The Secret of Everything

by O'Neal, Barbara

  Tessa nodded. “Right, I get it.” She put her hand on the gearshift. “Maybe you can tell me where to find Paula or Cherry, then?”

  “At the greenhouse, probably. But if you go up to the visitor center, they’ll find anybody you want.”

  “Thanks.” Tessa turned the car around and headed back to the main lot. The guy followed her, so there was no way out. She thought she might elude him by waiting until he went wherever he was headed, but he simply parked and got out of the truck, pulling a cell phone out of the pocket of his jeans. “You wanted to find Paula or Cherry, you said? Particular about which one?”

  “Both; either.”

  The man was about sixty or a little more, with an aristocratic face sharpened by years of harsh sun and wind. He punched in a telephone number and waited for somebody to answer, and Tessa felt in her bones that she knew him, but she couldn’t call it up. Frustrated, she looked away as he made his phone call.

  And from this angle, she saw a stand of aspen trees and the edges of a tepee. She took an involuntary step toward it, remembering an open meadow, pale green dotted with tiny white daisies, and the inside of the tepee itself, with sleeping bags and beds and—

  “You all right, sweetheart? You look like you saw a ghost.”

  Tessa shook her head. “I’ve been seeing ghosts since I landed in this place. I can’t really remember anything, but I was here with my … father as a child.”

  “There were a lot of people here for a little while, off and on. What’s your name?”

  “Tessa Harlow,” she said without thinking.

  He narrowed his eyes, then shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” He offered a strong, hardworking hand. “My name’s Jon Nathan. My brother and I founded the place.”

  “Oh, hey. Good to meet you. I’ve been reading a lot about it all, trying to get a cooking tour into the school.”

  Light dawned. “Ah, right, right. Cherry told me.”

  “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished here,” she said. She took off her hat, shaking out her hair, and tucked her hands in her pockets.

  “What’s your name again?” He had gone quite still. “Who did you say your father was?”

  Even if she was furious and wanted answers, Tessa couldn’t bear to tell anyone else just yet. Giving Jon Nathan her most charming smile, she sidestepped the question. “Now you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Do I remind you of someone?”

  He frowned. “Paula is on her way down. She’ll meet you in the café.” His cell phone rang, and he punched a button. “Hello?” he barked, and pointed Tessa up the hill to the café.

  She didn’t have any choice—she lifted a hand and headed for the café. Felix trotted behind her, sitting politely at the door while she ordered a cup of the heady tea. “I’d like to buy a half pound in bulk, too,” she said.

  When the girl handed her cup over the counter, Tessa was snared again by the scent and bent her head down, closing her eyes so she could smell it, breathe it in deeply.

  A vast sense of well-being moved through her, but no memories surfaced. She carried the cup to a table beneath the roof outside. It was chilly, but she wanted to stick with Felix, and the light was fantastic. She’d left her camera in the car but took mental photos of the squashes spilling out of whiskey barrels and the quiet mood of the fields.

  A woman in jeans and a jacket and a bandana came over. “Hello,” she said. “You must be Tessa, right?”

  It was the eyebrowless woman from the farmers’ market. “Right.”

  “I’m Paula, Cherry’s mother.” She shook hands by encasing Tessa’s hand in a sandwich between her own and looking deeply into her face. “Has anyone told you that you have the eyes of the children born at the commune?”

  “No,” Tessa said, startled. “What kind of eyes?”

  “Green eyes,” Paula said. She didn’t let go of Tessa’s hand.

  “Like Guinnevere,” Tessa said, without thinking.

  “Yes.” She smoothed her palm over Tessa’s knuckles. “Are you one of Xander’s children?”

  To her horror, Tessa’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know.” She looked away. “Maybe.”

  “It’s all right. Drink some tea.”

  “I do remember this tea,” Tessa said, trying to calm herself, to think of something besides the tide of emotion that was rising so suddenly and emphatically. “I remember the smell.”

  “I’ve been making it a long, long time.” She kept a hand over Tessa’s. “How old are you, honey?”

