The Dark Side of the Rainbow

by Rita Hogan

  After the meal was over, Nicholas had lifted up his arms to Landon, his way of asking to be held. Within minutes the toddler was fast asleep in his uncle’s strong, warm embrace. Wanting to capture the moment, Brooke reached for her camera and snapped a couple of pictures, catching the way Landon looked down at his nephew. The shot moved her more than she realized.

  Brooke and Natasha were scheduled to spend the afternoon together. They had chosen that same day to take photos of the children after their nap. She would ride with the older sibling, and Landon would pick her up after work. The couple had plans to spend the evening in Bariloche.

  After the kids were settled in their beds, the two women sat on the couch in the living room and enjoyed tea while they got to know each other better.

  “I’ve never been to Montana. By the time my parents moved to the Northwest, I was already in Patagonia.”

  “Landon mentioned they lived in Portland for a short time before moving to London. How do they enjoy living abroad?”

  “They love it, and I like visiting them. When I ran NLG Property Group, I often had to make trips there, with never much time to enjoy the city. Now when we go to London to visit my parents, I get to do a lot of the things I missed.”

  Natasha was about to ask Brooke if she had been to London; but caught herself, remembering that the younger woman had no recollection of the places she had been.

  Somehow reading her thoughts, Brooke told her what she wanted to know. “I don’t think I’ve been to England. I suspect as much because while I know of London, I don’t have a lot of information about the city. I know a lot about Montana and the Pacific Northwest, even Portland, specific details about the area. I also know I’ve spent quite a bit of time in that part of the U.S. because of the pictures in my file.”

  “I can’t imagine what you are going through, Brooke, and how you must feel.” Natasha’s sympathy was evident on her pretty face.

  The photographer took a sip of her tea. “Do you know what I’m afraid of the most?”

  Natasha shook her head.

  “Remembering.”

  Surprised, Natasha stated, “I don’t understand.”

  “There were things I told Landon before the amnesia that lead me to believe that I had no one back in Kalispell. Like a sixth sense I feel things, but have no memories to associate with those feelings. I’m convinced I bear a tragic past. The thought of what that might be frightens me.”

  She looked toward the fireplace, studying the stone face. “Being with your brother makes me think that I could forget my past and never regret not knowing. He has given me a lot of joy in the short time I’ve known him.”

  “Making others happy comes naturally to Landon.” Except for himself, she wanted to add, but didn’t. Natasha knew it wasn’t her place to discuss her brother’s inner most thoughts and his own fears. She was fairly certain he would eventually reveal to Brooke his whole past and his own pain. The more she saw them together, the more convinced she was that her brother was in love.

  “When Landon was eight, I was sixteen, and I had my heart broken for the first time.” Natasha sighed with a smile. “I’ll never forget Michael Bledsoe. He was the most handsome boy I had ever met, tall and tan with lovely blonde hair and the palest blue eyes. I thought he had a personality to match.” She gave Brooke a knowing wink before continuing her story. “I remember the first time he ever noticed me. The note he slipped me one afternoon in history class—it was the only period we shared together—caused my heart to beat at a clipped pace. Afraid it might be confiscated by the teacher, I waited until class was over to open it.

  “I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read the neatly scripted message, Would you like to go to the movies with me on Saturday? I wanted to shout from the mountain top! I was thrilled, and even more elated when my father agreed. His only condition was that I be driven to the theatre, and our driver had to chaperone.

  “During the movie, Michael held my hand. I thought it was the sweetest thing. For the next two weeks, I was walking on cloud nine, already planning our wedding and how many children we would have.”

  Brooke chuckled, wondering if she had done the same with whatever boy she had fallen for in high school.

  “Typical girl, right?” Natasha asked. Brooke nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “We were as inseparable as two young people could be. One day when the lunch bell sounded, Michael made his way to my class, as he always did. Instead of walking me to the cafeteria, he reached for my hand and quickly pulled me into a closet. When I asked him what he was doing, he told me he couldn’t stand it any longer, he wanted to kiss me. I was thrilled, my first kiss. It was nice for a moment.” Natasha paused.

  Eager to know what came next, Brooke asked, “What happened?”

  “The nice kiss soon led to touching in places that made me uncomfortable. I tried to move his hands but he wouldn’t budge. I managed to pull away enough to tell him to stop, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. My mother had warned me about this possibly happening. I began to feel sick and scared, but I remembered my self-defense classes and kicked him as hard as I could in the groin.”

  “Good for you!” Brooke exclaimed.

  Natasha nodded. “I finally got his attention and told him that if he touched me again I would scream, and the people milling around in the hall would hear. Disgusted, I grabbed my books to leave. As I was about to open the closet door, I heard him say, ‘I told them you were a prude.’ I went to the principal’s office and called my mother.

  “When I arrived home, I lay on my bed and cried my heart out. I wouldn’t come out of my room. My mother must have told Landon I wasn’t feeling well. After dinner, when I didn’t come down to eat, I remember him knocking on my door and asking me if I was all right. When I told him I was fine, he told me he was worried because he heard me crying.

