The twisted vines comple.., p.31
The Twisted Vines Complete Boxset, page 31
When I told Erik he didn’t need to pay a guy for my new identification documents, I said, “This is probably going to surprise you, but Kairi Morrigan is my real name. You don’t need to get me ID. I’ve already got it.”
He offered a barely there grin and surprised me. “Well, we all knew Kate Libby wasn’t your real name.”
“You did?”
“Come on. Kate Libby, from the film Hackers?”
Maybe Lara hadn’t been as brilliant as I thought when she selected my initial alias. At any rate, in the virtual world, identities were far easier to come by. Pick a color, an animal, an astrological sign, a street name, any name plus numbers, a nonsensical combination of numbers, letters, and symbols…anything goes. No verification needed. Trust filtered through in halting degrees as an alias posted, interacted, and in the hacking world proved skill through successful gigs. Modern age spying. Social engineering. Call it what you may, this is what I do.
The chances of ever being physically caught were slim. But like that CIA informant who probably thought she’d never get exposed for sharing information, slim hadn’t worked in my favor in the past.
EIGHT
THE SUNSHINE MARKET
David
“Mom! I’m here. Where are you?”
The house I grew up in was a simple ranch configuration originally, and my parents added on to it over the years with an addition in the back, enlarging the den, and an extension on the side of the house, enlarging the master bedroom and bath. They’d always planned on redesigning the kitchen, but it was one of those dreams that never came to fruition. At some point, after Dan and I went off to college and Dad passed, Mom said she didn’t need a bigger kitchen.
The front door opens into the small living room decorated with Mom’s more formal, less comfortable furniture. Dad built a wooden trophy case with glass doors along one wall, and all of Dan’s trophies pack the case. With over a decade of travel baseball, he earned tons. Somewhere in the case, at least last I checked, my Little League participation trophies fill a portion of one shelf.
“Mom!” I call again, taking a guess and walking down the narrow hall to the kitchen. The kitchen is closed off from the rest of the house, except for a door that opens onto an added concrete extension with a washing machine and dryer. Along the walls of the narrow hall are all of my framed Headmaster’s List certificates, my National Honor Society certificates, and a few academic awards I earned in high school. No one can enter my parents’ home and miss the clear pride in their sons.
On the stove, a pot of water boils, spilling over, and small orange flames shoot out.
“Mom?”
The back door opens as I rotate the knob to off.
“Oh. Hey, honey. I was just in the garden.”
“Were you boiling water for something?”
Her fingers fly to her mouth, and inside I cringe. She forgot. Easy enough to do, but when taken all together, it is a symptom that can contribute to a diagnosis.
“You turned it off?” She rounds the counter and stares at the stove and the boiling water. “Well, thank you for doing that. I must’ve headed out without…” She waves her hands in the air and moves to the kitchen table, where she pulls out a chair. When she raises her head, she’s smiling, and there’s genuine happiness in her expression. “It’s so good to see you.”
She sees me every day.
“What have you got planned for the day?”
She removes her gardening gloves by tugging on one finger at a time. She’s three fingers down her right hand before she answers my question.
“Oh, I’ve got a hair appointment this afternoon. And I need to go to the bank. Look at that.” She points to the counter. “I paid it. And they say I am two months past due. That can’t be right.” The envelope on the counter bears an overdue stamp on the outside of it. I open it to read the letter. “You know the postal service these days. You can’t trust them. They lose mail right and left.”
“You still pay your bills by mail?”
“That’s the way I’ve done it my whole life.”
“Mom, can I get you to pay online? It’ll make life so much easier.” For me and you.
Her fingers clutch her short necklace, and wrinkles abound across her face.
“I’ll help you. And then you won’t need to rely on the post office.”
Her glossy eyes reflect the light. Is she tearing up?
“You really can’t trust them these days. I’m sure they are hurting my credit score.”
“I’ll get you set up. Where do you have all of your bank information?”