  “Thirty-seven—I mean, thirty-nine.”

  Paula chuckled. “Do you lie about your age already?”

  “No, it’s complicated. I thought I was thirty-seven, but my … birth certificate was … lost.”

  Beyond the roof, the rain began to fall more heavily, pattering on the ground and the leaves. Felix moved closer to Tessa.

  “You’re not really here for the tour possibilities, are you?” Paula asked.

  “Actually, I am. I didn’t remember all … of … this until I got here.”

  “I see.” Paula leaned forward. “How can I help you, sweetheart?”

  Tessa shook her head, then bowed it. “Dang it,” she said fiercely. “This is embarrassing. I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d feel so emotional.”

  “It’s okay. Take your time.”

  “One thing I keep remembering is a sister. I think I had a sister. Who looked like me.”

  Paula nodded. “You probably have many sisters. And brothers. You all look alike. Blond, green-eyed, lanky. My daughter, Cherry, is one of Xander’s children. He was a beautiful and charismatic man.”

  “How many children?”

  Paula shook her head. “I don’t know. A dozen, maybe more. Not many stayed after he died.”

  My mother killed him. “How did he die?” Tessa asked.

  “That, I’m afraid, is something we don’t talk about.” Her smile was as beneficent as a nun’s, her hands neatly folded. “It was one of the darkest days of the commune, and we nearly didn’t get through it.”

  Tessa nodded. She took a breath. “There is something I’d like to do, if it’s possible.”

  “I’m happy to try.”

  “When I was here a few days ago, Cherry told me that there was a conference going on in the house, that old Victorian. I’d really like to see the tower room. I remember playing there.”

  “Oh, that’s easy.” Paula stood. “I just came from there. We’re cleaning up and getting ready to close it for the winter. It’s too expensive to heat, so we use it only in the summer. We can go in my car.”

  “Can I bring my dog?”

  “Absolutely. Dogs are people, too.” From her pocket she produced a small dog biscuit. Felix accepted it delicately. “And this, I can tell, is a great dog.” She cocked her head. “Right. Let’s go, kiddo.”

  Kiddo. Tessa smiled. It was what her father called her.

  A pinch moved in her lungs. Not her father. Sam.

  When they got to the house, it looked somehow sinister under the eggplant sky, and Tessa suddenly felt afraid. An anxiety attack started to rise in her chest, closing her throat, pressing her lungs tight against her ribs, making her stomach burn. She managed to breathe through it as they got out of the car. Felix waited on the wraparound porch as Paula led Tessa inside.

  The foyer and the rooms opening from it were all classically Victorian, with wide-sash windows, fireplaces with carved wooden mantels, and bay windows looking out over the valley. Floors gleamed with polish, and the furniture was deep, inviting, covered in fabrics that gave a nod to the period—cranberry and forest, red and deep brown—without going into a tearoom bazaar of antimacassars and crystal.

  Startled, Tessa said, “This is beautiful.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t recognize this part. It was a mess and we never lived in it. We all lived upstairs.” Gently, she smiled and led the way. Tessa found her gaze on Paula’s sturdy leather clogs and knitted woolen socks. They climbed past
the second floor, which had less light than below, and to the third, where Tessa followed Paula across a passage into the tower.

  “It’s storage now,” she said, gesturing to the boxes. “But it was once where the children slept.”

  “I remember,” she said, and the enormous tide of emotion rose in her throat, pressed against the bridge of her nose, equal parts joy and loss.

  She floated into the round room with its uncurtained windows and turned in a circle. “It’s smaller than I remember. We had beds all along the windows,” she said, and turned again. “We played jacks and hopscotch.” She went to a window and looked out. “Here. I slept here.”

  Unconsciously, she turned toward the right. “My sister—” She stopped. “I can see her so clearly,” she whispered, suddenly flooded with a picture of a girl with long, long, long blond hair in a white nightgown, eating a cookie.

  “Seven or eight kids slept here, I think. On cots,” Paula said.

