ANNE AND I HAD FINISHED our breakfast at the Big Sur Lodge restaurant, yet the chair I’d reserved for Veronica in case she showed up stood empty. I pushed away my plate and checked my watch. We’d been here for an hour. Where was she?
Wanting to see my sister again had taken such a strong hold over me that I could think of little else. We’d met for the first time three and a half months ago in Carmel Valley and had parted soon after. Which meant we had a lifetime of catching up to do. I needed to ask her a zillion questions, darn it, discover how we were alike, how we were different.
Anne placed her hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. “Why don’t you call her and see what she’s up to?”
“No way. She’d consider it prying, and our relationship is still too fragile for that.”
“Okay then, how about we go pick up your sculpture at the gallery?”
I grabbed my napkin and dabbed my eyes. “Sure, why not?”
Anything to get my mind off my sister. And the empty chair.
~~~
Alfonso looked at us, wide-eyed. “We sold the sculpture. I thought you knew.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” I said.
His gaze darted from Anne to me and back to Anne. “It brought an outstanding price.”
An outstanding price? Was this man crazy? “I don’t care what it brought. We want it back.”
“That would be impossible, Ms. Veil.”
“And why’s that?” I asked. Art galleries didn’t screw up like this, did they? They had their reputation to think of, let alone getting sued.
“It has already been picked up by the buyer.”
“So? Call him and tell him to return it.”
Alfonso took a step back, bumping into the counter behind him. “It wasn’t a he.”
Sometimes we need enemies in our lives to snap us out of our comfort zone. When we get tired of people pushing us around and rendering us voiceless, we rise up with decisive action to begin the process of maturation and growth. At least, that’s what I hoped was going on. “Who cares? Get it back.”
Anne cleared her throat and gave me a warning glance. “This is highly irregular, Alfonso.”
“I agree,” he said. “However, the buyer said she was a personal friend of yours.”
“Friend? We don’t know anyone from around here. Anyway, it wasn’t for sale.”
“What’s her name?” Anne asked, her voice calm. I wanted to kick her.
“Claudia Moore, a fellow artist. I saw Ms. Veil speaking to her during the exhibit of her glasswork, therefore, the assumption that—”
“What did she pay for it?” Anne asked.
The curator beamed. “Ten thousand dollars.”
“That little witch,” I said.
“Hey, watch who you’re calling witch,” Anne said.
I paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching my hands. I hadn’t realized until then how much the sculpture meant to me. This glob of glazed clay, which had cost me little in time and effort, embodied a passion that had been suffocating inside of me and had finally broken free. “What’s her address?”
“That’s private information—” Alfonso began before I cut him off.
“Anne, call the cops.”
“No, wait,” he said. “I’ll look it up.”
~~~
It was a straight shot up Highway 1 to Monterey. We’d left Big Sur behind and were nearing Carmel. Hands gripped on the steering wheel, I felt back in control.
“She did it for Cecil,” Anne said.
“That’s what I was thinking. I doubt Claudia would’ve taken my sculpture on her own.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anne turn toward me. “Why are you defending her? You don’t even like her.”
“Because she’s an artist,” I said. “Unlike Cecil, she knows it’s not about possession.”
Anne fiddled with her bracelets until they spun around her wrist like mini roulette wheels, but made no comment.
As we passed Carmel Valley Road, I looked into my rear-view mirror, wishing I could go back in time, if only for a while. I had so many precious memories of the three weeks I’d spent in Carmel Valley with Morgan, Joshua, Veronica, and Ben. I’d felt more alive during those dangerous and confusing weeks than I’d ever felt before. Or since. How is it that some memories stay forever etched in our minds, to recall at a moment's notice, triggered by a sight, a sound, a smell, while others fade away like dreams? Often, though not always, the etched memories hold special significance, highlighting as they do particular exhilarations or fears, turning points in our lives—Morgan plucking a dandelion and holding it to my nose. Joshua grinning at me from an upper branch of an oak tree. But that doesn't explain the mind's ability to keep these memories so vivid, so fresh, as if hard-wired into our cells, memories that we share with our children, take to our graves.
Anne lowered the window a crack. Cool air gushed in. “Cecil’s missing the point. He wants to own what the sculpture depicts. You rendered something invisible, visible, Marjorie. You used your hands to transform something mysterious into something tangible. Maybe that’s what Cecil wants to own.”
“Now, it sounds like you’re defending him,” I said.
“Just trying to understand.”
I took the Munras exit to Fisherman’s Wharf, then swung into the parking lot entrance, retrieved a parking ticket, and pulled into a space facing the water. A gust of air, scented with seaweed and fish, greeted us like an over-zealous host as we stepped out of the Jeep. My hair whipped about my face as I locked the doors and jammed the keys into the pocket of my windbreaker. “Wonder how much one of those yachts costs.”
