The Lost Coast

by Jane Kindred

  The class following that phone call was different. Lukas was quiet. He kept looking at me and looking away when I caught his eye. We’d overstepped some friend boundary; the long, intimate call had made him uncomfortable. I didn’t want to lose the friendship, even if that was all it was going to be. I liked the person I was with him; not the guarded foster child, not the girl with the scars—just Millie.

  While we put on our street shoes, I decided to suck it up. I prepared to give him the “it’s okay if you just want to be friends” speech, the “I’m not expecting anything from you” speech. I’d given them before. I tended to make guys a little nervous when they thought they might like me. Who wanted to introduce the girl with the scars as his girlfriend?

  We were the last ones in the studio. I’d taken my time putting my sparring gear away, and I turned to him as he snapped the clasp on his canvas bag.

  “I know that was weird last night,” I began while I picked up my hat to pull it over my head. “We don’t—” I stopped in surprise as Lukas tugged the hat out of my hands, took one step in toward me and dipped his head down. I started to back up, not sure what he was doing, but he stopped me with his hands on either side of my face and caught my mouth with his.

  I made some kind of exclamation into his mouth before whatever protest my higher brain wanted to make was forgotten against the heat of his tongue. He slid his hands down to my shoulders as he pulled back, and then kissed me once more, his lips tugging lightly against mine as he drew his mouth away, as if he wasn’t ready to let them go.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Was that a little creepy? I have you alone in a studio. I didn’t ask, just dove right in there and went for it. Just so you know, I’m not planning to kill you.” When I laughed out loud, he gave me his devastating signature grin. “I love making you laugh.” Lukas tugged my hat over my hair, positioning it carefully over my bangs as if he were about to photograph me. “So listen, can I kiss you again sometime?”

  “My schedule’s pretty much open,” I said.

  “You have a kissing schedule?”

  “Yes. Usually it’s booked months in advance.”

  “Okay, well…is now good for you?”

  “Now’s perfect.”

  It was easy to forget everything while Lukas Strand was kissing you.

  I shook myself from the memory, cheeks warm, as I reached the top of the lighthouse tower, feeling more than a little sad that the Lukas I remembered no longer seemed to exist. The glass panes surrounding the lens afforded a stunning view of the coastline, and I couldn’t help peering out in awe over the silver blue of the crashing waves far below.

  “Konstantin isn’t mine,” Lukas said behind me. I turned, not knowing what to say to this. It wasn’t what I’d expected him to discuss, and it really wasn’t any of my business. Hands stuffed into his pockets, Lukas looked past me, though he didn’t seem to see the view. “Aravella used her pregnancy to push me into marrying her. She let me believe he was mine. I had an obligation. I wanted to do the right thing.” He turned his gaze on me. “So I left San Francisco, and I came home and married her.”

  “San Francisco?” I leaned back against the glass, feeling the cold through my shirt. “You’re telling me that was why…”

  Lukas nodded. “And I handled it badly.”

  “Badly?” Angry heat rushed to my face. “You disappeared without a word.”

  He swallowed, but to his credit, he didn’t look away. “I know.”

  “You left everything. Your photography equipment, your clothes. Your landlord didn’t even know if you were coming back.”

  “I didn’t want you coming after me.”

  I pushed away from the glass. “Coming after you?” I kept my voice low, hoping it wouldn’t carry down the stairs. “Jesus. You are the most arrogant—mental—son of a bitch I’ve ever met in my life.”

  He nodded. “But I am sorry. I just wanted you to know that. It was a horrible, cowardly thing to do, and I’ve been sorry ever since.”

  “Well, bully for you! Do you think you get a medal now for growing a conscience? Frankly, I don’t think you’re sorry at all, except for yourself. And now you’re punishing that poor kid downstairs for your mistake. If he’s not your biological son, so what? Is that his fault? He doesn’t deserve love because he’s not your own flesh and blood?” My fists clenched in fury at my sides. “Just suck it up and be a father!”