She gets up and disappears. She comes back clutching a tattered brown filing case.
“I’ll get you set up, then take you through how to pay online. And then we will officially welcome you to the twenty-first century.”
“Shut it,” she says with a smile.
“You’re going to have your cell phone on you, right?” She lifts her chin, and it feels like I am speaking to a child. “Always remember your cell phone.”
“I do need to make sure it’s charged.” She gets up and opens a series of kitchen cabinet doors.
“Mom?”
“Oh, there it is. On the washing machine.” There’s a charging cord on the electric socket near her blender and coffee maker. She plugs it in and returns to the kitchen table.
The locals know her. If she becomes confused, someone will help her. And that’s only happened once.
“Are you going in to work today?” I am wearing a tie, so it’s obvious I am going to work.
“I’m due in this morning at ten.” I fiddle with my tie. “I close up today. I’ll be there until seven.”
“Any chance you could meet me for lunch?”
“I’ll be in back-to-back appointments.” Dr. Adams’ practice is a small-town pediatric practice, but people from all over Napa County and adjacent counties are clients. Well-checks are scheduled six months out. And when it comes to sick kids, we never know how crazed a day might be. Viruses spread through schools and camps in waves.
“Any plans to meet up with that friend of yours for lunch?”
“Who?” I suspect the answer but want confirmation.
“Kairi Morrigan from down the road. Janice Walsh, remember her? My friend from church? She tells me she’s a nice girl.”
“She is.” No one in the valley would argue that point. In high school, Kairi had been quiet. She hadn’t been one of the popular girls, but she’d always been kind. We’d been voted most likely to get married, and she’d also received two additional mentions—Most Likely to Be Found with Her Nose in a Book and Most Caring. In italics, below the picture, the text read Caring Kairi. I’d always wondered if that had been a jab at her by a jealous student on the yearbook staff, but if it annoyed her, she never let on.
At the mention of Kairi, I check my phone one more time. I’ve called her twice, but it’s gone straight to voicemail. She had a client issue at almost midnight.
“Should’ve known it wouldn’t take long at all for her to move home once you did.” Mom’s comment throws me. “Rumors swirl around that girl.”
“From what I understand, she’s been back longer than me.” So, if anything, one could say I followed her back home, but that wouldn’t be true. I still can’t believe she’s back. Even temporarily. She hated it here.
Mom humphs. There’s no point in arguing with my mother.
“What rumors?” I ask, throwing one ankle over my knee and crossing my arms, striving for casual.
“Oh, you know, that she’s a”—Mom leans forward and whispers—“lesbian.”
I bark out a chuckle. That’s not a rumor. She did, in fact, fall in love with a woman. I am still processing the idea that she is bisexual. I am still processing everything that happened last night. Over the years, I’ve suspected that Kairi wasn’t my mother’s favorite. But I chalked it up as her fear I wouldn’t go to college or I’d get Kairi pregnant and derail my medical school plans. I’ve never thought of my mother as homophobic.
“Mom, why do you say it like that?”
“Well, it’s not that there’s anything wrong with it.” She’s emphatic. “Seriously. It’s that if it’s not true, I guess I don’t want to put it out there. I don’t want to spread vicious rumors.” Her word choice is interesting. Vicious implies someone is spreading lies to harm her. It also implies that to be called a lesbian is harmful.
“Mom, she’s the same person we’ve always known, no matter her sexuality.”
She leans forward to pat my hand that’s spread out on the table. “It’s confusing to me. She was your girlfriend. And I don’t want to believe those rumors. She brought me bread, you know? I don’t think she’d do that unless she had an interest in you. But I know my boy. You’re too smart to be fooled.” My foot falls from my knee to the kitchen floor with a thud.
“Mom. I know for a fact she was in a serious relationship with a woman. And she’s still a good person.”