“If you have to ask, you can’t afford one,” Anne said.
I released a slow breath and shook my head. “If a man with that kind of money still needs more...”
“It’s called Defiance,” Anne said.
“What is?”
“Cecil’s yacht. The name should be displayed on its exterior.”
I could understand calling a yacht Defiance to denote defying the dangers of the sea, but my guess was that Cecil’s definition implied open disregard, contempt, and disobedience. “What kind of man are we dealing with?”
“A man darn proud of himself for making it big by resisting rules and authority,” Anne said. “But there seems to be a spiritual vacuum in his perfect world.”
We took the long ramp to the marina docks. It didn’t take long to locate the mega-yacht with ‘Defiance’ written on its bow in swirling blue script. “There it is!”
“Three decks,” Anne said. “Quite impressive.”
I heard the flap-flap of a flag, the cah-wok of a seagull, and the roar of a boat motor. “Is that a Jacuzzi on the upper deck?”
“Appears so, plus an area for sunbathing and a bar.”
“Wonder what it looks like inside?”
Anne elbowed me and increased her pace. “Only one way to find out.”
I followed Anne, my mouth dry and scratchy, my palms beginning to sweat. “What are you planning to do? Jump on board and knock on the door?”
“Yep.”
“What if nobody’s home?”
“Then we’ll take a self-guided tour.”
A man dressed for fishing, unlocked the gate to the marina dock and passed through. We caught the gate before it clicked shut and followed him in. Then we marched to Cecil’s yacht, crossed the gangway to the port deck, and took the stairs to the covered-aft-deck lounge like a couple of rookie thieves. A set of glass doors leading to the main salon stood open—an invitation to enter. Cherry woods abounded in the yawning space, offset by ivory carpeting. An oversized couch and matching armchairs in blues and whites faced a 50-inch plasma-screen TV. Next to the entry doors, stood a granite-topped bar.
“Holy cow,” Anne said in a volume usually reserved for places of worship, though her words conveyed a less reverent tone.
“My sentiment exactly,” I said.
“Check out the chandelier above the dining table,” she said. “Looks like it weighs more than I do. Can you imagine all those leaf crystals clanging together in choppy weather? Last place you’d catch me during a storm.”
“Can I help you?” asked an amused voice from behind us.
I jerked around, my stomach in sudden knots. Then I remembered to be angry. “I want my sculpture back.”
Cecil had the nerve to smile. “Sorry, can’t do.”
“What,” Anne said, swinging her arms wide to encompass the extravagant surroundings. “You have so little, you need to rob the poor.”
“Poor?” Cecil raises an eyebrow. “Marjorie’s not poor.”
Anne hesitated for only a moment. “And how would you know?”
His smile widened.
Anne snorted before picking up what appeared to be a fishing-float paperweight from the bar and twirling it in her hand. “Seems you’re possessed by what you wish to possess.”
A cloud passed over Cecil’s face, but he said nothing.
Anne must have sensed that she’d hit a sore spot, because she poked it some more. “Shiny new objects, self-absorption, and distraction. The spirituality of our time.”
Again, no comment.
“Let’s get out of here,” Anne said, turning to me. “We’re wasting our time.”
It would be good to get off this mega-sized boat. It symbolized all I’d left behind in Menlo Park—stuff and more stuff—but not the stuff of life, which was free. I recalled a quote attributed to the Greek philosopher, Epicurus, who had lived three-hundred years before Christ. “If you want to make a man happy, add not to his riches but take away from his desires.”
How little had changed since then.
I glanced at Cecil. He stood with his back to me, staring out the window. Anne was wrong. Coming here had not been a waste of time. It took being here for me realize that creating my sculpture, when and how I did, had occurred for a reason. My mission wasn’t to hold on to that burden basket of transformed clay, but to let it go. I had the power to shed the weight of ownership as well as that of anger and hate. I, not Cecil, was in charge of, and responsible for, the conditions of my life. He was a side issue, not the reason I was here. I would not allow him to steer my course, as I had allowed my mother and ex-fiancé to do for too long. I would donate the money he’d paid for the sculpture to Alzheimer’s research, thereby turning something negative into something positive.
Anne threw the paperweight she’d been holding overboard. It splashed as it hit water, but didn’t sink. Instead, it buoyed on the surface as though weighing nothing at all.
Cecil let us go without comment, which was a comment in itself.
~~~
We found Veronica standing in the Big Sur Lodge Café/Expresso Bar eating a double scoop of Pistachio Nut ice cream. “You’re lucky he didn’t have you arrested,” she said when we told her of our little escapade.
