Nora Roberts - Dance Upon the Air

"I know." Rather than drinking, Nell rubbed the chilled bottle over her face. It was beyond ridiculous, she thought now, falling to pieces over eggplant. "I thought I was over it. That hasn't happened in a really long time. Months. We were so busy, and supplies were running low. It got bigger and bigger in my mind until I thought if I didn't get some more eggplant, the world was going to end." She drank now, deeply. "Stupid."

"Not stupid if you were used to being punished for something just that petty in the past."

Nell lowered the bottle. "He's not here. He can't hurt me."

"Can't he? Little sister, he's never stopped hurting you."

"If that's true, it's my problem. I'm not a dishrag anymore, I'm not a punching bag or a doormat."

"Good to hear."

She pressed her fingers to her temple. She had to let something out, she realized. Lift something off, or she'd break again. "We had a party once and ran out of martini olives. It was the first time he hit me."

Mia's face registered no shock, no judgment. "How long did you stay with him?"

There was no censure in the question, no slick surface of pity or underlying smugness. Because the question was asked in a brisk and practical tone, Nell responded in kind. "Three years. If he finds me, he'll kill me. I knew that when I left. He's an important man. Wealthy, connected."

"He's looking for you?"

"No, he thinks I'm dead. Nearly nine months now. I'd rather be dead than live the way I was living. That sounds melodramatic, but-"

"No, it doesn't. The employment forms you filled out for me? Are they safe?"

"Yes. My grandmother's maiden name. I broke some laws. Computer hacking, false statement, forged documents to get new identification, a driver's license, Social Security number."

"Computer hacking?" Lifting a brow, Mia smiled. "Nell, you surprise me."

"I'm good with computers. I used to-"

"You don't have to tell me."

"It's all right. I helped run a business, a catering business, with my mother a long time ago. I used a computer for records, invoices, what have you. Since I was going to keep the books, the records, I took some courses. When I started planning to run, I did a lot of research. I knew I'd only get one chance.

God. I've never been able to talk to anyone about it. I never thought I could."

"Do you want to tell me the rest?"

"I'm not sure. It gets stuck somewhere. Right about here," she said, tapping a fist on her chest.

"If you decide you want to, come up to the house tonight. I'll show you my gardens. My cliffs. Meanwhile, take a breather, take a walk, take a nap."

"Mia, I'd like to finish in the café. Not because I'm upset or worried. I'd just like to finish."

"All right."

The drive up the coast was breathtaking. The curving road with its sudden, unexpected twists. The steady roar of the water, the rush of wind. The memories it brought back should have disturbed her, left her shaken. Instead as Nell pushed her poor rust-bucket of a car for speed, she felt exhilarated. As if she were leaving all her excess weight on the twisted road behind her.

Maybe it was the sight of that tall white tower against the summer sky and the broody stone house beside it. They looked like something out of a storybook. Old and sturdy and wonderfully secret.

The painting she'd seen on the mainland hadn't done them justice. Oil and canvas hadn't been able to translate the sweep of the wind, the texture of the rocks, the gnarled humps of trees.

And, she thought as she rounded the last turn, the painting hadn't had Mia, standing between two vivid flows of flowers in a blue dress with her miles of red hair rioting in the wind.

Nell parked her sad car behind Mia's shiny silver convertible.

"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," Nell called out.

"I always take things the right way."

"I was just thinking, if I were a man, I'd promise you anything."

When Mia only laughed, Nell tipped back her head and tried to take in all the house at once-the dour stone, the fanciful gables, the romance of the widow's walk.

"It's wonderful. It suits you."

"It certainly does."

"But so far from everything, everyone. You're not lonely here?"

"I enjoy my own company. Are you afraid of heights?"

"No," Nell answered. "No, I'm not."

"Have a look at the headland. It's spectacular."

Nell walked with her, between the house and the tower, out to the rugged jag of cliffs that jutted over the ocean. Even here there were flowers, tough little blooms that fought their way through cracks or blossomed along the scruffy tufts of wild grass.

Below, the waves thrashed and fumed, hurling themselves against the base of the cliffs, rearing back to slap again. Beyond, the water turned a deep, deep blue and stretched forever.

"When I was a girl I would sit here, and wonder at all this. Sometimes I still do."

Nell turned her head, studied Mia's profile. "Did you grow up here?"

"Yes. In this house. It's always been mine. My parents were for the sea, and now they sail it. They're currently in the South Pacific, I think. We were always more a couple and a child than a family. They never quite adjusted to me, nor I to them, for that matter. Though we got along well enough."

With a little shrug, she turned away. "The light's been here nearly three hundred years, sending out its beam to guide ships and seamen. Still, there've been wrecks, and it's said-as one would expect it to be said of such places-that on some nights, when the wind is right, one can hear the desperate calls of the drowned."

"Not a comforting bedtime story."

"No. The sea isn't always kind."

Still she was drawn to it, compelled to stand and watch its whims, its charm and its violence. Fire, drawn to Water.

"The house came before," she added. "It was the first house built on the island."

"Conjured by magic in the moonlight," Nell added. "I read the book."

"Well, magic or mortar, it stands. The gardens are my joy, and I've indulged myself there." She gestured.

Nell looked back toward the house, blinked. The rear was a fantasy of blooms, shapes, arbors, paths. The juxtaposition between raw cliffs and lush fairyland almost made her dizzy.

"My God, Mia! It's amazing, spectacular. Like a painting. Do you do all the work yourself?"

"Mmm. Now and then I'll dragoon a strong back, but for the most part I can handle it. It relaxes me," she said as they walked toward the first tangle of hedges. "And gratifies me."

There seemed to be dozens of secret places, unexpected turns. An iron trellis buried under wisteria, a sudden stream of pure white blossoms curling through like a satin ribbon. A tiny pool where water lilies drifted and reeds speared up around a statue of a goddess.

There were stone fairies and fragrant lavender, marble dragons and trailing nasturtium. Cheerfully blooming herbs tumbled through a rock garden and spilled toward a cushion of moss covered with starry flowers.

"No wonder you're not lonely here."

"Exactly." Mia led the way down a crooked path to a small stone island. The table there was stone as well, and stood on the base of a laughing winged gargoyle. "We're having champagne, to celebrate the solstice."

"I've never met anyone like you."

Mia lifted the bottle out of a gleaming copper pail. "I should hope not. I insist on being unique." She poured two glasses, sat, then stretched out her legs and wiggled the painted toes of her bare feet. "Tell me how you died, Nell."

"I drove off a cliff." She took her glass, drank deep. "We lived in California. Beverly Hills and Monterey. It seemed at first like being a princess in a castle. He swept me off my feet."

She couldn't sit, so she wandered the little island and drew in the scent of the flowers. She heard the tinkle of bells and saw that Mia had the same starry wind chime she'd bought for herself on her first day.