Haunted Honeymoon (21 page)

“Please God, no,” she said, but the corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

“I wish I was from the South so that I could write Southern Gothic stories. You really can’t do California Gothic. What would that be?” I mused. “Depravity and criminality in the desert set to an Eagles soundtrack? It’s nothing that would work in this day and age. It would become some inane comedy with movie stars and margaritas and alien abductions.”

I waited for Mrs. Grant’s retort, but she didn’t say anything. A fly buzzed by and I reached out and grabbed it. “See, I did it!”

“Add that skill to your résumé.”

I opened my hand and released the insect. “I wonder if I have telekinetic powers.”

“Why don’t you try lifting your feet off the ground so we can continue our walk?” She turned down a path through newly planted crepe myrtles toward the closer building. It was lined with a new grove of crepe myrtle. “We like to come here at night, especially when it’s hot in the summer.”

She stood expectantly at the doors to the redwood structure, and so I opened them for her. As she walked inside, I saw a large swimming pool surrounded by an expansive patio and outdoor furniture. The surface of the water was as smooth as ice.

My heart thudded and I stepped back, feeling something pressing down on me like an incubus, sucking the breath out of my lungs.

Mrs. Grant said, “If you want to take a dip, the swimsuits are still in the …” Then she looked around to see me standing back at the door. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. I just … I’m feeling claustrophobic.” I rushed outside and bent over, my hands on my thighs. I tried to stop from shaking, and the breeze chilled the sweat on my forehead.

Mrs. Grant came out and watched me as I thought,
It’s something about the water
, but I didn’t want to know. When I stood up, she put her arm through mine and said, “Let’s keep walking.”

We went by the barn and she pointed out the porch on one side. “Ernesto has an apartment there. He’s the ranch hand and our friend. Your friend, too, and we explained what happened to you,” she said. “Mercedes used to like coming here to ride and swim.”

I grinned. “So I was able to help give her some time off from work! That’s great.”

“As shocking as it seems, Young Lady, Mercedes thrives on work, just as my grandson does.”

Mrs. Grant took me on a loop through the property, pointing out a shallow creek with gray stones, which I could look at
without reacting, and the corrals for the horses, which she called turnouts.

We walked to the far side of the fields and she said, “By that fence is a pond where you planted native wetland grasses, but we don’t have to go there.”

I noticed a mound of soil that was marked with a boulder and a green oval of rosemary. “This looks like a grave.”

“Your dog is buried there. Her name was Daisy. You have another dog now, Rosemary. Mercedes has him at her club, and your chicken, Petunia, is living in the coop by the barn.”

“I finally get pets and I can’t remember them. I can’t remember Wilcox either.” I bent to pull weeds from the grave. “Faulkner said, ‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past,’ but I don’t think he took amnesia into the equation. How can I feel sorrow for those I can’t recall?”

“You will, Young Lady. Now let’s go make breakfast.”

I walked with Mrs. Grant back to the white cottage, the Love Shack, so she could change out of her pajamas. The interior was a surprisingly modern white and blue scheme. I thought it was sad that she had a framed photo of Thomas Cook, the gorgeous movie star, on a sideboard. I’d had a major crush on him when I was a teenager, but I got over it.

Once we were back at Oswald’s house and in the kitchen, Mrs. Grant said, “I’ll whip up a cold berry soup with crème fraîche, and we can have omelets with red peppers and wild mushrooms.”

“Sounds yummy. What can I do?”

“Why don’t you make your lemon-almond pancakes?”

I looked around the shelves until I found flour, sugar, lemons, almonds, eggs, and a bowl. I grabbed baking powder and baking soda, too. I figured two cups of flour per person should be sufficient, so I measured this into the bowl.

Mrs. Grant glanced over and said, “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

“No, but maybe if I go through the motions, it will come back. Sense memory. I’m guessing that I must have learned how to cook.”

“You did, but maybe you should just make the coffee this morning.”

“No problem!” I looked on the counter and spotted an intimidating chrome espresso maker. I approached it and began waggling the handles.

Mrs. Grant sighed. “There’s a drip coffee machine in the cupboard to the right of the sink. You can grind beans, can’t you?”

“Yes, I can grind coffee beans on my own,” I said, and I had an odd sense of almost remembering something. And then it was gone.