I gave her a hug and kissed both of her cheeks.
“Hey, watch my cone,” she said, swinging it clear of my hair. “Want some?”
“All I want is to dominate your time for the next couple of days,” I said, “so we can talk, talk, talk.”
Veronica bit into her ice cream.
Watching her made my teeth hurt. “It figures you don’t lick ice cream like everyone else.”
“I don’t do anything like anyone else.” She turned the full force of her gaze on Anne. “Hi, want some?”
Anne had been standing by without comment, which surprised me. She had a strong opinion on just about everything and usually didn’t hesitate to voice it. “Maple Nut if they have it.”
Veronica headed for the expresso bar. “Coming right up.”
“How come her hair’s black?” Anne asked.
“She said she hated being blonde. So, she dyed it.”
I’d seen Veronica as a blonde in Carmel Valley when she pretended to be me in order to save my life. I could still feel the shock I experienced on seeing her. It was like looking in the mirror, except for her eyes.
They had been such a cold, cold blue.
“Good thing you’re not having ice cream,” Anne said. “You’re shivering.”
“Where have you been all day?” I asked on Veronica’s return. I tried to keep the accusation out of my voice, but failed. Why wasn’t she as anxious to see me, as I was to see her?
Veronica handed the double-scoop of Maple Nut to Anne. “Eat it quick. It’s starting to melt.”
“Mind if I take it with me?” Anne asked. “I have to check on a friend of mine”
Veronica shrugged. She’d purchased another double-decker of Pistachio Nut for herself and appeared intent on finishing that one, too.
“Toodle-oo then,” Anne said as she headed for the door, licking the ice cream dripping down the side of her cone.
I didn’t repeat my question, curious if Veronica would get around to answering it.
After downing half her ice cream, she smiled, her eyes thawing from cold cobalt to waves of summer warmth. “I completed a written assessment and a panel interview today at the San Francisco DEA Recruitment Office.”
“How’d you do?”
“Don’t know yet. Even if I pass both of them, I still need to go through a drug test, medical exam, physical task assessment, psychological assessment, background investigation, the works.”
“That’ll take forever,” I said. Why was she was putting herself through all this? For the privilege of what? Getting inserted into hostile organizations? Getting herself killed?
“The whole process usually takes about twelve months. Hopefully, the undercover work I did for the DEA in Carmel Valley will fast track my acceptance into their training academy.”
“Around here?”
“Quantico, Virginia.”
Bad news. That meant we’d be separated again.
“Unlike you, I can’t afford to sit on my duff all day,” she said.
I laughed. Veronica had plenty of money. Her...our...father had seen to that. But being the type of person she was, she still wanted to work. And she loved working with the Drug Enforcement Administration.
People were staring at us. No wonder. Veronica looked like a Hollywood celebrity and I her pale reflection. She was the luxury model, with all the bells and whistles, I the stripped-down version, no power windows, no leather seats.
Veronica broke into a wide, soul-warming grin. “You’re so needy, little sister. It’s written all over your face. Makes me feel loved, though, the way only one other person can.”
And that would be Ben Gentle Bear Mendoza, who had taught me about my Esselen ancestors, Earth Medicine, and the Medicine Wheel. “So, are you two still seeing each other?”
“What do you think?”
I smiled. It was hard getting a straight answer out of my sister. “I’m glad.”
“How’s Morgan?” she asked.
“Fine,” I said, doing my own version of evading a question.
Veronica inclined her head. “Just fine?”
“I miss him.”
“But you can’t go back to him until you’ve resolved the situation with Antonia, right?”
“She talked to me at the Esalen Institute, Veronica. She mentioned our father.”
“What about him?”
“She said to ask you.”
Veronica looked away.
“We have to help her.”
“You don’t have to plead your case with me,” she said. “I’m here to help in any way I can, just as promised.” Finished with her ice cream, she gave me a long overdue hug. Not the bear hug I would’ve preferred, but, with my sister, I’d learned to take what I could get. “I missed you, too,” she said. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.”
“You just ate two double scoops of ice cream.”
“Not so loud, Sis. People think I’m thin because I starve myself.”
“As if you care what people think.”
She nodded at the host who held up two fingers and motioned toward a table by the window. Heads turned our way as we took our seats. Veronica tossed her hair over her shoulder and opened her menu.
“How did it go with the interview part of the exam?” I asked unable to my control my curiosity. Her interest in becoming a DEA special agent fascinated me, petrified me. “You must have some idea...”
“You mean after they got over the shock of my appearance and actually looked at my resume?”
At my nod, she grinned. “I think I brought some excitement into that office.”
“They’ll be lucky to have you.”
“Love you, too,” she said. “Now let’s talk about Antonia.”