The Apple Orchard

Five



In the bleak light of the emergency room, Tess put herself back together as best she could. A nurse came into the curtain area with some forms and more literature. His gaze took in her scattered belongings, the now-quiet monitors. She didn’t bother trying to find a mirror; she knew without looking what she’d see—a wrung-out woman with donut powder on her clothes, bed-head and no makeup. Who wanted to see that?

“Is someone coming for you?” asked the nurse.

“What, for me?” Tess frowned. “Nope, don’t think so.” Jude had come along with that guy, with...Dominic. She hadn’t seen either of them since she’d been wheeled into the curtain area next to a guy with matted hair, raving about the apocalypse.

“Maybe you could call someone,” the nurse suggested.

“A taxi,” she said. “That’s all I need.”

He regarded her for a second, then drew the curtain aside. “Good luck. Call if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” She felt slightly dazed, or maybe disoriented. In the waiting area, anxious people sat in molded plastic chairs or paced the tiled floor, clearly anxious for news of their loved ones. A quick scan confirmed that neither Jude nor Dominic had stuck around.

On the one hand, it was a relief to get out of this place. Yet on the other hand, she couldn’t deny the fact that it was kind of depressing, having no one to bring her home from the ER.

Shouldering her heavy bag, she looked for the exit, feeling resolute. She didn’t need anyone. She needed a cigarette in the worst way.

No more smoking. That was in bold type on the doctor’s list.

The hell with him. She was going to find a convenience store. She was going to buy a pack of the nastiest cigarettes she could find and—

“Everything all right?” Dominic Rossi appeared before her. His coat was unbuttoned, his hair mussed, as though he’d run his hands through it repeatedly.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Waiting for you.”

“Why would you wait for me?”

He regarded her with complete incomprehension. “I brought you here. I’m not about to ditch you.”

She was startled to hear this from a complete stranger. Even Jude had taken off when it was clear she wasn’t knocking on heaven’s door.

“Oh. Well, okay, then. I’m supposed to pick up something from the hospital pharmacy.”

“It’s this way.” He gestured down a gleaming corridor. “I’ll wait here.”

“You don’t—”

“But I will,” he stated simply.

Surrender, Tess, she told herself. For once in your life, let somebody help you. “Be right back,” she mumbled, and went to the pharmacy counter. A few minutes later, laden with more literature and pamphlets, she rejoined Dominic in the hospital lobby. It was hard to believe that only a short time ago, her heart was beating out of her chest. Seeing only concern in his eyes, she felt obligated to explain herself to him. “So it turns out I wasn’t on the verge of dying. I don’t know what came over me. Or rather, I suppose now I do. The doctor says I had a panic attack. I just thought it was an adrenaline rush. But it turns out it’s some kind of...disorder. How embarrassing.”

“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I totally overreacted. I feel like a hypochondriac.”

“Those symptoms looked pretty real to me.”

“Yes, but—”

“Is beating up on yourself part of your therapy?”

“No, but—”

“Then go easy on yourself.”

It was odd—and a little depressing—to find compassion from a virtual stranger. Odder still that she found his words comforting. “That’s what the doctor said. He said a lot of things, like I’m supposed to learn what my triggers are, like what caused the symptoms, and try to avoid them.”

“And this was triggered by...?”

“By you, in case you hadn’t noticed. Therefore, you are to be avoided,” she concluded. Yes, that felt right. Wildly attractive guys tended to cause trouble—in her experience, anyway. “It’s not every day someone tells me the grandfather I’ve never known is in a coma, and on top of that, there’s a sister I had no idea existed.”

“Sorry. I thought you knew about Isabel.”

Isabel. She tried to get her mind around the idea of this whole hidden family, people she might have known in her life, if she’d been let in. Questions came in waves—how much of this did her mother know? Did these people know about Tess? “So I’ve just got the one sister?”

“That’s right.”

Isabel. What kind of name was that? The name of the favored child, raised in the sun-warmed luxury of a California estate, basking in her family’s adoration. Tess felt a quiver of anxiety. Apparently she and the sister shared the same father. Erik Johansen had been a busy dude before he died.

“And she knows about me.”

“Yes. She’s eager to meet you.”

I’ll just bet she is. “Are you the one who told her?”

He hesitated for a single beat of the heart. “The doctors advised Isabel to make sure Magnus’s affairs were in order. She found a copy of the will.”

“So I’m guessing...she was surprised.” Tess found a sign for the exit and made a beeline for it. “I bet she didn’t freak out like I just did.”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then how did she react? What did she say?”

“She baked a pear and ginger tart,” he said. “It was epic.”

Tess could still barely get her mind around the notion that she had a sister. A blood relative. She tried to imagine what such a person might look like, sound like, yet no image would form. All she could picture was a woman making a tart. “So what is she, a compulsive baker?”

“She’s an incredible cook.”

“Is that what she does for a living?”