  In Tessa’s memory, the girl with long blond hair flung out her arms, spinning, and cried, “Come dance with me, Guinnevere!”

  Herself. “Guinnevere,” she said, choking. She bent over, covering her mouth. “My name is Guinnevere and I had a sister. I had a sister, and I don’t know where she is.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Paula. “Guinnevere.”

  Tessa turned to look at her. “That is my name, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it probably is.” Paula’s brow was troubled.

  Tessa sank to the floor, arms limp. Her cast knocked against the floor with a little thump. “Not even my name is right. Not even my name.”

  Paula knelt beside her. “Now you know. You are one of Xander’s children. At least you know that.”

  Tessa swam up through the inexplicable grief swamping her. “How can I make sense of my life if I don’t even know my name?”

  Paula simply stroked Tessa’s hair. Quietly, gently. “We haven’t had any children come back,” she said. “But I’m very glad to meet you again. We all thought you died.”

  Somehow, that steadied her. “In the river, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “In a way, I did,” Tessa said, and wiped her eyes. “My sister’s name was Rhiannon, right?”

  Paula nodded. “You were twins.”

  Tessa bowed her head. “And she went in the water, too. My dad—the man who raised me—pulled me out.”

  Paula closed her eyes, and she let go of an audible sigh. “Sam Harlow.”

  “Yes.”

  “He was so protective of all the children, but especially you. I used to worry about it at first, but I think you were just his destiny. It changed him, taking care of the children, all of you. He became a better person.”

  “Yeah,” she said. Oddly, however, there was no hint of a panic attack. “Aside from that little matter of lying to me my entire life.”

  “Life gets complicated sometimes.”

  Tessa bent her head into her hands. “A sister,” she whispered.

  Paula sat with her, and Tessa cried for the sister she never had and sorely missed and had wished for all of her life.

  Breakfast #95

  Migas: One of the simplest and most cheerful of southwestern breakfasts—2 eggs scrambled with onions, corn tortillas, chorizo, and a little cheese. Served with green or red salsa and coffee.

  MIGAS

  1 link chorizo sausage, thickly diced

  2 T chopped onions

  2 corn tortillas, shredded roughly

  2 eggs, lightly beaten

  2 T chopped green chiles

  Shredded cheese

  In a heavy skillet, fry the chorizo until done. Remove sausage and drain. Pour off all but 1 T fat, and add onions and tortilla pieces. When the onions are tender and tortillas crisp, add eggs and chiles and sausage. Scramble until done. Sprinkle generously with shredded cheese.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Vince sent Jade and Hannah to school, leaving Natalie asleep in her room until after he made a handful of phone calls. To the firehouse to take the day off; to the dentist, who assured him such accidents happened all the time and he would see Jade right after school today; to the eye doctor to replace Nat’s broken glasses; to the school counselor, who agreed to a meeting just before school got out; to his mother, who wasn’t home.

  He left Judy a message, preparing her for Natalie’s absence and Jade’s fat lip. “The war between the girls,” he said, “may be getting a little out of hand.”

  Natalie was still asleep at nine, so he started a load of laundry, cleaned up the living room, and made his bed. At ten, he went into her room and gently woke her. “Why don’t you get up now, sweetie? We’ll go have breakfast.”

  When she came down the stairs, she wore an old T-shirt with a unicorn in faded glitter and jeans that were frayed on the hem. Her hair was tousled, her face showing the brawl in a purple shiner and a trio of scratches down her cheek.

  He held up her blouse. “I got the blood out. Now we have to ask Grandma to fix the shoulder.” He put his fingers through the hole. “It’s right on the seam. Should be easy to fix.”

  She nodded. Her eyes were swollen above and below the shiner, and she looked absolutely exhausted. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m just sad.”

  “What are you sad about, Nat-baby?”

  “I’m sorry I hurt Jade. I’m sorry I stole the lemon curd.”

