“SOLAMENTE UNA VEZ…” Connie Francis’s voice sobbed above the hum of voices in the crowded restaurant. Only one time. Long ago, that voice had come to Winna under the stars, through the magic of Johnny Hodell’s car radio. Now, a candle flickered on a restaurant table and Winna handed the waitress the menu.
John had been out of town and weeks had passed since Winna had seen him at the party. He’d come by that morning to take a look at the foundation and general wellbeing of the house on Seventh Street. He assessed the condition of the electrical service and pronounced the old furnace terminally ill. After the basement tour, she showed him some of the house’s treasures. He complimented Seth’s handiwork—the newly restored kitchen floor.
The waitress brought their drinks and a fresh basket of warm tortilla chips and salsa.
“Winna, I have a cheeky question,” John said, looking at her a tad sheepishly.
“Shoot.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way. It’s only a question,” he said as he looked into the depths of his margarita. “How’s Chloe doing financially?”
“She gets by, I guess. She picked up a lot of cash from her last divorce—enough to buy a house. I thought Austin was such a nice man—he loved her madly. Anyway, she’s certainly not well-off and she’s not starving.”
He had another question. “How long has Chloe known that your father disinherited her?”
“She learned the same time I did, I believe—after Dad died. We were all sitting in Reed’s office. It was an awful moment—‘everything to my daughter Edwina. To my daughter Chloe, the sum of one dollar.’ Just awful.”
“You realize your father’s accident could have been arranged—that’s if one is prone to conspiracy theories, which I’m not.”
“It sounds like you are.” Winna doused her indignation with a big sip of her margarita. “My God, John, there’s no way Chloe would ever do such a thing. Frankly, I find it offensive that you would even suggest it.”
“I’m sorry, Winna,” he said, pulling back. “I know it’s none of my business.” He paused a moment in silence, took another sip, and said, “Are you saying you never even thought of the possibility?”
“Never.”
“Everyone in town wondered why he went over the cliff when his car didn’t—it was such a weird accident. Did the police check out the car?”
“I don’t know—it was an accident.” Winna stirred her drink with the straw. “I told you what I thought happened—what the police believed.”
“But how? Did they do an autopsy?”
“Yes, of all that was left. They found nothing suspicious, John.”
The food arrived. John was silent while the waitress bustled nearby.
“Enjoy!” she said and disappeared.
Enjoy? Ten million grams of fat. Winna stared into a platter full of chicken enchiladas under bubbling chili verde and melted cheese slathered with sour cream and sliced avocado, trying to decide which upset her more: her lack of discretion in ordering, or the man across the table.
“Looks good,” John said, digging into his enchiladas.
Winna said nothing as she cut into her food. She lifted a healthy bite of chicken smothered in tangy chili and cream into her mouth. “I’d like another margarita.”
“Now I know I’ve upset you,” John said. “Are you going to get drunk?”
“No, you’re right, John. I won’t have another but I am upset. Surely you don’t blame me,” she said, tasting a bite of succulent chili relleno stuffed with melted cheese.
Their silence lasted until the warm food and tequila did their magic and Winna felt herself let go. “Okay, I admit I have had dark thoughts about Dad’s accident.”
“Of course, it’s only natural with all the stuff that goes on these days. The TV and newspapers are full of it.”
“Let me tell you my dark thoughts.” She rested her fork on her plate. “I’m afraid of Todd Cody, Chloe’s lover. I don’t know the man—but I do know Chloe. She’s not capable of murder,” she said, picking up her glass for a sip of melted ice. “Todd, on the other hand, might be capable of arranging things so that he marries into money.”
John looked skeptical. “Is there that much—worth the bother?”
“Yes, it would be ‘worth the bother.’”
“And you think that’s why he’s going to marry your sister? See, I’m not so twisted after all,” he said with a wink.
THE NEXT MORNING as Winna and Emily sorted through shelves loaded with three different china patterns, Winna could not get her conversation with John the night before off her mind.
“John thinks that something sinister happened in Unaweep Canyon—that Chloe had something to do with Dad’s death.”
“Really? I doubt we need to worry about that. But, Mom, I’ve been feeling guilty for not visiting Poppa Henry more often.”