“The exit’s over here,” he said, and she wondered if he’d deliberately ignored her question. He led her to an automatic revolving door, and she crowded into the space with him, breathing a sigh of relief as they escaped together.

“I feel better already,” Tess said. “Not a fan of hospitals.”

“When you need one, you need one.”

There was something in his tone. She wondered what his experience with hospitals was. She was filled with questions about him but stopped herself from asking. “I don’t intend to make a habit of falling apart for no reason. According to the people here, I’m supposed to find a physician and make lifestyle changes.”

She patted her giant bag. “It’s all in this brochure about my condition. Shoot. I hate having a condition.” She started walking across the street.

“Where are you going?”

“To work. I’ve got a zillion things to do.”

“I told your colleague...that guy...”

“Jude.” Jude the Disloyal.

“I said he should let everyone know you wouldn’t be back today.”

She felt a flash of...something. Annoyance? Or was it relief?

“I am going back to the office. There’s no way I can miss this meeting—”

“It’s been canceled. Your assistant asked me to let you know.”

“What? You canceled my meeting?”

“Wasn’t me.”

She pawed through her bag until she found a phone. Sure enough, there was a text from the office, informing her of the cancellation. Her heart flipped over. Had Mr. Sheffield canceled the meeting because she’d stood him up? Should she call Brooks and ask? No, there was probably enough gossip and speculation about her already.

“Now I need a coffee,” she said, then eyed him defiantly. “And a cigarette.”

“Just what the doctor ordered?”

She bridled. “You’re probably one of those Mr. Healthier-Than-Thou types, aren’t you?”

“Just your average non-smoker.” He took her arm, steered her into a coffee shop. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

She tried to resent him for looking after her, but he’d been nothing but kind to her. None of this was his fault. She sat at a small round corner table and took out the information packet from the doctor. What a day. A crazy, terrible day.

Dominic returned with a large, steaming mug, which she gratefully accepted. As the scent wafted to her, she frowned, wrinkling her nose.

“Herbal tea,” he said.

“It smells like grass clippings.”

She sniffed again, ventured a small sip. “Yikes, that’s foul. I’d rather drink cleaning fluid.”

“It’s supposed to be good for the nerves.” He showed her the menu description: lavender, chamomile, Saint-John’s-wort, Valerian.

“Witch’s brew,” she said, and gave a shudder. “My nerves are fine.”

He said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. She found herself focusing on his hands—large and strong-looking, a big multifunction watch strapped to one wrist. Discomfited to feel yet another nudge of attraction, she added, “Anyway, I’m going to be fine. I have a whole program here.” She showed him the information packet from the doctor. “Go ahead, take a look. After the ER, everybody in earshot knows all my secrets.”

“Says here the effects of untreated anxiety can be harmful, not to mention unpleasant.”

She shuddered, remembering the blinding sense of panic. “And people go to medical school for years to figure that out.” She looked across the table, seeing compassion in his eyes. “Sorry. I doubt whining is helpful.”

“After this morning, you’re entitled to whine. A little.” He consulted the booklet she’d been given. “The good news is, there’s plenty you can do. Step One: breathing exercises.”

“Okay, if there’s one thing I could do without practicing, it’s breathing. Hell, I was born knowing how to do that.”

“Breathing exercises are done lying down.” He showed her a series of diagrams.

“Otherwise known as sleeping.”

“Meditation is recommended. I don’t suppose you meditate.”

“How did you guess?”

He consulted the checklist again. “Yoga?”

“Noga.”

“Regular exercise of any kind?”

She scowled at him. “Running through airports. Power shopping.”

“‘Cognitive behavioral therapy,’” he read from the list.

She chuckled. “Every day. Doesn’t it show?”

“Sense of humor,” he said. “That’s not on the list, but it can’t hurt.”

She inadvertently took a sip of her tea and nearly gagged. “This stuff can’t possibly be on the list.”

“Here you go—foods to avoid.” He turned the page toward her.

“Let me guess—refined sugars, alcohol, caffeine....”

“Good guess.”

“Those are my major food groups.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not going to do any of that stuff. It’s just not me.”

“Look, I don’t know you,” he said. “But I’m going to take a wild guess—if you do what the doctors say, it might help.”

She heard an inner echo of the doctor’s dire warning about her blood pressure and stress on her heart. You’re too young to put yourself at risk. You need to take it easy.... Parking her elbows on the table, she regarded him through eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do I get the feeling you’re experienced with doctors and hospitals?”

He shrugged. “Must be your uncanny insight. Here.” He placed the information in front of her. “Start small. Pick one thing on the list and commit to it.”

His baritone voice and whiskey-brown eyes drew her in, more persuasive by far than the geeky resident in the ER. Dominic Rossi. Who had a right to be that good-looking? It almost distracted her from the fact that he hadn’t answered her question about doctors and hospitals.

“So much to choose from,” she said with exaggerated drama, perusing the list. Diet, lifestyle, breathing, yoga, cardio... “Tell you what. You pick one.” She pushed the notes back at him.