Oswald came for breakfast, looking extremely man-pretty in faded jeans and a navy T-shirt under an old cotton flannel shirt. He gave Mrs. Grant a kiss on her pale cheek. “Morning, Grandmama.”

“Hello, dear.”

“Morning, Milagro,” he said. “How’s your memory?”

“Happily vacationing elsewhere,” I said. “Perhaps it will send a postcard saying ‘Wish you were here.’”

“I’ll keep checking the mailbox.” His crooked smile was more charming every time I saw it. He said, “How do you feel otherwise?”

“Fine, although I still have a sense of unreality. I’m sure the French would have a term for it, because they’re so good at phrases for elusive feelings.
Esprit d
’ookiness, or in Spanish,
espíritu de
ookiness.”

Lily came into the kitchen, wearing a cornflower blue linen
dress and carrying a huge shopping bag. “Morning!” she said cheerily.

Oswald grinned. “Hi, Lily. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, my room is as comfortable as a luxury hotel.” She looked at me and said, “How’s our patient?”

“Incapable of making pancakes,” I said, “but able to grab insects out of the air.”

She looked a little confused, but smiled and held out the shopping bag, showing a jangle of gold bracelets on her wrist and gold and amethyst rings on her slim fingers. “I picked up some things for you at the spa in town.”

“How sweet!” I took the bag, then glanced down and saw dun-colored material.

“They’re your new outfits,” Lily said. “It’s part of your therapy. Let’s go to your room and you can change.”

As we went together to the maid’s room, Lily said, “Oswald explained that you find dressing appropriately challenging, so I thought we could eliminate that one area of worry and discomfort for you.”

I placed the bag on the bed, already worried and discomforted about what I would find. My dread was justified. There were four identical pairs of beige drawstring pants and four shapeless beige, round-necked smocks. “These are …”

“Organic undyed cotton and hemp,” Lily said. “You’ll feel so relaxed in them.”

At the bottom of the bag were several pairs of beige granny panties, baggy beige socks, beige stretch bras, and thin beige gloves. The
pièce de
repugnance was a collection of beige scrunchies.

“Those are yoga bras, so they’re not constricting,” Lily said. “We need to break down your artifice, so you’ll be more in harmony with the natural world around you.”

“I’m a gardener. I’m always in harmony with the natural world.”

“Milagro, since drug therapies would have no effect on you, I thought we would go this route.”

“How do you know? You haven’t even tried giving me drugs!” But I remembered how I hadn’t felt the scotch.

“It’s part of your particular condition,” she said. “No makeup, no jewelry, and I’d like you to wear gloves around others, so you don’t revert to your pattern of presenting your sexuality to divert from meaningful interactions. If you pull your hair back, you won’t be prone to some of your flirtatious gestures.”

I stared at her in astonishment. “You’re wearing mascara and lip gloss and a pretty dress and you’ve got a darling ’do!”

“I’d like you to stop and think before automatically comparing yourself to other women.”

I regretted telling Lily that I’d go along with her therapy. “Sure, fine, whatever.”

Lily smiled brightly and said, “Change your clothes, and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

It was with a heavy heart that I put on the dismal clothes. The bra smooshed my bozooms like overly ripe fruit, and the granny panties left significant, visible lines. But when I went to the mirror to see the totality of the horror, I was stunned.

My eyes shone and my complexion was bright. My hair was shiny and healthy. How had this happened when yesterday I’d looked like a cadaver?

I French-braided my hair and put on a heinous scrunchie. I dabbed on clear lip gloss and a little mascara and brushed on a hint of blush, since it would be a crime to waste my newly stunning cheekbones.

When I went back to the kitchen, Mr. Grant had come downstairs. Everyone turned to look at me.

“Oh, good grief,” Mrs. Grant said with a roll of her eyes that was so extravagant that I knew I had to practice eye-rolling later.

I smiled serenely and said, “I find this clothing very liberating, very freeing, very evolved. Thank you, Lily, for this thoughtful gift.”

We sat at the long trestle table. The delicious food and vase of bright flowers were in striking contrast to the ramen and tortilla-based meals I subsisted on in my crappy basement apartment.

AG smiled at his ex-wife. “This is delicious, Edna. I wish you cooked when we were married.” He looked at the rest of us and said, “All she could do was mix Manhattans and set out bowls of cashews.”