  Lukas took his hands out of his pockets, staring at me. “Look, I just wanted to apologize. I wanted you to know it was nothing you did. But you don’t need to worry about Konstantin. He’s not your problem.”

  “Well, too late, Lukas. I’m worried. Can’t you see what you’re doing to him? It’s no wonder if he has behavioral issues.”

  Eyes smoldering, he turned without a word and headed back down the coil of wooden steps.

  “And you’re an idiot if you can’t see that he’s got your eyes!” I hurled after him. They were a dark, earthy brown rather than the moss green of his father’s, but the way Konstantin looked up at me through the shaggy hair that constantly fell over them was like looking straight into Lukas’s.

  I let out a long breath and turned back to gaze out over the cliff for a moment, hands gripping the railing beneath the glass. The winter storm that had been predicted was gathering over the Pacific, turning the silver blue of the water into a sullen greenish gray. It hadn’t escaped my conscious awareness that it was easier for me to focus on the damage Lukas was doing to Konstantin than the damage he’d done to me.

  I tried to reconcile what he’d told me with the memory of that unexpected emotional blitz. That he’d preferred to let me think something terrible had happened to him, to wonder all these years what I might have done wrong—or whether he was even alive—just to avoid owning up to the truth was mindboggling. Cowardly didn’t even begin to describe it.

  The whole story troubled me. Something didn’t ring true about it, like he was making up another lie to compound the first. And neither Lukas was reconcilable with the one who’d taken my photograph by the bay or laughed with me about my impending death by empanada. Who the hell was this guy?

  “Millie!” The stark alarm in Lukas’s voice made me forget my own worries and sent me barreling down the stairs.

  “What’s going on?” I nearly tumbled into him at the bottom as he started back up.

  He caught me by both arms. “Konstantin’s gone. I thought he couldn’t go more than a few steps on the boot.”

  I stared up at him. “He can’t. What do you mean, he’s gone?”

  Lukas shook me. “I mean, he isn’t here!”

  I pulled away from him. “Well, that’s ridiculous. He has to be here. Koste!” I hurried into the kitchen and saw that the crutches were no longer leaning against the wall by the table where I’d left them. A quick dash through the house proved he wasn’t in either bathroom or any of the bedrooms.

  Lukas had gone out into the yard, scanning the hillside. “Konstantin!” His voice projected across the clearing surrounding the cottage, taking on a sharp, deep edge.

  I hurried outside. “Where could he have gone? He was exhausted after going down the hall!”

  Lukas ignored me, his eyes on the path between the trees at the edge of the cliff. My heart pounded as I watched him scramble down and disappear in search of Konstantin. He couldn’t have gone down there. It was impossible. I glanced at the dirt in front of the patio and saw the impression of his crutches. The marks led in the other direction, toward the back of the cottage. I could only see a few before they were swallowed up in the grass, but I knew he’d gone this way. I called for Lukas, but the wind carried the sound away.

  I hurried around back as the wind picked up. “Konstantin! Koste!” There was no way he could have gone far. I wouldn’t have believed he could go this far. The storm broke at last, and rain began to hammer against my back as I du
cked into the trees. “Konstantin!” It was already raining so hard, I could barely see. I tripped over a root and fell headlong into the soggy pine needles. Ahead of me, something wavered—Konstantin, standing with his crutches, facing away from me. And then a bright flash of lightning illuminated the trees, and a loud crack nearly burst my eardrums, and a massive branch split off one of the trees, careening from directly above Konstantin.

  I screamed and scrambled toward him, but I was too far away to reach him in time. But something did. In the lurid light of another flash, I swore one of the trees swung forward through the muck and pine and swept Konstantin from the path of the falling branch. When I blinked away the blinding afterimage, Lukas stood before me, holding Konstantin in his arms.

  I grabbed the crutches lying in the mud and ran with him back to the cottage, shoving the door hard against the wind and rain once we were inside. Konstantin blinked at us with a dazed expression as Lukas set his son on the couch.