“You mean I get to pick something, and you’ll do it?”

She folded her arms on the table and regarded him steadily. “I’m a woman of my word.”

“Excellent. Quit smoking.”

“I love smoking.”

“You’re a woman of your word. And excuse me for saying this, but you are way too beautiful to smoke.”

His words had a ridiculous effect on her. “Wow. You are good.”

When they left the coffee shop, he asked, “Shall I call you a cab?”

“No, thanks. I can walk from here. The walk’ll do me good, right?” She still felt unsettled by the crazy day.

“I’ll walk with you. Make sure you get home okay.”

“It’s not necessary. I know my way around. Besides, don’t you have something to do? Like...banking?”

“I have backup.”

She adjusted the strap of her handbag. “Suit yourself. You’re not, like, an ax murderer or anything, right?”

“Not an ax murderer.”

“Cool.” They walked along through the rushing traffic, along Hyde Street, the shop windows flashing their reflection. The two of them looked like a couple, she caught herself thinking. He was in his thirties, she guessed. Tall and good-looking, he moved with a certain confidence that garnered glances from passing women and even a few guys.

“You all right?” Dominic asked.

“Fine.”

“You were looking at me funny.”

“I was just wondering what he’s like,” she said, her gaze skirting away. “Magnus Johansen, I mean.”

“Kind,” Dominic said immediately. “Steady. He takes care of people. Any of his friends and neighbors would tell you that.”

“And how do you know him?”

“I barely remember a time when I didn’t know him. My parents emigrated to the United States from Italy. They were seasonal workers when they first arrived in Archangel, and Magnus gave them a place to stay.”

Migrant workers, she thought. His parents had been migrant workers. Suddenly she had to rearrange her image of Dominic Rossi as a spoiled, overprivileged finance major. “So Bella Vista is a working farm?”

“Orchards,” he said. “Best apples in the county. I met Magnus when I was maybe seven or eight years old, when he caught me working at Bella Vista.”

“What do you mean, he caught you?”

“He didn’t want to be in violation of child labor laws. Anyway, to make a long story short, he took my sister and me under his wing. Helped us with everything from our parents’ green cards to getting us into college.”

“My grandfather sounds like a saint.” She turned into her neighborhood of brickwork sidewalks lined with wrought iron fences and trees with their leaves just beginning to turn dry and crisp around the edges.

“I don’t know about sainthood. When you come to see him—”

Her heart surged, a frightening reminder of the trauma that had landed her in the ER. “I’m not going. This has nothing to do with me.”

“Sorry to argue, but it’s got plenty to do with you.”

“Am I expected to just drop everything and go haring off to Archangel to do what? There’s nothing for me to do. And if there was, he’s got another granddaughter. Did Isabel...? Does she live with her grandfather?”

“Yep. She grew up at Bella Vista. Magnus and Eva—his late wife—raised her.”

“Then Magnus doesn’t need me,” Tess said, feeling a strange sense of hurt swirl through her like poisoned tendrils. “Seriously, this situation is awful, but I simply can’t get involved.”

“I understand. It’s a lot to digest.” He had the most amazing eyes. She felt an urge to keep talking to him, but she had no business doing that. “Here’s my number.” He handed her a card. “Call me if you change your mind.”

* * *

“Her name is Isabel,” Tess said to her mother’s voice mail. “Did you know I had a sister? Not to mention a grandfather? And if you did, why the hell did you never bother to tell me? For Pete’s sake, Mom, call me the minute you get this message. I don’t care what time it is. Just call me.”

Tess set the phone aside and looked around her apartment, filled with her old things, Nana’s desk in the middle like a slumbering giant. Was it only this morning she had put herself together, racing into work to meet Mr. Sheffield? She felt as though she’d been away on a long trip.

Although the doctor’s orders were for her to relax, she had paced up and down, worried and fretted. She’d searched Dominic on Google, as well as Isabel, Magnus, everyone he’d mentioned, to no avail, uncovering only frustrating bits and pieces about them, nothing helpful. There were things only her mother could answer. Her mother had never been good about answering hard questions.

The phone rang and she leaped for it, but the call was from Neelie. “I’m coming over,” she said without preamble.

“But I don’t need—”

“Too late. I’m here.”

Tess heard the downstairs door buzz—Neelie knew the code—and footsteps on the stairs. Tess held the door open. “Hey, you.”

Neelie brandished a large shopping bag from the local gourmet deli. “I’ve got chicken soup, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Bless you. I was just about to nuke a frozen burrito.”

Neelie clucked her tongue and busied herself in the kitchen. “Jude said you went to the ER. What the hell is that about?”

Thank you, Jude, thought Tess. “I’m fine.”

“I knew you’d say that. But no healthy twenty-nine-year-old goes to the ER. Tell me everything.”

Tess felt a small measure of relief, telling Neelie about her day. Neelie was her heart friend, someone who listened without judgment. She made all the appropriate oohs and aahs as Tess described the meeting with Dominic Rossi and the stunning news he’d delivered.

