Blood Vines

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Thursday, February 18

1:50 P.M.

Together they carried the trunk from the attic to the living room. They sat on the floor, and words tumbling one over the other, Alex told him about finding the news story, the detective’s name and number being circled, calling the number and finally about the detective’s visit.

When she’d finished, she held out the photo album, open to the picture of her mother holding Dylan, Alex at her side.

For long moments he studied the photo, then lifted his gaze to hers. “Unbelievable. It makes me wonder what else she was hiding.”

“What else could she be hiding? My God, Tim.” Alex tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned toward him. “This is it. What I always felt was missing. I thought it was not knowing my dad. Or my mother’s emotional distance. But it was the brother who was taken from me.”

“Literally missing.” Tim nodded. “It makes sense, from a psychological standpoint.” He flipped through the photo album, expression thoughtful. “The creation of art is a type of birthing process. The destruction of that very personal creation a form of self-hatred.”

“You think her cycle of painting, then obliterating what she’d created was tied to the loss of her son?”

“I think it makes sense.” He stopped on a photo and gazed intently at the image. “She represses her emotions-her anger, guilt and despair. But repressed emotions have a way of erupting, coming out sideways, directed at something or someone else. This is classic avoidant coping strategy.”

“Guilt?” Alex said, frowning. “I understand anger and despair, but why would she-”

“Feel responsible? Come on, Alex, put yourself in her shoes. A mother’s supposed to protect her children, keep them from harm’s way. A mother’s instinct is ‘supposed’ to kick in, alert her to danger. And what did she do? She left her children alone. And the unthinkable happened.”

Alex rubbed her arms, cold. “How could I have forgotten, Tim? I was five years old. I had a baby brother, then I didn’t. Surely I would have remembered him?”

He caught her hands and rubbed them between his. “Your mother took you away from all the people who knew Dylan. She packed away all physical reminders of him. Children are sponges. They pick up on everything. You quickly learned that asking about your brother was met with disapproval. Maybe even tears. Or a spanking. Perhaps when you asked about him, she denied his existence.”

He squeezed her hands, then released them. “You complied. You simply ‘forgot.’ Truth is, it probably didn’t even take that long.”

Alex blinked against tears. “Okay, I get all that. But why can’t I remember now that I-”

She bit the last back. A faceless baby, screaming.

She did remember.

“Oh my God, Tim. It makes sense now.”

“What does, hon?”

“The other night, when we were in bed together, I had this weird vision. It’s what got me so freaked out. In it there was a faceless baby. The baby was screaming.”

“Textbook symbolism, Alex. The baby has no face, therefore no identity. Your subconscious was screaming at you to remember.”

Her tears spilled over and he scooted to her side and wrapped an arm around her. She buried her face in the crook of his neck.

He allowed her to cry, saying nothing.

After a time, her tears slowed, then stopped. “It’s so horrible,” she whispered. “All of it. What happened to my brother. My mother denying his existence. What that denial did to both of us. How could she not have seen how destructive it was?”

“If it helps, no, she probably didn’t see how destructive it was. She was trying to spare you more pain and ease her own.”

They fell silent. She leaned against him, comforted by his steady breathing and the rhythmic beat of his heart. When he shifted away from her, she was cold and drew her knees to her chest and hugged them.

“How old was your brother when he was abducted?” He picked up the photo album and thumbed through it.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.”

“How old were you when your mom married this guy?”

Again, she didn’t know. She frowned. “Why?”

He tapped one of the photos. “This man, standing beside your mother, was this her husband?”

“I don’t know. I found these pictures after the detective left. But my guess is yes.”

“You look like him, Alex.”

He handed her the album. Alex studied the photo, heart in her throat. He was right. She did resemble him. What was it? She cocked her head. The chin. The broad forehead and widely spaced eyes.

Could he be her father? she wondered. Was it so far-fetched? If she’d been an infant when they married…

But why would he claim Dylan and not her? His reputation, maybe? A previous marriage that hadn’t yet officially ended?

“Seems there are still a lot of questions you need answered.”

“An understatement.”

“Have you eaten? We could go grab a bite?”

She hadn’t. All day, she realized. But she wanted to stay and go through the rest of the things in the trunk. She told him so.

“I could pick up some Chinese? Or a pizza? Unless you’d rather be alone?”

“No, stay. If you have the time.”

He said he did and they ordered pizza from a local place that specialized in New York-style, thin crust pies. While he went to pick up their food and a bottle of wine, Alex sifted through the remaining contents of the trunk.

At the very bottom, nestled in the folds of a baby blanket, Alex found a ring. She held it to the light. Unusual, lovely and delicate, it consisted of twisting strands of gold. Like writhing snakes.

Or grapevines, she realized, as she ran her finger over a small cluster of petite rubies.

“Got it!” Tim called as he let himself into the house a half an hour later. “Picked up a really nice bottle of zin. Dry Creek Valley old vine.”

“Perfect.” She slid the ring onto her pinky finger and got to her feet. “I’m starving.”

They ate in the kitchen over the pizza box, not bothering with plates but drinking from Riedel crystal, glasses specifically crafted to enhance an individual wine’s bouquet and flavor.

This wine, with its bold flavor and high alcohol content, instantly buoyed her with a false burst of energy and well-being. The tension flowed out of her and she held out her glass for a refill.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked, indicating the ring.

She glanced at her hand. “I found it in the trunk.”

“Different. May I see it?” She slipped it off and handed it to him. He turned it over in his fingers, then held it up to the light. “Did you see? It has an inscription.”

“I didn’t.” She took it from him, squinting to read it. “BOV-1984. I wonder what BOV stands for?”

“Initials maybe?”

“Not my mother’s. Maybe her husband’s? Maybe a gift from him?”

“Initials of the person who gave it to her? That’d be different.”

“Maybe it’s an acronym?”

“Works for me.” He downed the rest of his wine, then poured the last of the bottle in his glass. He held up the empty bottle. “That’s it! Bottle of vino, 1984. Must have been a really good year.”

“I hope you’re not planning to drive home.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“An observation.”

He leaned toward her, a familar gleam in his eyes. “What do you think, Alex?”

“That I have a lot of questions I still need answered,” she said, being deliberatively obtuse. “That maybe I should drive to Sonoma and see if I can get some answers.”

“Not that. What do you think about tonight?” He reached across the counter and caught her hand. “Maybe I should stay?”

“Please tell me you are not turning this into a booty call.”

“Give me some credit, Alex. I’m worried about you. I’m thinking you shouldn’t be alone.”

“Isn’t that sweet.” She leaned across the pizza box and kissed his cheek. “It’s total bullshit, but sweet.”

“It’s not. I care about you. I am worried. But if we happened to end up in the sack having wild, monkey sex, I wouldn’t complain.”

“You’re a pig. You know that?”

“I’m a guy, what do you expect? Besides, my motor’s still running from the other night. You left me hangin’.”

“Poor baby.” She grabbed her purse and dug out her wallet and twenty bucks. “This should cover my part of the pizza and wine.”

He gazed at the money a moment, then lifted his gaze to hers. “That’s a no, then?”

“It’s a no.”

He pocketed the twenty. “How about I check on you tomorrow?”

“Don’t bother. I’m planning a trip to wine country.”