  “What the hell were you doing out there?” Lukas demanded.

  Konstantin began to shiver, looking down at his clothes. “I’m cold.”

  “I’ll get him some dry clothes.”

  Lukas had gotten him out of his wet things by the time I returned with the clothes and a towel. Between the two of us, we soon had him warm and dry and tucked under a blanket on the couch, and Konstantin was nodding off to sleep.

  Lukas stared down at him. “He does that after an episode. I asked him why he’d left the cottage, and he didn’t remember going.”

  I handed him another towel from the pile I’d brought from the hall closet as I took one to dry my dripping hair. “How did you get back up the hill so quickly?”

  He didn’t look at me as he rubbed the towel against his hair. “It wasn’t that quick. I went down to the diving ledge, saw he wasn’t there, and came back up. I heard you shout, and I went around back.”

  There hadn’t been time for him to get back up the hill and find us in the tangle of trees behind the cottage. I knew it, and he knew it. He was lying to me. There was something strange going on at the Strand.

  “You have to keep an eye on him.” Lukas handed the towel back, though he was still dripping. The wet fabric clinging to his skin accentuated his lean, muscular physique. I was keeping my eye on the wrong Strand. The one I had absolutely no feelings for.

  “I left him in the kitchen because you wanted to talk.”

  “I know. I’m not criticizing you. I’m just telling you—this is why. This is what he does. I thought with his injury that we wouldn’t have to worry about this for a while. But we do. You’ve been here three days, and you’ve already got him walking.”

  “But I never would have thought he could get that far on his own yet. He’s still in a lot of pain, and he’s barely used those muscles in weeks.”

  Lukas shrugged. “Maybe it’s part of the fugue. He doesn’t know he’s doing it, so he doesn’t feel the pain.” He went to the fireplace and crouched down to light a fire with the unburned log from the night before. “If you can handle him until Vella gets back, I think it’s time she accepts that this isn’t the best place for him.”

  I spoke quietly, uncomfortable discussing Konstantin’s fate while he was lying right beside me, even if he was asleep. “What you decide to do with your son is your business, Lukas, but you know my opinion. Personally, I think you could all use some therapy together to work through your issues, but again, not my business. I’m just here to help him heal the break properly and get back on his feet.”

  Lukas rose as the blaze caught, prodding at the burning logs with the poker before coming close to me. “I think we both know that’s not why you’re here. I haven’t figured out why you are yet, but I’m not an idiot, Millie.”

  His arrogant tone kindled a spark of bitterness. “Could have fooled me.”

  He took a step closer, and I had to look up to meet his eyes. I’d forgotten how tall he was: six foot two to my five foot four. “Be careful, Millie.” His expression was dark, anger radiating from him, but rather than being delivered as a threat, his words had an unexpected sincerity. He stared at me a moment longer, and I had an odd conviction he was going to kiss me, yet despite my earlier assertion to myself that I wasn’t attracted to him, I didn’t move. There was a sort of terrible magnetism about him that seemed to defy my rational mind and go straight to the damp hollow between my legs.

  The unnerving energy flowing between us seemed to dissipate in an instant. “I’ll send Roger to check on you later,” he said and left me to the storm of my thoughts.

  Chapter Six

  Sitting cross-legged before the fireplace, I stared into the flames, watching them dance almost sensuously over the wood. Half an hour ago, I’d seen him display what seemed like utter contempt for his son—the son he claimed wasn’t his. But seeing him standing in the rain with Konstantin in his arms had made me reconsider that assessment. He’d seemed genuinely alarmed at the boy’s absence and as upset as any father would be by the incident. But still I couldn’t understand how he’d reached Konstantin so quickly.

  My back pocket vibrated with a message on my phone, and I pulled it out and took a look. Miserable weather, isn’t it, Emilie? A good day to stay in and read.

  Read what? I replied. There was no answer. I sighed and rose to change my wet clothes. I’d moved my toiletries upstairs to the larger bathroom, and as I headed up to wash off the makeup running from my eyes, I noticed a box on the bed that hadn’t been there before. Had Lukas left it?