“Wait a minute, so this grandfather—this guy you’ve never heard of—is about to kick the bucket, and he’s leaving you his estate in Sonoma County.”

“Half his estate. Apparently I have a sister.”

“Oh, my God. No wonder you collapsed and went to the hospital. How did you get there? Did some big hunky EMT rescue you?”

“You got the big and hunky part right. Dominic took me.”

“The banker guy?” Neelie’s eyes widened in bafflement. In their lexicon, “banker” was code for boring.

“He waited for me, too. I think he felt guilty for making my head explode.”

“I certainly hope so.” Neelie rummaged around in a cupboard and found a pair of big mugs for the soup. “What did the doctors say?”

“That my head is about to explode. Or, more accurately, my heart.” Tess showed her the information from the ER.

“Oh, my gosh. I’m scared for you, Tess.”

“I’m scared for me.”

“Then you need to take care of yourself. You’re all stressed out and this bomb that just got dropped on you... It’s too much for anyone to process. First thing, you need some time off work.”

“No way.” Tess’s reaction was swift, automatic. “I don’t take time off work for anything.”

“How do you suppose you got yourself into this situation, anyway, hmm?” Neelie led her to the kitchen bar, forced her to sit down. “Eat. Chicken soup. I hear it’s good for the soul.”

“I don’t think the problem is with my soul.”

“Whatever. Eat. You’re too skinny. And as you know, skinny girls tend to piss off their friends.” Neelie handed her a warm fresh bread roll from the deli bag.

Tess bit into the roll, redolent of herbs and butter. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” she said.

Neelie’s fingers flew over the screen of her phone. “There,” she said. “I just sent a text to Jude. Told him to let your office know you’re taking some time—”

“What? Give me that.” Tess grabbed for the phone.

Neelie held it out of reach. “Too late. Just eat the damn soup, Tess.”

Resentfully, Tess sampled the soup. Delicious, but it tasted like defeat. “Today was supposed to be my big breakthrough at work. I had a meeting with Dane Sheffield himself. I’m pretty sure he was going to offer me a position most people only dream about—New York, right alongside the biggest players in the field. And I stood him up.”

“You had a personal emergency. Tess, you get to have a life. I think what happened today is a sign that you need to have a life.” Neelie paged through the recommendations from the ER. “So this is perfect. You need down time. You could take some time, go to Archangel, figure out what this guy is talking about—a grandfather. A sister. In Archangel. I’ve been there, you know.”

“Archangel?”

“It’s in Sonoma County—the prettiest part, if you ask me. Boutique wineries everywhere, some of them world class. Ivar took me there—remember Ivar, the Norwegian hottie?”

“Two or three boyfriends ago.”

“We stayed at a B and B. There’s this amazing town square, fruit stands everywhere, scenery so gorgeous it doesn’t even seem real. Wines you won’t find anywhere else in the world. It was magic. It’s the kind of place that makes you question why you live in the city.”

“Because we have work here. Jobs and friends. Duh.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, you have some personal matters to see to in Archangel. I know you, Tess. If you don’t go, you’re going to stress out about it, and that’s exactly what you’re supposed to be avoiding. You’re going to lie awake at night wondering about this sister, and the poor old guy who fell off the ladder.” She grabbed Dominic Rossi’s card from the top of a stack of mail on the counter. “I’m calling him for you.”

“Don’t—”

“Eat.”

“Bossy old thing,” Tess muttered. But she ate.

* * *

The next day, Tess jumped out of bed, surprised by the time showing on the screen of her phone, but not in the least surprised that there was no message from her mother.

Leaping up, she rushed through brushing teeth and hair, pulling on dark wash jeans and a black cashmere turtleneck. Then she yanked open the closet and surveyed the cluttered press of clothing in her overstuffed closet. What did one take to the probable deathbed of a stranger, and to see a sister one had never met?

She flung a variety of items into an overnight bag, dropped her phone into the no-man’s-land that was her purse, then added the charger, as well. This development—Archangel, Bella Vista, Magnus and Isabel—had left her completely scattered. She had no idea how to feel about all that had happened.

Figure out what the next step is, and then take it. Miss Winther’s words drifted unbidden into Tess’s mind.

“Okay, so the next step is—”

The buzzer went off.

“Answer the door,” she muttered. Dammit, he was faster than she’d expected. Her apartment was in its usual state of disarray. She made no apology for that, though the arrival of Dominic Rossi made her self-conscious about her messy habits—piles of research clutter on the coffee table, sticky notes everywhere because she didn’t trust her memory, last night’s dishes she hadn’t bothered to do, hand-washed lingerie draped over a lamp in the corner.

Too bad, she thought. She wasn’t going to change her ways just to impress some banker.

However, the word banker did not compute when she opened the door and looked up at him. For some reason, he had the kind of face that drained her IQ down to two-digit territory.

“Um. I’m not ready,” she said.