Mrs. Grant narrowed her green eyes at him. “That was a long time ago. I
did
raise children, AG.”

Oswald looked at his grandparents, shook his head, then turned to me. “Milagro, we’ve got a call scheduled with Mercedes and my cousin, Gabriel, in half an hour.”

Lily said, “And after that we’ll have a session. It will be a real treat getting into your mind.”

Mrs. Grant
hmmph
ed and said to Lily, “Your optimism is sadly misplaced. Milagro’s mind is like quicksand: the harder you struggle to escape, the deeper she’ll drag you in.”

“Grandmama,” Oswald said at the same time that AG said “Edna.”

Lily looked surprised and turned to the older woman. “Let’s not discourage the recovery process. Milagro is in a very vulnerable place right now.”

“The Young Lady is about as vulnerable as a crocodile in a bunny hutch,” said Mrs. Grant. “I warn people, but they keep hopping within range of her jaws.” She got up and put her dishes in the dishwasher.

AG said, “Edna, I thought we could drive over the mountain and do a little sightseeing.”

She gave him a look that wasn’t encouraging, but it wasn’t discouraging either. “All right, AG,” she said, and they left the kitchen to head toward her cottage.

When Oswald ran down to the barn to talk to his ranch hand, Lily and I cleared the dishes. She said, “I hope you won’t let Mrs. Grant’s attitude bother you.”

I thought Mrs. Grant’s pointed remarks were as delightful as the stunning red barbs of the Wingthorn rose, but I tried to look wounded. “I’ll try not to, Lily. Thank you for your support and sympathy.”

When Oswald returned from the barn, his jeans were a little dusty and he had a strand of hay stuck to his shirt. The golden filament against the dark navy fabric disturbed me, and I was going to dust it off, but Lily was watching, so I just followed him to the study for our phone call.

“Come sit close,” he said as he made the call.

I took the chair near the desk and, after a few clicks, I heard Mercedes say, “I’m here with Gabriel.”

“Hey, girlfriend,” I said.

“This is Gabriel,” said a man’s voice. “Milagro, how are you doing?”

I reached over and brushed the hay strand from Oswald’s shirt. “I’m absolutely fine.”

Oswald glanced at me. “She looks much healthier today, but she still can’t remember anything. Lily Harrison is having a session with her later. We’ll see how that goes.”

The man, Gabriel, said, “Mercedes has updated me on everything she knows and I’ve contacted the Council.”

“What’s that? Or who—if it’s
counsel
?” I asked.

“What,” Oswald said. “The Council is our extended family’s governing body.”

“You sound very organized,” I said. Families were all a mystery to me, since I didn’t have one to speak of.

Gabriel said, “Wilcox’s assistant, Matthews, reported his employer’s disappearance two days after they flew into the country. In fact, Matthews is near the ranch now. Until things are cleared up, Matthews will be visiting his daughter, Nettie, in town. She’s Granddad’s new assistant.

“Wow, that’s a coincidence,” I said.

“Not really,” Oswald said. “His family has a longtime working relationship with our network of families.

“What does Matthews know?” I asked.

Gabriel said, “Only that he was on the flight after Wilcox’s and they were supposed to meet up. He knew that Wilcox was having a surfing vacation and visiting you. Wilcox was supposed to call him that night, but never did.”

“So we’ve still got nothing,” I said.

“Milagro, Matthews told the Council that you might be connected to his employer’s disappearance. He and his daughter are very upset. You met Nettie in London.”

“I can’t believe I forgot a trip to London.”

Mercedes said, “Gabriel would like permission to visit your loft with a forensics expert and see if they can find any fingerprints or trace evidence.”

I imagined a crime scene light illuminating body fluids everywhere. “Um, so long as you understand that I’m a single girl entitled to some privacy.”

“Thanks,” Gabriel said. “We’ll keep out of your lingerie drawer. I’d also like to go into your bank records and track the days leading up to and after Wilcox’s arrival.”

“Sure. I’d like to know where I was, too.”

Mercedes said, “We’ll tell you whatever we find out.”

“What about my missing time? I mean, in addition to the two years I’ve lost.”

There was a pause on the line and then Mercedes spoke, “Lily advises, and we all agree, that you need to recover your memory ‘organically’ to prevent the possibility of false memories.”