  “My sweet brother was worried about me. I had taken care of him all of his life and I couldn’t push him away when he wanted to be caring and kind in return. When I opened the door, he threw his arms around me. When he asked me what happened, I told him that Michael was being mean to me and that we were no longer friends. We talked for a while before it was time for him to go to bed. The next morning when I woke up he had slipped a drawing under my door. Hold on for a moment; I still have the picture.”

  Brooke watched as Natasha made her way down a hallway. When she returned, she was carrying a white piece of paper and handed it to Brooke.

  It was the sweetest picture. With crayon and as much detail as an eight-year-old could muster, he had drawn Michael, blue eyes and all. Using a black crayon he had given the offender a black eye. Standing to the side of the teenager was Landon dressed in a Superman costume, along with the prerequisite cape. Instead of an insignia with an S on the front of his chest he had drawn an L. It was obvious from the illustration who had given Michael Bledsoe the black eye.

  When Brooke looked up at Natasha, there was tenderness in the photographer’s eyes. “These are the kind of memories that Landon was referring to the other night. He told me that while pain was inevitably part of my past, there were troves of cherished memories waiting for me to discover again. What if I have moments such as these?” she commented while looking at the drawing she held in her hand. “Special things the ones I love did for me?”

  “You must have some, Brooke,” Natasha agreed.

  Nodding her head, the photographer knew she had to set her fear aside. “I have to stop being afraid.”

  Landon’s sister touched for her hand. “Whatever pain awaits you, my brother will be there for you. I will be here for you too.”

  “Thank you, Natasha. It means a lot to know you care.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Brooke and Landon strolled the busy streets of downtown Bariloche. He was taking her to the Francisco P. Moreno museum, named after the man who explored the Andes and Patagonia rivers and later donated the lands that would become the first national park in Argent
ina. There was a special event taking place that Landon thought Brooke would enjoy.

  He offered to have the car valet parked, but she asked if they could park a few blocks away instead so they could walk to the museum. She enjoyed the atmosphere of the town at evening, and the night was cool, but tolerable.

  As they began their walk, Landon offered Brooke his arm. She was worried she might be under-dressed but he assured her that she looked perfect in her black slacks and red cardigan. Underneath the woven angora, she wore a patterned gold silk camisole. Having come straight from work, Landon wore khaki suit pants, a blue striped shirt with a yellow tie and a dark navy suit coat with gold-toned buttons.

  Brooke could tell his outfit was tailor made: the fit was too perfect. It caused her to wonder about his wealth. By the looks of her wardrobe and the amount of money she had deposited in the bank in Bariloche, it seemed she came from money as well. It made her feel less like his unequal. Why she would even feel such a thing reminded her of the odd feelings she experienced at times.

  She put her arm through his, savoring the feel of his strength.

  “How well did the kids cooperate this afternoon for their photo shoot?” he asked as he led her down the street toward the museum.

  Brooke gave a modest laugh at his choice of words. “You make me sound so professional.”

  “Well, you are, and you do wonderful work.”

  She glanced up at him with appreciation. “Thank you, but from the looks of it, I don’t know that I would qualify as a professional photographer of people. All the pictures I seem to take are of nature. While I enjoyed the challenge of capturing moving targets rather than still ones, it requires a certain finesse that doesn’t come naturally to me. You’re sister seemed pleased with the photos. I guess that’s what matters most. She offered to pay me. I refused.”

  Landon smiled. “Of course she offered to pay you. She’s a business woman at heart. When the kids are all grown, she’ll be back in the thick of things with NLG Property Group. I know she misses it at times; however, it’s what she needed to do for her children as well as for herself. We both love our parents, but we can’t help but feel resentful at times.”

  “But you had each other?”

  “The first eight years of her life she didn’t have me. As much as we enjoyed growing up with each other, nothing can ever take the place of your parents. It’s never the same. There is always something missing.”

  They were silent for a moment as they walked at a leisurely pace, Landon lessening his stride to match hers.

  “Your sister told me about Michael Bledsoe.”

  Landon glanced at Brooke. “Wow! I hadn’t thought about that jerk in years.”

  “I was wondering if she ever told you the specifics about him when you were older.”

  “Ha, not only did she tell me, she threatened to skin me alive if I ever did to someone what Michael had done to her. Did she show you the picture? I can’t believe she kept it after all these years.”

  Brooke was quiet for a moment.

  Landon didn’t push; she would tell him what was on her mind in her own time.

  They were a few hundred feet from the museum entrance when she finally spoke. “I don’t want to be afraid of remembering anymore. Hearing the story and seeing the picture you drew makes me wonder if I have similar keepsakes tucked away at home.”

  “I’m glad you no longer want to keep your past locked away and buried. I’m sure you have lots of valuable moments stored away, waiting for you to appreciate them once more. I look forward to hearing your own stories someday.” Before leading her through the doors of the museum, he untangled his arm from hers to hold her hand instead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The first thing Brooke noticed when she entered the old, beautifully restored building were the quiet sounds of a cello and piano playing in a choppy, peppery beat. It was a vibrant and heated use of the two instruments.