“I’ll wait until you are,” he replied easily. “I’m glad you called, Tess. How are you?”

“What? Oh, that. I’m okay. Really. You know, I never properly thanked you for helping out at the hospital, for being there.”

“I wasn’t expecting thanks. I’m glad you’re all right.” And he gave her that slow smile of his, brandishing it like a secret weapon. “Mind if I come in?”

“No, I just need a few minutes more.” She felt a little self-conscious, watching him as he looked around her place. The apartment made perfect sense to her, but to a stranger, the old things probably seemed eccentric, or at the very least, sentimental.

“I like your place,” he said, checking out a walnut radio console on the counter. “Is this a family heirloom?”

“Yes.” She closed up her laptop and started rummaging around for its case. “Not my family, though. That radio—there’s a message on the back.”

He turned it and read, “‘To Walter, a very brave boy, at Christmas. 1943.’ Who was Walter?”

“I’m not sure. I just... I’m drawn to things that have a past. A story.”

He picked up a deck prism, which she used as a paperweight.

“That’s from the Mary Dare, wrecked at the mouth of the Columbia in 1876. The prisms were used to let light in below decks.” She found the laptop case and put it with her overnight bag.

“And this?” He held up an elongated piece of carved ivory, with scrimshaw etchings on the surface.

“It’s called a he’s-at-home.”

“Which is...?”

“A sex toy,” she said, trying not to laugh as he quickly set the thing down. “On Nantucket Island, back in the days of whaling, the women used to get lonely when the men were gone for years at a time, hunting whales.”

“No wonder whaling was outlawed.”

“I need to grab a few more things,” she said, ducking into the bedroom. Having a guy in her apartment had awakened her vanity, and she decided to add a few things to her bag. “Help yourself to something from the fridge,” she called into the next room. At the same time, she thought, Please do not look in the fridge.

“Thanks,” he said, and she heard the refrigerator door open. “Maybe I’ll grab something to drink.”

She cringed as he said, “You’ve got a stack of notebooks and papers in your fridge.”

“Why, yes,” she said casually, returning to the kitchen. “Yes, I do.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Because there was no more room in the freezer.” His puzzled expression made her want to laugh. “Those are my handwritten notes and papers. They’re one-of-a-kind. I have no backup copy until I get them typed up.”

“So you keep them in the refrigerator.”

“If the place burns down, they’ll be safe in there.”

He nodded. “Good plan.”

“And to answer the next obvious question, yes, I have a fireproof safe. But I misplaced the combination and it’s too small anyway.”

“What is it that you do?”

“I’m a provenance expert. I authenticate things—art, jewelry, family heirlooms.”

“Sounds...unusual. Interesting.” He swung the refrigerator door wider and checked out the shelves. She had a supply of key lime yogurt, some boxed Chinese leftovers and a twelve pack of the only beverage she drank regularly—Red Bull. The energy drink was probably all kinds of bad for her, but it kept her from falling asleep on the job.

Dominic held a bottle up to the light. “Is this even legal?”

“Don’t judge,” she said, whipping a pair of purple lace panties off the lamp where she’d hung them to dry. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

“Nice panties,” he said.

Okay, so he’d noticed.

“Again I say, don’t judge.”

“Never,” he promised and twisted the cap off the soda bottle. He took a swig, and she could see him visibly trying not to gag. “You can tell a lot about a person by the place where she lives,” he observed.

“Oh, really? What can you tell about me?”

“You like puzzles.” He gestured at a stack of newspaper crosswords, anagrams and brain teasers, all of them obsessively completed.

“So sue me. What else?”

He perused a collection of yellowed documents and daguerreotypes. “You live in the past.”

“No. I study the past for my work. I live in the here and now, which is perfectly fine for me. It’s wonderful for me.”

“Right. Got it.”

She knew he didn’t mean to seem critical when he said she lived in the past, yet she felt criticized, as though she’d done something wrong. “I have a fascination for puzzles and old things. At least I’m not a hoarder. Please tell me you don’t think I’m a hoarder.”

“I don’t think you’re a hoarder. Your collection of old things is fascinating. I’ve never met a girl who had a he’s-at-home.”

“As far as you know,” she said.

“As far as I know. Tell me about the desk,” he said, gesturing at Nana’s kneehole postmaster desk. It was by far the most dominant object in the place, almost architectural in its size and presence.

“I thought you were analyzing me,” she said, trying to keep it light. She hoped they would both manage to keep things light between them, but it was hard. Because even though she barely knew this guy, she liked talking to him way too much. She liked the way he looked at her, the way he actually seemed to care.

“I am,” he said. “Tell me about the desk.”

He had to ask. It was the one thing in her apartment that was truly personal, truly hers, not some object with a history that had nothing to do with her. “My grandmother had a shop in Dublin. When I was a girl, I spent a lot of time with her there because my mother was always traveling for her work. Nana was a dealer in art and antiques.”

“That’s cool. You lived in Ireland?”