  The molded cardboard box had a clasp on the front with a lock, but when I pushed up on it, the box opened, unlocked after all. Inside was a stack of letters wound with an old rubber band that had long since rotted away, its remaining pieces stuck to the folded paper. I opened the first, ignoring a slight twinge of guilt that these might not be meant for my eyes.

  Dear Beverly.

  My hand shook as I read the name. It was a letter to my mother dated thirty years ago.

  Please don’t take what I’m about to say personally. I’m sure you’re a lovely girl whom any young man would be proud to bring home to his family. But you must understand that there is a tradition here that supersedes the blush of infatuation. It is about blood. It is about one’s roots. And yours, though I am sure they are perfectly respectable, are not suited to such a line.

  As I said, it’s nothing personal. But the Strand name stands for something, as you must have learned in your time in the oenology program. It is not only the vineyard, but the heritage from which it comes that requires a purity of stock. Sebastian has an obligation to continue the Strand tradition. Without tradition, without purity, we are nothing.

  I think it would be best for everyone involved if you moved out of the cottage. You’ve been a fine intern, but your services are no longer needed at the winery. We will, of course, give you a recommendation for an internship somewhere more suitable.

  Sincerely,

  Signe Strand

  My mother had been a vintner’s intern? My pulse hammered angrily in my veins as I imagined Beverly being told she wasn’t good enough for Sebastian, whoever he was. I folded the letter and picked up the next.

  Beverly,

  Your reply to my reasonable request was very disappointing. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear. It is not what Sebastian thinks he wants that is important here. And pardon my bluntness, but what you want is of no consequence. We know what is best for Sebastian. We are his family. You are an outsider. You cannot give Sebastian what he needs, and the sooner you are out of his life, the sooner he will come to accept it.

  Your presence at the Strand is a destructive force, and I cannot stress strongly enough that you are no longer welcome in the cottage. If we need to bring in the law to remove you, rest assured, we will do so.

  Signe Strand

  I wasn’t sure I could stand to read more, but I opened another.
r />   Beverly,

  Your news is very troubling. When we hired you, I had no idea you were the sort of girl you have turned out to be, and I very much regret it. Given the awkward circumstances, you may remain at the cottage for the rest of your term, but do not mistake this as a victory. You have only delayed things and this will only hurt Sebastian more when he comes to his senses.

  We are, of course, prepared to compensate you for your expenses once a test has been conducted confirming the child’s paternity, but only if you agree to our terms, which will be drawn up in writing and notarized to ensure that there are no misunderstandings. But understand this, right now: any such agreement will include the stipulation that you are never to see Sebastian again, that you are never to come to him with any claims upon the Strand name. We cannot stop you from having this child, but I can and will stop you from destroying the Strand legacy.

  I was chilled to the bone, and it wasn’t from my rain-soaked garments. It was hard to believe these letters were written by the same woman who’d welcomed me so warmly at dinner.

  The question was, who wanted me to know? My mysterious “friend” had obviously left these. Could it actually be Lukas? He was the only one who’d been in the cottage today, as far as I knew. But why the games? It just didn’t seem like his style.

  I’d had enough. I took out my phone and texted the mystery number. Enough with the melodramatic secrecy bullshit. You either come talk to me face-to-face or I’m blocking your number. Not that I actually knew how to block a number, but I was sure there had to be a way.

  The reply came as I was changing into something dry. I paused in stepping into my jeans to read it. Of course, Emilie. I’ll come by the cottage as soon as I have a chance, and we can have a chat.

  Before I’d even finished reading it, a knock came at the door downstairs. Hell, that was fast.

  “Millie?” Roger’s voice called up the stairs. I finished pulling on my jeans and hurried down to find Roger wearing a classic Mackintosh and galoshes. “Mr. Strand said little Koste’d had a bit of an adventure.” Konstantin hadn’t stirred at the sound of Roger’s voice.