  “What kind of music is that?” she asked Landon, as he handed their jackets to the person at coat check. He placed the ticket stub into the pocket of his khaki trousers, then reached for her hand before explaining.

  “Tango. You’re in for a treat. In about an hour we’ll move to the atrium for a tango performance. There are a few well-known artists who live in the area who offered to provide the entertainment for the museum’s fund raiser event.” Spotting a server, he asked Brooke if she wanted some of the champagne the gentleman held on his tray, or something else.

  “Champagne sounds good.”

  Letting go of her hand, he reached for two glasses, offering her one.

  “They’ll bring out hors d’oeuvres in a moment. How about we start over there and make our way around the exhibits?” he offered, pointing to the west end of the cavernous building.

  Nodding, Brooke asked, “So this is a fundraiser? It’s a very nice way to raise money. Is the Grand Vue one of the sponsors?”

  “We supplied the hors d’oeuvres along with a few tickets for the three-day cruise that will be a part of the auction. It’s set to begin after the tango dances. I believe you’ll enjoy the evening.”

  Landon was right. Brooke was having a wonderful time. The exhibits were all in Spanish. Reading the cards, he would then explain to her in English what the piece represented in Patagonia history. Not only did she enjoy hearing him talk, she savored the brief moments of physical contact when he would place his hand at the small of her back to gently guide her to another area. The sensations caused Brooke to feel cherished and protected. When his hands were free of food and drink, she found him reaching for hers in a subconscious sort of way. His touch sent warmth shooting through her. It was a sensation she wanted to explore.

  As they made their way among the other guests, Brooke realized Landon knew many of them. Most stopped him for a moment to engage in polite conversation; several of the party goers were other businessmen and women in the area. They greeted him in Spanish. When he introduced Brooke in English, they would greet her in her native tongue. She found the laidback politeness of the Argentinians refreshing.

  After viewing all the exhibits, it was time to move to the atrium for the exhibition. The space was very large and, to ensure that everyone could see the artists, the chairs were set up in a circle only two rows deep. Shortly after finding their front row seats reserved for the sponsors, the lights dimmed and a spotlight illuminated the empty circle of floor space the chairs surrounded.

  There were a few measures of sultry music that played before a second spotlight lit one of the aisles. A long-legged dancer with a platinum-colored fringed gown began slowly sashaying down the aisle, while a third spotlight lit upon a tall man wearing a metallic gray suit and a fedora. He was swaying down the opposite aisle. Mimicking the woman’s movement in perfect timing, they made their way to the center spotlight, eyes locked on one another.

  Brooke could feel her pulse begin to race at the image of the two lovers making their way toward each other. Not wanting to rush the moment, it was as if they were savoring the awareness they had for one another, creating a tension that would explode on contact, making the slow purposeful delay worthwhile.

  She must have sighed outwardly when the couple finally met in the middle. At that precise moment, when the sound escaped her lips, Landon reached for her hand, as if he, too, was caught up in the union of the dancers.

  Cheek to cheek, the lovers began to move in soft, yet swift, fluid motion. Legs seemingly began to tangle and then untangle with precision and ease. The steady hand of the man guided the woman he held in his arms, his touch firm but sensuous.

  At one point the woman clung to her lover in apparent ecstasy. He held her body so close to his they were practically one. With ease, he glided her across the floor, keeping her body close to his as she arched her back in desire. When she came up to wrap her arms around his neck, their lips were ever so close, their bodies moving to the rhythm of the beat in perfect timing. The music began to wind down and suddenly the lovers stilled.


  The crowd stood and applauded with fervor; members of the audience whistled their appreciation as the dancers bowed. It was obvious everyone had felt the raw, evocative emotion of the performance.

  “They must be in love in real life,” she exclaimed over the din of the applause.

  Giving her a soft look, he responded, “Eliana and Diego are happily married,” he paused for effect, “to others.”

  Brooke looked at Landon as if he couldn’t be serious.

  “How do their spouses bear to watch them?” The applause had stopped. The crowd was talking quietly amongst themselves as they waited for the next number. Lowering her voice, Brooke added, “There is no way I could watch y . . . my husband in another woman’s arms, even if they were merely performing.” She had been about to say ‘you,’ referring to Landon.

  He knew it and felt the warmth of her near slip wash over him. “I feel the same. So, no tango dancers, movie stars who have to do love scenes, or Broadway performers for us.” The words were whispered close to her ear.

  No tango dancer for me, she thought as the nerve endings along her spine tingled from his nearness.

  After the last performance, Landon looked at Brooke. “Do you want to stay for the auction?”

  “Yes, I would like that.”

  Standing, he helped her from her seat so they could find some refreshments while they set up for the bidding.

  When the auctioneer’s voice came over the sound system, Brooke and Landon took their seats. Since the dealer was speaking in Spanish, Landon translated what items were up for bid, converting the amounts in US dollars, until a compass necklace came up for offer.

  Landon was mesmerized by the 150-year-old, 14 karat gold necklace, with diamonds at each point and a sapphire in the middle. Looking at the brochure, she could tell it was a beautiful piece of jewelry. Brooke could see why he was enamored with it.