Entangled (10 page)

I shook my head, afraid to break the spell of
perfect peace.

“I used to sneak out at night when I was a
boy, pretend to be lost in a jungle. The vines were well over my
head, thick with leaves, and mostly impenetrable. Of course, if I
looked hard enough I could find a hole to scoot through to the next
row, imagining that I was cutting through with my machete.”

We started down the dirt track between the
rows, our steps muffled, the vines on either side reaching toward
the night sky, their leaves a green staircase to heaven. Looking
ahead, the end of the row was hidden in a canopy of distant
darkness, perhaps secreted away below a hilly drop-off, waiting to
be discovered at our approach. Like hide-and-seek. A game that
children play. Only no one was hiding.

I glanced at his shadowed profile against the
light of the full moon and pictured coming here at night with a
tow-headed ten-year-old boy, running through the vineyard in our
bare feet, cotton pajamas flapping against our young bodies like
sheets on a line. The scene was so clear in my mind that I wondered
if it were a memory.

“Did I sneak out one night, while we were
here, and meet you in the vineyard?” I asked, my senses filled with
damp soil, grape leaves, moonlight, and a hint of the spicy
aftershave Handel wore.

His fingers tightened slightly around mine as
he stopped to face me. “Then you do remember,” he said, his eyes
reflecting the heaven’s lights. “I knew if I brought you out here
it would all come back.”

I licked my lips; afraid his expectations
were slightly higher than my own. “I don’t remember anything; it’s
more of a picture in my mind. Feelings, snapshots, even smells, but
nothing definitive.”

He rested his hands on my shoulders; his
fingers warm against my skin. “That’s what memory is. Sounds very
definitive to me.” His lips curved up. “Unless of course,
Minnesotans have a different definition for memory.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t tell whether
the images are memories or just imagination.” I pulled away from
his hands and started walking again, setting my course for a dark
clump of Olive trees about a half mile away.

“So, you’re prone to a lively imagination
then?” His teasing tone, softened by the night air around us, felt
too intimate. He kept pace with me, kicking at dry clods of earth
as though the tow-headed boy had possessed his feet.

“Not usually.” I pulled a leaf from the vines
we passed and absently tore it to shreds, letting the pieces
flutter lightly to the ground. “Imagination isn’t something I’ve
needed a lot of since I became a lawyer. My clients provide more
than enough of their own.”

He laughed quietly. “I know what you
mean.”

We walked on without speaking, letting the
symphony of the night play on our ears; a cricket’s chirp blended
with the whisper of the wind in the vines and away in the distance
a lone dog howled at the moon. Handel reached out and took my hand
again, making it appear a natural thing to do, guiding me around a
low spot in the trail as though I wouldn’t have noticed it.

“Don’t you find it strange that your memories
of this place and the weeks you spent here are forgotten?” he
finally asked. “I know you were young, but so was I. Those weeks
are very clear in my mind.”

“Everyone’s not the same. Our brains don’t
all work the same. Maybe you remember that time because it meant
something special to you. I forgot it because it wasn’t special to
me.” I pushed the hair back from my face and sighed. Why did he
care whether I could remember two weeks of my life at the age of
eight?

“Now you’re just being mean. Your mother said
you were very excited about the winery. You spent a lot of time
with your uncle, learning and exploring. And we became friends. I
know we were just kids, but a bond like that doesn’t disappear.” He
shook his head when I looked at him. “It might fade with time, but
it doesn’t disappear.”

I stopped, his gaze piercing my psyche like a
needle in my thumb. “We were children, Handel. Just children.”

“I know.” He reached up and pushed a strand
of hair behind my ear that the wind had pulled loose. “Children
that found solace in one another.”

I narrowed my gaze, a questioning frown
furrowing my forehead. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, his eyes filled with sadness and
an underlying anger. “I came here at night to get away from my
father. He was an abusive alcoholic. I was his favorite target.” He
paused. “I don’t know what your personal secret was. You didn’t
say.”

