Erica Spindler - Blood Vines

“I’m just worried about you.”

“No need, I’m on top of the world.”

On top of the world now, Alex thought minutes later as she placed the canvas she’d chosen in her old bedroom. But the moment’s lofty perch meant a steep plunge later.

She moved her gaze over the room’s girlish furnishings and the small collection of works in progress she had stored here. She thought of it as an archiving method. A way to ensure that someday her mother would have a body of work to look back on, even if they were incomplete works.

She locked the door, then headed back down the wide staircase. Her mother stood at the bottom, gazing up at her. “You’re a funny girl,” she said affectionately.

Alex reached the landing. “I come by it honestly.”

“That you do.” She cupped her face in her palms. “My pretty, pretty girl. So different than-”

She bit the words back and spun away, humming, heading back toward the kitchen.

“Than who, Mom?”

Her mother stopped in the doorway. “Than everyone, silly.”

Alex gazed at her mother, battling twin feelings of frustration and resignation. They had been through this a hundred times. At least. Her mother would hint at something or someone from their past, then refuse to say more.

She tried again anyway. “What’s so horrible about my dad that you won’t tell me about him?”

“I don’t know who your father was. You know that.”

Alex followed her into the kitchen. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with her. To plead and cajole. She had tried that. Nor would questions about her mother’s family and past provide clues. All she knew was her mother’s parents had disowned her when she’d gotten pregnant.

Alex snatched her purse off the table and slung it over her shoulder. “I have to go to work.”

Her mother didn’t respond. Alex crossed to the doorway, stopped and looked back at her. Something in the newspaper had caught her attention and she was gazing down at it as if she had already forgotten Alex was there.

What was the point of pushing? Of getting angry or wishing for something that would never happen?

The truth was, her mother didn’t have the emotional wherewithal for an honest relationship.

“Goodbye, Mom.”

Her mother looked up, her expression strange. “You’re leaving?”

“Going to work.”

She frowned slightly. Her bubble had popped, Alex realized. And she had begun her descent.

“All I’ve ever wanted to do was protect you.”

“From what, Mom?”

But she’d already returned to the newspaper. Alex let herself out and crossed to her car. She slid inside and started it, only then looking back at the house. She half expected to find her mother standing at the window, watching her go. Instead, the windows were empty.

Empty. The way these visits always left her feeling. She pulled away from the curb, thinking again of her mother’s words. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was protect you.”

But from what? she wondered. From who?

Wednesday, February 17

9:45 P.M.

Alex was still asking herself those same questions as she called good night to her colleagues two days later. She exited the bar. Business had been slow, so she had clocked out a few minutes early. Located in the Mission district, Third Place was usually hopping weeknights until ten o’clock, when activity slowed considerably. Tonight had been a crawl; her feet and back ached from standing around doing nothing.

It’d given her too much time to think, as well. About her mother. Her illness and her secrets. And to worry.

As she neared her car, she saw Tim leaning against it, waiting for her. He always looked every inch the hip professor, from his shaggy threaded-with-silver blond hair to his Armani sweater and Ecco driving mocs.

Typical Tim. She had left him a message after leaving her mother’s the other afternoon; instead of a call back, here he was at bedtime, tail wagging and puppy dog earnest.

She couldn’t help but smile. Knowing exactly where she stood with him took the angst out of their relationship. For her, anyway. It also placed her in the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” she said as she neared him. “I thought you might have decided I was more trouble than I’m worth.”

“Never.” He kissed her cheek. Another woman’s perfume, flowery and sweet, clung to him. “How was work?”

“Slow.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “One of those nights I had too much time to think.”

“What’s going on? You sounded pretty upset when you called.”

“I needed someone to talk to.”

“Your mother?”

“How’d you know?”

“Recognized your tone.” He leaned forward, lowered his voice to the silky rumble she used to love. “What happened to us, Alex?”

“Where did that come from?”

“I miss you.”

She placed her hand against his chest to keep him from moving closer. “Even if we forget that you couldn’t keep your peter in your pants, we have nothing in common.”

“Not true. We’re both seekers. Both fascinated by the universal quest for meaning. What people will do to find it.” He grinned. “And we were great together in bed.”

“Not so great the other night.”

“You were having head issues.”

She winced at the way he casually tossed that out there. As if her “head issues” were a common occurrence, in the sack and otherwise. It struck a nerve-she lived in fear she had inherited her mother’s mental illness, although at thirty it still hadn’t manifested itself.

Was her “vision” the other night its first appearance?

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said softly. He covered her hand with his. “I didn’t mean anything by that. You’re not like her.”

She searched his gaze. Should she tell him about her vision? Get his opinion, see if he could help her figure it out?

She opened her mouth to do that, but instead said, “The day I called, I’d stopped by to see her. She’s not taking her meds and was in the middle of a manic episode.”

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

“Me, too. It’s so frustrating.” She heard helplessness in her voice and fought it. “Thanks for listening.”

“You want to have a drink? My shoulder’s available.”

Alex was tempted, but suspected what that drink would lead to. And even though she knew she wouldn’t find what she sought through sex, she wasn’t that strong right now. “I don’t think so, Tim. I’m back to work on my dissertation and keeping some late hours. I’m pretty tired.”

“I could wake you up,” he teased. “Plus, I’d like a chance to expunge my record.”

She unlocked her car. “Sorry. Not happening.”

“You know I still love you.”

“Still not happening.” She kissed him lightly on the mouth, slid into her vehicle, and drove away. When she reached the corner, Alex glanced in the rearview mirror and found he had already gone.

Probably into the bar in the hopes of convincing some other woman to give him the chance to prove himself, she thought. So much for love.

The light ahead turned red, and Alex eased to a stop. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and flipped it open. She had missed several calls and had a new message waiting.

All from her mother. The first had come in at 1:00 P.M., not that long after she had arrived at work. She’d left the voice mail a couple hours ago.

Alex punched in her password and her mother’s voice came through the device.

“I have to talk to you, Alex. I have to-” She sounded horrible. Voice slurry, thick. With tears? Or from self-medication? Alex didn’t know.

“I’ll tell you everything. I promise… I-” Her mother drew in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen-I only wanted, I-”