“Up until I came to the States for college.”

“A redheaded Irish woman,” he said.

“Don’t ask me if I have a temper to match. Then I’d have to hurt you.”

“Thanks for the warning. So your desk...”

“Was in Nana’s shop. Antiques and ephemera, she used to tell people—called Things Forgotten. I can still picture her there, working at the desk. She was beautiful, my nana, and Things Forgotten was my favorite place in the world. To a little kid, it seemed magical, like a world filled with treasures.” Tess couldn’t deny the feelings that came over her as she shared her private memories with this stranger, as if telling him about some nostalgic dream was going to help her finally make sense of her life.

Sometimes, in the middle of a tedious or frustrating transaction, or when she stood in an endless airport security line just knowing she was about to miss a connecting flight, Tess thought about Nana’s shop. She imagined what it might be like to try a different path. Every once in a while, she wondered what it might be like to take a risk and open her own elegant antiques shop, one that had the same look and feel of the shop run by her grandmother, long ago. It was where the fondest memories of her childhood lay, hung with the ineffable scent of nostalgia—the dried bergamot and bayberry her grandmother kept in glass bowls around the place. She merely thought about it, though, because there was no way she would give up her hard-won role at Sheffield’s.

“Do you get back to see her?” asked Dominic.

“She passed away when I was fifteen.”

“Sorry to hear that. It’s nice that you kept her desk.”

“Is it? Sometimes I wonder if it’s an albatross dragging me down.”

“An anchor.”

“I like that better.” Turning away to hide a smile, she zipped up her bag. “Ready,” she said. “I guess. I’m not really sure how to be ready for any of this.”

He picked up her bag. She scanned the place one more time, then followed him outside.

She was surprised to see a taxi waiting on the street in front of the house. When he’d offered to take her to Archangel, she’d assumed he would be doing the driving.

“Isn’t it, like, sixty miles to Archangel?” she asked.

“Seventy-eight. It’s in the northern part of the county.”

“Who’s picking up the fare?”

He held the rear passenger door for her. “We’re not taking a taxi all the way.”

“Then—”

“I’ve got a faster way to travel.”

* * *

Tess stood on a floating dock at Pier 39, regarding the twin-engine plane, bobbing at its moorings. Nearby, piles of glossy brown sea lions lazed on the floating docks, occasionally lifting their whiskered faces to the sun. San Francisco had its own ocean smell, redolent of marine life and urban bustle—diesel and frying food, fresh breezes and the catch of the day.

“If you’re trying to impress me,” she said, eyeing the small plane, “it’s working.”

He didn’t say anything as he placed her suitcase in a wing compartment. Then he took off his suit coat and tucked it in, as well. She was not surprised to see a label from a well-known tailor. Yet, although the suit was well cared for, it was definitely not new.

He unlocked the cockpit and unfurled the mooring ropes. He had the shoulders and arms of a longshoreman, yet he moved with a peculiar athletic grace. She’d never known anyone remotely like him.

“Something wrong?” he asked her.

Caught staring, she ducked her head and tried to hold a blush at bay. “Archangel is inland, isn’t it? So I was wondering where this plane will land.”

He opened the door. “She’s amphibious.” Grasping Tess’s hand, he helped her into a seat, then climbed up behind her.

Turning to him, she frowned. “Where’s the pilot?”

“You’re looking at him.” He started flipping switches on the intricate array on the dashboard.

“You’re a pilot?”

“Yeah. Want to see my license?”

“Not necessary. Or should I be more skeptical?”

“Seat belt,” he said. “And put this headset on. It’s going to get noisy in here.” He got out and shoved off, expertly balancing on a pontoon as he stowed the mooring lines. In one fluid movement, he swung himself into the pilot’s seat, put on his seat belt and headset and started the engine.

The twin propellers spun into translucent circles, pulling the small craft past the flotillas of sea lions and out into open water. Tess gasped as the takeoff stole her breath. For the next few minutes, she was glued to the window, admiring the view. San Francisco Bay was always a sight to behold, but from the air on a sunny day, it was pure magic. As the plane climbed through the sky, she looked over at Dominic, and the entire experience took on a surreal quality. She had flown all over the world, but this felt different, like a forbidden intimacy with a man she’d just met.

Once again, he caught her staring. He turned a dial on his headset. “Everything all right?”

His voice sounded distinct yet tinny in her ears.

“Under the circumstances,” she said. “It’s not every day I go flying with a strange man in a private airplane.” I could get used to it, though, she thought.

“I’m not strange. I’m a banker,” he said.

“You must be a really good one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I assume most bankers don’t have their own private planes.”

“This doesn’t belong to me,” he said. His expression changed just a little, but she didn’t know him and couldn’t read his face. There were things about this guy that didn’t add up, and she found herself wanting to put him together like one of her most challenging puzzles.