My eyes widened with comprehension. “You
think my father was abusive too,” I gasped. I shook my head, surety
in the strength of a lifetime of memories not forgotten. “My father
was a very passive man. Believe me, I would know. Just because he
had a fight with his brother once doesn’t mean he would ever hit a
child. He didn’t even believe in spanking.”

Handel didn’t appear convinced. He stood
there, a towering block of disbelief in the middle of the vineyard.
The dog howled again, sounding closer this time, and I looked back
toward the house. The kitchen light gleamed from the window, a
beacon to moths and a woman fluttering against life’s realities,
hoping for a safe haven filled with warmth and peace.

“We should go back,” I said softly.

“If that’s what you want.” Handel pushed his
hands in the pockets of his jeans and tilted his head back to look
straight up. “Have you ever seen such a perfect night sky?” he
asked.

I followed his gaze. The velvet expanse was
riddled with stars, a thousand pinpoints of light making the moon’s
fullness appear like a big brother showing off. The star-strewn,
midnight blue sky stretched over the edge of the horizon, God’s
blanket tucking us in for the night. I felt like a small child
again, helpless to fight against… something.

He was watching me. I cleared my throat and
glanced at the dark face of my watch. “Well, I’m tired. If you want
to stay out here for a while, be my guest, but where I come from
it’s past my bedtime.”

He nodded. “I’ll finish my walk if you don’t
mind, then I’ll be on my way.”

I didn’t know if I liked the idea of his
being outside in my vineyard while I slept, but I couldn’t bring
myself to tell him so. I hesitated, unsure of how to end the
evening between us. Should I leave him here without another word,
or tell him what a good time I had and thank him for dinner?

While I debated, he leaned in and kissed my
forehead. “Goodnight, Billie. Sweet dreams.” He didn’t wait for a
response, but turned and started walking away.

I headed in the opposite direction, picking
up my pace as I neared the house. I suddenly wanted to be inside
where the shadows could be dissipated with the flip of a switch,
and strange sounds could be wiped out entirely by the noise of a
television set. I turned at the door and looked behind me, but the
only movement was the listing of the trees as the wind picked up
and blew everything eastward.

It wasn’t until I crawled into bed and turned
out the lamp that I remembered my plan to go to the winery and try
my key in Uncle Jack’s private cellar. Exhaustion won out over
curiosity and I closed my eyes, deciding that procrastination could
be a good thing.

*****

Sometime during the night it started to rain,
a gentle patter on the roof and windowpanes. The steady rhythm
lulled me further and I couldn’t bring myself to get up and shut
the bedroom window. I dozed off again, dreaming of tiny drummers
locked inside a wine bottle, trying to get out by tapping at the
glass.

When I woke, the room was pitch black, no
light filtered through the blinds from outside. Had the moon been
obscured by the storm? I lay in bed; unnaturally warm as though I
had a fever, the blanket pulled down to my waist to catch the
breeze from the open window. I tried to see into the space around
me, my eyes wide and strained with the effort. Suddenly I was
smothered, a hand covered my mouth and nose, the weight of a body
pushed down on mine. I tried to scream but could only manage a
desperate moan against the pressure on my face. I twisted and
writhed to be free, as the faceless monster pressed closer, his
other hand moving purposefully over my bare skin.

I struggled to push off this nebulous
creature, my thoughts frantic and hysterical with incoherence. My
mind splintered into shards, thoughts flying every direction as I
realized I had no hope of dislodging my attacker or changing the
course of time. Vines of fear began spreading their tentacles
across my bed and winding over my body, pinning me down further
still. Leaves unfurled and covered my face with their soft, smooth,
skins.

I wrenched myself free and sat up in bed. My
heart beat loudly in my ears, my throat felt raw with strain, and
my body was covered in a cold sweat. I looked from one side of the
room to the other, searching every seeable nook and cranny for the
nameless dread that lived on in my head. The room was just as it
had been the night before when I shut off the light and went to
sleep. Only the bed looked as though a struggle had taken place,
the sheets twisted at my feet, the pillow thrown to the floor.