“I don’t doubt that. Not one bit. But…” Mom clutches the short necklace on her neck. The tips of her three well-filed fingernails cover the small gold cross. She’s forming words, cognizant she needs to think through what she says next. I patiently wait until her hand falls to her lap, and she’s ready to say what she’s thinking. “How does that work? She was your girlfriend for a long time.”
“Yes, she was. But she’s still my friend. And yours. She’s our neighbor.” Mom’s lips scrunch. “At least temporarily,” I add. Last night Kairi was clear that this is a temporary situation for her.
“Yes, she is.” Her gaze becomes wistful. “I remember when the two of you became friends. She searched up Michael Jordan quotes for you.” Mom beams. She loves a walk down memory lane more than anyone I’ve ever come across. And she will also repeat the same story over and over and over.
“I remember,” I tell her, hoping that’ll be the end of it. But she goes on.
“You were struggling, remember? When her parents bought that vineyard, we’d just moved in ourselves. The two of you were entering third grade. You weren’t into girls at the time, and I guess neither was she.” She grins. Got to give it to Mom. Her sense of humor is intact. “She’d come over and watch you. We had that stick that stands and holds a ball. You were really too old at the time to still be practicing on that, but you’d spend an hour a day swinging at that ball. You wanted so badly to catch up to your big brother.”
“He was taller. Bigger.” That’s what I’d told myself. What Mom told me.
“More than once, I think you would’ve quit the team that summer. But Kairi Morrigan would show up and cheer you on.”
“She told me that Michael Jordan always said that for every basket he makes, he’s missed a hundred. But people don’t remember the misses.” She’d first shared that drop of wisdom when I’d struck out in a Saturday morning Little League game. At the end of the day, though, baseball wasn’t my calling. It was Dan’s. It just took me several years to realize it was okay for my brother and me to be different people.
Kairi threw baseballs for me. She wasn’t that great at it, but I far preferred her soft tosses to Dan’s constant taunts. He’d either mock me or complain that he needed to be practicing with someone who would improve his game.
“That girl really put her claws in you. Thank god you got away and made it through med school. And look at you now. A doctor.” Mom picks up a dishtowel and sprays the counter. “When she stopped by last night, did she mention any other Michael Jordan quotes?”
Now it is my turn to cover my mouth with my fingers. Mom saw her car last night. The carriage house isn’t on top of Mom’s house, but you drive by the main house to get to the carriage house.
“You saw she came over last night?”
“I came to the door when I saw the headlights, but I figured it was a bit late for a fresh bread delivery. Did you two get to catch up?” It’s moments like this when I wonder why I left Minneapolis out of concern for Mom. She’s sharp. And observant.
My day flows exactly like all the other clinic days. There’s a stomach bug whipping through the schools, and it brings with it a twenty-four-hour fever. When I was a kid, my mom wouldn’t have brought me in to see the doctor. She’d call it a twenty-four-hour bug. I never saw a doctor unless I remained sick for a minimum of three days. But nowadays, parents come in at the first sign of sickness. Or maybe it’s after the first night they can’t sleep.
One of my med school friends back in Minnesota once told me that being a pediatrician is similar to a mechanic. You listen, check all the metrics, diagnose, and fix. Ninety-five percent of what I saw in Minneapolis qualified as either viruses or bacterial infections, easily remedied with medication. In my six weeks working at Dr. Adams’ practice, one hundred percent of my cases were textbook. There’s one infant I’m watching closely, who isn’t growing as expected, and on the next visit I might refer her to a gastro specialist if we can’t get the dosage right on her acid reflux medicine.
When I return to my desk after my last patient, I unplug my charging phone. I leave my cell at my desk when I’m with patients. Between the adults in the room and the child, I have zero attention span to spare. A quick scan shows Kairi hasn’t responded to any of my texts.
I have one text from Chloe.
Made a batch of fresh chocolate chips. Will you be home later?