He was uniquely distracting in a number of ways. He had brought her some extremely hard-to-digest news, yet he’d delivered it in person, and with compassion. He’d waited through her ordeal at the ER. Now Tess was about to find out about a whole part of herself that had been in the shadows until now. It was like cracking open a door and peeking through to an unknown world within. She’d yearned for family all her life, and it turned out they were here, all along, just a short distance away. The thought of all she’d missed made her heart ache. Her mother had a lot to answer for.

“Down there on your left,” Dominic said as the city fell away behind them. “It’s the Point Reyes lighthouse.”

The slender tower of the light, perched on an outcropping of rock at the end of a precarious twist of steps, passed in a sweep of color. The plane seemed to skim along the craggy cliff tops while the ocean leaped and roared as it crashed against the rocks. They went northward along the craggy coastline, ragged fingers reaching out into the ocean. After a while, the plane banked and turned inland, over hills and ridges of farmland. The orchards, vineyards and dairies formed a crazy quilt of impossible shades of green and autumn colors, the sections stitched together by the silvery threads of rivers, flumes and canals, or the straight dark stretches of roads. The small towns of wine country sprang up, toylike, almost precious in their beauty, yet robust with commerce. She could see cars and utility vehicles on the roads, and farm equipment churning across the fields. Tess felt herself getting farther and farther from her life in the city.

They passed over the town of Sonoma itself—she’d never been there, but Dominic pointed it out—and after a while, descended into Archangel, a place she knew only by name. The town looked very small, a cluster of buildings at the city center, surrounded by a colorful patchwork of vineyards, orchards, meadows and gardens.

The landing strip was located between two vineyards that swagged the hillsides. The plane touched down lightly, then buzzed along the tarmac, coming to a halt near a hangar of corrugated metal. A few other aircraft were tethered to the ground there.

Dominic switched off the radios and controls. “Welcome to Archangel.”

“Thanks for the lift. It was...unexpected.”

He got out and came around to help her down, his strength giving her a secret thrill. He had large hands and a firm grip, and he handled her as if she weighed nothing.

“This way,” he said, slinging his suit coat over one shoulder and heading for the parking lot. Away from the landing strip and hangar, the air smelled sweet, and the atmosphere was aglow with autumn light. He opened the door of a conservative-looking SUV and she got in. The car was as neat as everything else about him. She’d never quite trusted pathologically neat people.

She rode along in silence, watching out the window. Neelie had always tried to get her to explore the wine regions of Sonoma County, but Tess never had time. She’d seen pictures, but nothing could have prepared her for the opulent splendor of the landscape here. The undulating terrain was cloaked in lush abundance, the vineyards like garlands of deep green and yellow, orchards and farms sprouting here and there, hillocks of dry golden grass crowned by beautiful sun-gilt houses, barns and silos. And overhead was the bluest sky she’d ever seen, as bright and hard as polished marble.

There was something about the landscape that caught at her emotions. It was both lush and intimidating, its beauty so abundant. Far from the bustle of the city, she was a complete stranger here, like Dorothy stepping out of her whirling house into the land of Oz. Farm stands overflowing with local produce marked the long driveways into farms with whimsical names—Almost Paradise, One Bad Apple, Toad Hollow. Boxes and bushels were displayed on long, weathered tables. Between the farms, brushy tangles of berries and towering old oak trees lined the roadway.

Tess felt a strange shifting inside her as the dark ribbon of the road wound down into the town of Archangel, marked by a sign where a bridge spanned a small waterway designated Angel Creek.

She told herself not to worry. Not to feel freaked out by the situation. She was used to unorthodox situations. In pursuing the provenance of an object, she had faced all sorts of people, from highly placed cultural ministers to art middlemen who were little more than gangsters, and she’d held her own. The prospect of meeting her half sister should not bother her.

But it did. She tried to remember the instructions the doctor had given her for breathing. Apparently she was an upper chest breather. This seemed to be a bad thing. She was supposed to inhale all the way down to her lower belly, until her stomach expanded, then exhale slowly, emptying her lungs. She took a breath, placing a hand on her stomach to see if it was puffing out.

“What are you doing?” asked Dominic, glancing over at her.

“Breathing.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“I’m doing the breathing technique they showed me in the ER.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Don’t make me talk. I need to breathe.”

“Got it. But...is something upsetting you?”

“No. Of course not.” Just this whole crazy situation, she thought. “I’ll be all right.” She practiced her breathing as they drove through the town. Archangel seemed quaint without being too self-conscious about it, with a subtle air of rustic elegance. The center of town had a pretty square surrounded by beds of white mums and Michaelmas daisies, a broad green lawn with iron benches, some sweeping eucalyptus trees, their sage-colored leaves fluttering on the breeze. In the very center was a fountain with a copper sculpture of a vine hung with grapes.