“I’m to blame, honey,” Winna said, separating the Willow Tree plates from the Spode. “He was tough to visit—didn’t know how to make you feel welcome. I didn’t understand him so I couldn’t help you understand him either.” She sat down and looked at her daughter. “Let me tell you a story about him—about the day he took me to Unaweep Canyon. Come sit down a minute.”
Emily took a chair as Winna’s memory returned to the early eighties. “Once, when I came back home to see Daddy, he drove me there for a picnic. He knew all the side roads, how to get to the top of the cliffs. Those were still his drinking days and as we headed out of town toward Whitewater, I was glad there was no traffic. I couldn’t tell if he was sober or not, but I’d seen him tuck a silver flask into his back pocket.
“We made it into the canyon just fine. It must have been late spring because the wet meadows were green and filled with wild blue lupines. The sky was another shade of blue with bright white clouds drifting south—you should see my pictures. Dad didn’t mind stopping every time I shouted, ‘Photo op!’ He’d pull over, I’d get out and wander around with my camera as long as I wanted. Each time I went back to the car, it seemed like he was a little drunker.
“At some point he turned off the highway and we drove up a dirt road that took us to the top of the canyon wall. He knew the way—exactly where he wanted to go. When we reached a turnoff, he parked the car and got out. He asked me to bring the picnic basket and follow. He headed down a footpath toward a cluster of pinyon pines. Walking toward a group of flat rocks shaded by junipers, we stopped at a spot very near the edge of the cliff with a view of the wide canyon below. From there, the road running through the canyon looked like a narrow gray line drawn on a map. I could feel the pull of gravity and was glad for the twisted tree limb that came between me and the sheer drop below—almost like the bar on a Ferris wheel seat.
“We sat down to eat in silence. Then Dad told me a story. It’s the only story I remember him ever telling me. As he spoke, I realized what the canyon meant to him and that he had been there often. It is the only memory I have that helps me deal with the way he died.
“He said no one knows for sure how the canyon was formed—some say it was the rivers that came through there millions of years ago and others say glaciers created the canyon. Neither theory can be proven.
“Showing my geological ignorance, I suggested to him that the canyon had been there from the beginning of time. Who says it had to be formed by anything? Maybe that’s just the way it is—the way it’s always been.”
Winna paused and looked at her daughter. “And, Emily, here’s what interests me—the old question. Is it nature or nurture? Was Daddy, am I, are you who you are because of how your parents raised you, or because you were born with a certain nature? The canyon made me wonder about that and it still does.”
“It’s nature,” Emily said. “That’s why people raised in the same family can be so different—like you and Chloe.”
“I don’t know. The family treated Chloe and me very differently. Anyway, Daddy and I didn’t talk about that. You couldn’t talk about things like that with him.”
“Did you ever try?”
“Sure. If you asked a personal question, he’d drift away. Like once I asked why he dropped out of college and he said, ‘I wasn’t much of a student.’ He said it in a way that closed me off. It didn’t help that he turned his back and left the room.”
“Maybe he had something to hide.”
“Maybe, but let me finish telling you about that day. He had more to tell me. The mystery of the canyon’s formation wasn’t the only unusual thing. He was drinking from his flask while we talked and the more he drank the longer his silences grew. I had always hated the silence between us and had a habit of rushing to fill it with words.
“He said that the canyon is open at both ends—that’s unusual. There isn’t a river there, but there are two streams. One runs in one direction and the other in another direction. He seemed to think that was mysterious and asked how two streams could run in opposite directions out of opposite ends of the same canyon.
“I didn’t know and I doubted that what he said could possibly be true. He was slurring his words and his eyelids had dropped, making him look sleepy. By then I wanted to go, but he wasn’t ready.
“I can still see his eyes moving slowly down the canyon and up to the blue horizon. He looked as if he had gone into a trance. He reached up and out with one hand like he wanted to show me whatever it was he saw. ‘This place—’ He didn’t say any more, but his face seemed alive—like it does in his baby picture—as if he were lost in a beautiful vision. For the first time in his life he was trying to share something with me.”
Winna suddenly stood up and returned to the stacks of plates on the dining room table. She looked at Emily and quickly wiped the tears off her cheek. “I was afraid, Emily. He was experiencing a beautiful moment, and I was afraid. All I could think was how I was going to get him back to the car and would he let me drive home.”
Emily hesitated and looked away from her mother.
“He scared me too, Mom. I don’t know why. He was just so distant, so vacant—like nobody was home.”