As I drove my Jeep down the unpaved road, I admired the endless rows of grapevines running off into the rolling distance, bare but neat and orderly like braided cornrows on a stylish head. Hybrid tea roses flanked the fields of grapes, all filled with shiny new growth. To my left, I spotted a pond with two weeping willows drooping over its edge, their slender, pliant branches lacing the landscape in light and shadow. Groups of people had gathered on an expanse of lawn nearby, set up with white-clothed picnic tables, red umbrellas, and a portable stage.
The winery barns on the hill above stood out like white paper cutouts against the darkening sky, and, even though clouds blocked the horizon, the vision of color and texture twilighting the hill and tree-studded horizon was nothing less than miraculous.
I quickly discovered that Ben was well known and well liked in the community. Many greeted him as Gentle Bear; others called him Ben. While he laughed and joked and introduced me to his friends, I tried not to cringe under their speculative stares.
“You’re causing quite a stir,” Ben said. “First, everyone thinks you’re Veronica, gone blonde and they’re surprised to see us together, since they’ve witnessed some explosive episodes between us. Then, when I introduce you as Marjorie, they’re blown away by the resemblance. This is going to be an interesting night.”
🗲🗲🗲
And her escort was Morgan.
My insides twisted into a sailor’s knot known for holding fast no matter how hard the strain. Ben nudged me, apparently no happier to see Morgan and Veronica together than I was. “There’s the new-comer I told you about.”
The band burst into, “Dream River,” and I focused on the couples paired on the dance floor, willing my insides to do the job they were supposed to, rather than serve as my emotional radar. Ben accepted two stemless glasses of wine from a passing host and handed one to me. “A toast to our friendship,” he said, tapping his glass to mine. “In spite of a bad start.”
“To our friendship,” I said, my voice thick with gratitude for this big, gentle man.
Veronica materialized at our side as if drawn by the ping of our glasses. “Hey white Indian. You move fast.”
Though her white-Indian arrow had been directed at me, her attention was focused on Ben.
“Hello Veronica,” I said.
“So, your mother confirmed it did she?”
“Yes. We’re sisters.” I wanted to pull my newfound sibling into a hug and make up for all the years we’d missed being together, but the chilling, non-glow of her eyes indicated that this wasn’t the best in my trove of brilliant ideas.
Veronica zeroed the full force of her cobalt gaze on Ben and ran her red-tipped finger along the crease next to his mouth with the audacity of an Odysseus siren. “Miss me?”
Ben straightened, grew taller but said nothing.
Before I could process the undercurrents of this strange communication, someone touched the back of my arm. “What are you doing here?”
Blood rushed to my head, followed by a vision of my ex-fiancé with his shoulds and should nots and I-know-what’s best-for-you glares.
I whipped around and thrust out a flat hand, anticipating—no welcoming—a confrontation with Cliff.
Instead, I met widened green eyes.
Morgan!
His simple question had created a powerful association in my mind—and triggered an explosion. Calm down. Re-boot, I told myself. You’ve identified the trigger, now choose the response.
Before I could attempt to explain, however, Veronica wedged between us. “Whoa, girl, someone’s really done a number on you.” Then she took Morgan’s hand— “Dance with me, darling.” —and led him away.
“Care to dance?” Ben asked. The invitation came as a surprise. Ben didn’t strike me as a dancer. But even if awkwardness and complete lack of rhythm caused him to stomp on my toes, I’d be better off on the dance floor than standing there feeling sorry for myself.
Ben turned out to be an excellent dancer. The music, though not quite the “Honky Tonk Stomp,” was too loud for conversation, which suited me just fine. I wasn’t in the mood for talking, and apparently neither was he.
On the verge of spacing out to the Willie Nelson number, a prickling awareness brought me back to full alert. I scanned the perimeter of the dusky dance floor for the cause and caught sight of Jake and his sidekick, Tommy Boy, guzzling wine as though it were beer.
“Are you okay?” Ben asked.
“It’s the two men from the bar. They give me the creeps.”