I scooted back to lean heavily against the
oak headboard, my hands clenched tightly around my drawn up knees,
my body tense and brittle with the aftermath of a dream I’d hoped
never to repeat. I glanced toward the window. The blinds were
closed, swaying gently in the breeze coming through the screen, the
fresh scent of a newly washed world beckoning.

A new day was here although it wasn’t quite
light outside, but I would never get back to sleep now. I breathed
deeply and moved toward the edge of the bed. My muscles were tense
and knotted, my head pounding as I stood and made my way toward the
bathroom. I needed to run, loosen up, and dispel the ghosts from my
mind. They belonged in the past, not here, not now.

Why did this place bring back the nightmares?
I had almost forgotten how horrible they were, how panic-stricken I
became in my sleep, waging a life and death struggle in the dark.
Only my mother had been able to calm me after an episode, her
soothing hands and tender voice bringing me back to reality. Now I
was in a strange house, away from everything familiar, and the
dream returned to me full-force. After ten years of freedom from
its bondage I suddenly felt the chains of terror again. Why? Why
now?

I hadn’t really given Paul a second thought
for a very long time. I’d felt anger more than fear at his drunken,
groping, assault. Anger that he dared touch me that way after I
said no, anger that he lied about the circumstances later, and
anger that my father seemed to believe him. But my dream didn’t
spark anger, only mind-numbing terror.

After pulling on a pair of sweatpants, a
t-shirt, and my running shoes, I headed outdoors. The sun was
spreading shades of pink along the horizon, inching slowly higher
as I started out at a brisk walk. The gravel crunched beneath my
rubber soles as I hurried toward the highway. The pavement was
still damp from the recent rain, slick in spots. I moved to the
hard-packed dirt shoulder and broke into a jog.

I hated feeling helpless. I’d worked hard to
overcome my childish fears, and I had no intention of letting them
back into my life. Helpless was a word to be stomped into the
ground, burned up by the light of day, and relegated to infants in
the womb. Billie Fredrickson would never be helpless again.

The cool morning air cleared my head, my
thoughts running in a straight line as my legs led. Too early for
commuters to be out yet, I had the stretch of road to myself. I ran
faster, letting the dream evaporate beneath the sun’s morning rays.
Thirty minutes later I headed back the way I’d come, my pace
slowing as I neared the turn off to the winery.

The pinks of sunrise spread upward, white
light emerging from the color, waking the day with its
all-encompassing warmth. Birds chirped their remarks back and
forth, gossiping mothers foraging for food, fathers keeping an eye
on the nest of young. Songbirds sang the melody God gave them at
birth, repeating over and over the string of notes, the tune
forever stuck in their heads.

Charlie’s pickup truck was already parked out
front of the winery when I stopped to stretch my calves before
heading inside the house. I wanted to try my key in the cellar
door, but knew that Charlie would insist on accompanying me down
those stairs. I understood his curiosity after years of wondering
what Jack did down there, but it would have to wait to be
satisfied. I needed to explore that room alone. Jack gave me the
key to his private cellar, a place only he visited.

A strange feeling coiled in my gut and worked
its way up, trepidation threatening to turn to fear. Or maybe I was
just hungry. I shook off the niggling worry at the back of my mind
and went inside to forage for breakfast.

*****

“I’m fine, Mother. I just called to see how
your date turned out.” I leaned against the kitchen counter,
nibbling at my last whole-wheat bagel. I needed to restock the
refrigerator if I intended to stay much longer. My food choices
were running low.

“My date turned out wonderfully.” Mother
yawned into the receiver, and I realized I’d woken her. She never
slept in past eight and according to my watch, which I had yet to
set to Pacific Time, it was well past nine o’clock in Minneapolis.
I’d spent the morning moving my things to the master bedroom and
straightening up around the house, mostly wasting time until it was
safe to call.

“I guess it did. You sound tired. Late night,
huh?” I said, my gaze catching the movement of a squirrel in the
branch of a tree outside the window. “Mr. Banker must be more
exciting than he looks.”