  He rubbed her shoulders and wondered how to get to the bottom of all this. The counselor would help. “I know. We’re going to talk about that, and about everything else, but how about we go get you some breakfast at Vita’s café?”

  “Okay,” she said without enthusiasm. “But I thought I was supposed to be in trouble.”

  He sat across from her and took her small hands in his own. “Babe, you don’t have to carry the world. I’ve got it, okay?”

  Her dark-blue eyes met his. “I know,” she said without conviction.

  It was well past the rush by the time they wandered into 100 Breakfasts. The smells of brewing coffee and frying bacon and baking bread perfumed the air, and the low murmurs of conversation made the music of the café. Vince waved a hand. “Where do you want to sit?”

  “At the counter.” She clambered onto a stool, her legs hanging free far above the floor.

  The man on the other side of her said, “Hey, little lady. Who you been brawling with?”

  Natalie gave Vince a dark look. He shrugged. “Better get used to it.”

  She sighed and said, “My sister.”

  “Ooh. Hope she looks worse than you.”

  “Not really.” She took a menu and opened it reverently bending her head over the columns and columns of food.

  Vince reached for the tidy pile of read newspapers, feeling his nerves ease a little just by being here. Vita greeted him with a cup of coffee. “Looking a little haggard there, kiddo. You okay?”

  “Kid troubles,” he said, and his voice was a burly rasp. “Nothing your breakfast can’t cure.”

  “It is well known that a good breakfast can cure just about anything. How about you, Miss Natalie? What will it be this morning?”

  “I have to think.”

  “Take your time.” Vita bustled away, all lean arms and legs and purpose.

  He leafed through the menu. What would heal this raw spot on his heart? Pancakes, maybe. With peaches if there were any left. Berries if she had some of those. Or maybe he’d put himself in Vita’s hands. When she came back, he said, “You choose.”

  “I can do that.” She topped off his coffee. “What about you, Natalie?”

  She said, “I will try the huevos del diablo.”

  “Whey-vos,” Vita said.

  “Whey-vos,” Natalie repeated, nodding. “I knew I probably didn’t have it right.”

  “That’s all right. You can’t know if you don’t give it a try. Do you want it hot or medium?”

  “Medium, please.”

  “How many left to try, kiddo?”

  Natalie said, “S
ixty-eight.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed!”

  “I haven’t actually ordered every single one,” she confessed. “Some of those I just tasted somebody else’s.”

  “That’s all right. It counts.” Vita tapped Natalie on the head with the menu. “You’re gonna come work for me one of these days, aren’t you? A girl with your talent needs to be in my kitchen.”

  “Oh,” Natalie breathed, putting her hands on her face. “Yes.”

  Vita gave her the thumbs-up, winked at Vince, and headed for the kitchen.

  This, he thought, had been exactly the right place to come.

  Vince said, “You know, we’re gonna have to come up with a way for you to make up for the stealing.”

  “Shhhh!” she said, shooting a glance over the pass-out bar, where the woman who saw Nat steal the salt shaker was bent over the grill. “Do you want the whole world to know?”

  “Sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Can I have the comics?”

  Vince passed them over. “Sure.”

  When she left the farm, Tessa felt light-headed with information. She thought about stopping at the library again to look up anything they might have reported in the newspaper about the drowning. Or a fire. Something about a fire kept flickering at the edge of her memory.

  Trees, running—

  But she’d had about enough for one morning. All the peace she’d stored by shooting the still quiet of a vase of flowers was now gone. She headed for Vita’s café, which had come to feel, in a very short time, like Cheers, where everyone knew her name.

  Even if she didn’t.

  She felt winded as she walked in, carrying secrets and losses and newly discovered grief like a child.

  And there, of course, was Vince. It was as if their feet ran on parallel train tracks and pulled in at the same stations at the same time, over and over. Relief flooded her. Maybe she had come here looking for him—the sight of his dark hair, his sober jaw, made her feel better.

  She sat down next to him, letting her hand linger on his shoulder blade, not realizing until she said, “Hey, handsome,” that Natalie was on his other side.