The buildings were well-kept, housing boutiques, cafés and restaurants with colorful awnings, a few tasting rooms, a couple of gourmet shops and an old-fashioned hardware store with wheelbarrows and flowerpots on the sidewalk outside. There were plenty of people out enjoying the gorgeous weather. An elderly couple strolled side by side, eating ice cream cones. A young mother with dreamy eyes pushed a stroller, and a group of rowdy boys jostled past, shoving each other, skirting around a good-looking family consisting of mom, dad, twin little boys and a dark-eyed teen girl.

Everyone looked normal and happy, enviably so. She wasn’t naive enough to believe they were normal and happy. But in this setting, they resembled movie extras exemplifying the charms of small-town America.

Past the main part of town, they went by a bank, a low-profile midcentury building of blond brick. “Is that where you work?” she asked Dominic.

“Yes.”

She waited, but he offered no more. They drove on, passing a grocery store and gas station, and a pair of churches on opposite sides of the road, as if squaring off at high noon.

Tall, slender trees stood in long rows that followed the contours of the terrain. A vineyard designated Maldonado Estates went by; then at the next junction was a large rural mailbox marked Johansen. At the roadside stood an old building with a sagging front porch and battered tin roof with a crooked sign that read Bella Vista Produce. The place must have been a farm stand at one time. It resembled a throwback to other days, and she found herself picturing the place filled with bunches of flowers and bounty from the farm, with cars pulling off the road and people browsing the wares. Before she could ask about it, Dominic turned down a gravel drive marked Bella Vista Way. A lurch of anticipation knotted her stomach. “Is this it?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

They drove between rows of twisted, lichened oak trees, beneath kettling hawks and a sky as blue as heaven itself. Orchards spread out on both sides of the drive. In the distance, she could see a cluster of buildings gathered on a rise. Around a bend in the drive, cars were parked in an open field, all kinds of cars, from battered work trucks to electric and biodiesel-powered vehicles to gleaming foreign imports.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Your grandfather’s friends and neighbors organized a healing ceremony for him. I think we’re just in time to join in.”

She pressed her feet against the floor mat as if putting on the brakes. “Whoa, hang on a second. A healing ceremony?”

“It can’t hurt, and who’s to say all this energy won’t help? It’s scheduled to start at four,” he said, checking his watch.

“I thought he was in the hospital.”

“He is. But everyone’s here for his sake.”

“Who are these people?”

“Neighbors and workers. Business associates. Magnus made a lot of friends through the years.” An unexpected catch hitched his voice. “You’ll see.”

Tess bit her lip. Looked down at her outfit—the dark jeans and sweater, heeled half boots. She had no idea if this was appropriate attire to wear to an event for the grandfather she’d never known. She set her jaw. “Do you realize how awkward this is for me?”

He braked gently, bringing the car to a halt. “Should I turn around?”

“Of course not. But you have to understand, this is weird for me. I don’t belong here.” She felt prickly, resentful. On the one hand, she was glad Magnus had such loyal friends and neighbors. On the other hand, what kind of person ignored his granddaughter all her life and then promised her half of everything after he was gone?

The air was sharp with the scent of lavender, wafting up from a broad field where the herb grew in row after row of blue-green clumps. A mariachi band was setting up in the shade of a California oak tree. Rows of folding chairs were set up, the configuration bisected by a turquoise carpet runner. At the front of the display were more flower arrangements than she had ever seen in one place, outside the Marché aux Fleurs in Paris. Danish and U.S. flags sprouted from some of the arrangements.

Dominic let her out near the seating area and went to park the car. Tess stood alone, watching people arrive. Some were somber, though a good many seemed more talkative and upbeat. People wore party clothes, the women in bright-colored dresses, the men in everything from crisp white shirts to plaid golf slacks. Several people gave Tess a nod of greeting. A gangly German shepherd dog trotted around, checking people out with a proprietary sniff.

The house itself was a rambling hacienda-style structure built of pale stone, with thick-trunked vines climbing the stuccoed walls. There was an open, colonnaded breezeway across the back. Through the open columns, she could see a center courtyard, planted with huge potted olive trees.

An aroma of baking bread wafted from a window flanked by rustic shutters and wrought iron bars. She edged toward the open back door. It was painted sky blue and propped open with an iron stopper in the shape of a cat.

She found herself on the threshold of a large, airy kitchen with terra-cotta tiled floors and tall windows open to a view of lavender fields and orchards. A log trestle table of scrubbed pine dominated the room. A bewildering array of utensils hung from the walls or were arranged upon the cobalt-blue counter tiles. Trays of food were arranged on catering carts.

At the far end of the room was a panel of wall ovens, clearly the source of the glorious smell. Tess could see someone there, a woman backlit by the sun shining through the windows. She wore her hair pulled back in haphazard fashion, a gauzy skirt and blouse and two thick oven mitts. Bending slightly, she opened one of the ovens like a door to a safe, and drew a big tray from the rack. Steam rose, intensifying the aroma.

Tess set down her bag. “Excuse me,” she said. “I—”

The woman dropped the pan with a clatter onto the countertop. She swung to face Tess.

“Oh, my God,” she said softly. “I didn’t think you’d come.”