He followed the direction of my gaze and frowned. “They can’t do much harm in this crowd. Just stick with me.”
The band chose that moment to announce an intermission and, darn, if we didn’t run right smack into Veronica and Morgan. Bad break number two.
I looked away, embarrassed to meet Morgan’s eyes and unwilling to endure another chilly reception from my sister.
“Can we talk?” Morgan asked—without touching me this time—as if approaching a skittish horse that might buck and run. At my nod, he escorted me past the umbrellas and picnic tables to a secluded spot near the pond. “What are you doing here?” he asked again.
I didn’t answer, though now that I knew who was doing the asking, the words didn’t send me into a tizzy fit or turn my mood sour.
“It isn’t safe for you here,” he said.
I almost laughed. Not safe? Escorted by Ben and surrounded by a crowd of maybe two hundred people.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Did you come here with Ben? I need to know that you’ll be okay.”
I knew Morgan wasn’t Cliff, yet a list of what-ifs raced through my head, threatening to crush the feelings that had started to re-grow with such promise. Was it happening all over again? Would Morgan’s concern for me turn into another form of suppression if I allowed him into my life? I dared not risk it. Not yet. Maybe never.
He frowned. “Marjorie?”
I had to say something but couldn’t figure out what that something might be without sounding like a fool. How could I explain that I dreamed about being able to let down the walls I’d built up around myself and letting him in; about cradling my forehead in the curve of his shoulder, giving and receiving, but that the chance of building a successful relationship between us was doomed? At this point, anyway. It would mean giving up my search, my freedom. Not an option. “I thought you were headed out of town.”
“I was. Still am,” he said, treating me to a dimpled smile.
Okay, I would allow him his secrets, but I was entitled to mine. “Don’t worry about me, Morgan.”
Another smile, this time sheepish. “Can’t help it.”
I turned toward the strobe lights that pulsated above the stage and dance floor like the thoughts in my head. For too long, self-doubt had kept me paralyzed. I’d always taken the path of least resistance, allowing others to run my life. Well, it was time for a change. Time to set my own goals. And claim them. Starting tomorrow, I would concentrate on my number one priority, Joshua. According to Dr. Mendez, the child needed me and that’s what mattered most right now. More than Morgan. More than me.
The Voice came as a whisper. Do not be content with littleness. Love is not little.
I shivered. “Goodnight, Morgan, and don’t worry, Ben has offered to follow me home.”
I started back for the populated area alone but didn’t make it far before Tommy Boy stepped in front of me.
Bad break number three.
“Hey, you’re the bitch from the bar. Damn, if you ain’t the spitting image of Vonnie.”
I barely heard him over the blood pumping in my ears. I barely saw him through the haze blinding my eyes. But I smelled him. Vinegar and rotten eggs. A regular compost heap. I tried to step around him, but he anticipated my move and blocked my path.
“Back off!” Morgan said from behind me.
The coward in me welcomed Morgan’s interference. Yeah, the more commanding the better.
Tommy Boy backed off all right and quickly disappeared into the crowd.
“I thought you could take care of yourself,” Morgan teased, which had me bristling all over again. If he hadn’t hauled me off into a secluded spot, I wouldn’t have been in a vulnerable position.
“Thanks for the rescue,” I said before turning away from him again, this time heading for the only person who offered safe haven on this evening of bad breaks: Ben Mendoza.
Ignoring Veronica, who stood at Ben’s side, I asked, “Could you escort me home?”
He glanced over my shoulder—at Morgan I assumed—and gave a slight nod. “Sure.”
I turned to my sister, met her eye-to-eye. To hell with forever playing the wimp. “Just for the record, Sis, you look fantastic tonight, but it’s getting cold, and I’m heading back. What you need is a warm coat.”
Veronica’s eyebrows rose and her mouth curved into a smile, but before she could formulate a comeback (which would probably have been a doozy), I took off my jacket and tossed it to her.
Then I locked arms with Ben and led him away.
When we were out of earshot, he said, “You and Veronica are most definitely sisters.”