was to be expected. We all-” His voice thickened. “We were all different after.”

It was obvious how much the loss of his son had hurt him. How much it hurt him still.

“Why are you here, Alexandra?”

Alex realized she was shredding the tissue and wadded it into a ball. “Until two days ago, I didn’t know anything about you. About my early life living here, or even that I had a brother.”

He frowned, but didn’t comment.

“Mom never spoke of her early life or my father. She insisted we were it, that we had no other family. No grandparents, aunts or uncles. I accepted that but always felt… felt something was missing in my life. Frankly, I thought the feeling was brought on by my mother’s mental illness. Now, I think it’s this. You, my time here. But mostly I think it was the brother my subconscious knew I’d had.”

Rachel gasped softly. “That’s so awful,” she said. “How could she do that to you? How could she pretend Dylan never existed? I’m sorry, but that just seems cruel to me.”

Alex fought falling apart. Her thoughts exactly-which was why the words hurt so much.

This time it was Harlan who attempted to comfort by laying a hand on his daughter’s arm. Alex noticed it shook.

“Dylan was a sweet little boy. Happy. Hardly ever fussed. Slept through the night from his third week. A joy.”

He looked away, as if gazing deeply into the past, then met her eyes once more. “You doted on him. So did Rachel. His mother and I, of course. We all took it hard, but Patsy the hardest. Somehow, she blamed herself. For going out that night. Not being there. She didn’t bounce back.”

“You tried to make the marriage work?”

“Of course. Tried everything I could think of. Time. Counseling. Gifts. The truth is, I loved her, but she couldn’t get beyond her grief”-he cleared his throat-“to love me back.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“Do you have any pictures?”

Rachel stood and crossed to an ornately carved desk. She selected a framed photo and brought it to her.

The photo depicted a young girl-Rachel, Alex presumed-holding a beautiful, cherubic infant. Alex lightly touched the glass. “I found a photo album in the attic,” she said softly. “Hidden away in a trunk. It held a photo similar to this one, only I was holding him.”

“It took me years to be able to bring that out,” Harlan murmured, “to look at it without falling apart. I thank God that I’m able to now. It seems unfair to his memory to pretend he didn’t exist.”

Again, tears burned Alex’s eyes. Ones of grief-and anger. At her mother for having done this-it was an affront to Dylan’s memory.

She blinked them away and held out her hand, displaying the ring. “You mentioned gifts. Did you give this to my mother? I found it in the trunk with Dylan’s things. It appears to be grapevines and a sna-”

“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t recognize it.”

“You’re certain you’ve never-”

“Yes, I’m certain.” He paused a moment as if to give her time to come to grips with his words. When he spoke again, his voice held a note of finality. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Alexandra?”

“Yes. Do you know who my father is?”

She held her breath; his expression altered slightly. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“But you were married, surely she-”

“It wasn’t important to me. I loved her.”

He said it simply and in a way that left no doubt he really had loved her mother. But it didn’t answer her question. “I appreciate that. But I find it hard to believe she never talked to you about him.”

“Alexandra,” he said gently, “I don’t think she knew who your father was.”

Alex thought of the things Rita the librarian had told her about her mother’s love affair. He knew more than he was saying, she thought. He knew what he’d just said was a lie. But why keep the truth from her?

Maybe because he was her father?

“She was young,” Rachel murmured. “Things happen. You know that.”

“But why wouldn’t she just tell me the tru-”

She didn’t finish the question, hearing how inane it sounded-she’d already revealed how much her mother had kept hidden from her.

“It didn’t matter to me,” Harlan said again. “I fell in love with her. And with you, Alex.”

His words washed over her in a bittersweet wave, and she struggled to speak. “Then why… all these years…”

“When it became obvious Dylan wasn’t coming home, Patsy took you. Legally, you were her daughter, not mine, What could I do?”

“She wanted nothing to do with any of us,” Rachel said. “She left us, Alex. All of us.”

There was no denying the edge in the other woman’s voice. For the first time it occurred to Alex that Rachel had lost two mothers-and how painful that must have been.

“We never forgot you. But as Dad said, what could we do?”

What indeed, Alex wondered, reaching for her wineglass and bringing it to her lips, only then realizing she had already emptied it.

“It’s so odd.” Rachel went on. “You’ve forgotten it all. Even your own brother. I’d have thought all that trauma would be burned onto your brain. I know it is mine.”

Reed stepped in. “Maybe that’s the very reason she forgot.”

They fell silent. The fire hissed and crackled. The mantel clock struck the hour.

When the sixth chime faded away, Harlan leaned forward in his chair. “Is there anything we can do for you, Alexandra?” he asked. “Anything you need?”

She stiffened at the question, and at the pity in his eyes. “I wanted to meet you, learn what I could about my brother. That’s all.” She stood. “Thank you.”

Their goodbye moment felt as awkward as their hello had, maybe more so. At least with hello had come expectation.

But of what? she wondered, gazing out the car window. A warm family reunion? A shocking revelation?

Certainly not for what she’d gotten-surprise, sympathy and a small dose of suspicion.

“Would you like to get something to eat?” Reed asked.

She realized they had reached the Sonoma square and the girl & the fig. “I don’t think so, no. But thanks.”