Chloe and I have a date scheduled for Saturday night. Last night with Kairi was, let’s call it, unanticipated. I don’t have any idea what it means. Chances are Kairi doesn’t know what it means. After all, she called it a mistake.
And there’s one thing I keep coming back to. I loved Kairi Morrigan. But it’s been ten years since we ended things. If anything, I’m confused. I had put her in a box, but apparently it was the wrong box.
I don’t know who she is now. Or why she’s here. Or where she plans to go.
After Grandpa Rossi’s birthday party, I asked Max about her. About the men she’d been standing with. Her business partners. I didn’t ask him if she was dating one of them, because why would I? I thought she had a girlfriend. And now she’s not responding to my text. She did ask to keep in touch. Why did she even come over? For five dollars?
Should I call Chloe and cancel, or take her to dinner and explain…what? Chloe and I are nowhere close to declaring exclusivity. She’s probably dating other people. Max told me about a big fiasco with a guy she found on Tinder. It was a crazy story that involved his sister Vivi. But I didn’t hear about it until everything had been resolved. It was more of a warning of the crazies out there in the dating pool.
Back in Minneapolis, I often dated multiple women. But, while this area is spread out, it’s also a small town. Yes, we’re inundated with tourists and part-time residents, and running into people you know is somewhat rare, but rumors spread faster than wildfire. If I go out on that date with Chloe, Kairi will hear about it.
If last night had happened with anyone else, I wouldn’t think twice about a Saturday night date. But I suppose this is why you shouldn’t have a one-night stand with your first love. Or with someone you dated for a decade. Some of middle school, all of high school and college. There’s so much history between us.
And she’s planning on leaving. She said she’s visiting. She might hate Howell Mountain as much as she did growing up. Now that I’m back, I’m not leaving. The issues we had in college might be insurmountable as adults.
Outside, it’s dark. The sun set an hour ago. The days are short when you leave work and it’s night outside.
My cell phone sits on the dash. The dark screen taunts me. Kairi still hasn’t responded.
I’ve known a couple of consultants. The role is notorious for long, demanding hours. She could be working. Or she could be blowing me off. Putting distance between us because she regrets coming over. She regrets what happened between us.
All ok?
She can respond with a single letter. If she sends a simple Y, I’ll be fine. I’ll wait.
There is no response. What if she’s not responding because she’s freaking out about last night? It was unexpected. Fantastic, but then everything unraveled afterward.
If her plan is to avoid me, if she sees last night as an enormous mistake, then I might as well keep that date with Chloe. I need to put her back into a box, close the lid, and move on with my life.
My mental gymnastics force me past my house and to the Morrigan farm. There’s an enormous metal gate at the entrance, but I know the code. Lots of vineyards and homes along major roads have automatic gates. They aren’t high security. One could easily walk around the gatepost as most, like hers, aren’t attached to a fence. But the gate is enough to deter randoms from driving through. There’s a small white video camera over the gate pad. The camera is a new addition. I punch the code, and the gate slowly slides open. The code hasn’t changed in ten years.
She didn’t tell me exactly which of her mother’s rental homes she’s staying in, but I have a good idea. My headlights cast shadows over the rows of vines. Out of my peripheral vision, a dark figure moves. I slow and peer out the passenger window, but all I see are vines. Must have been a deer.
The gravel road meanders through the vineyard, and my altitude rises as the car climbs Howell Mountain. There’s one stucco house that’s perched near the highest part of the property with a nice wraparound deck and stunning views. When the house wasn’t rented, Kairi and I would hang out here. We had some of the best sex of my life on that deck and in that house. I plan to check that out first. If that doesn’t pan out, I’ll check the other houses. Max mentioned she was staying in one of the rental houses.
Kairi’s banged-up, rusted blue pickup comes into view. She’s here. I park beside the truck and move to open my driver’s side door, but I can’t. There’s a man blocking the door. He taps the glass.
I lower it with the press of a finger. The man wears a black t-shirt and camo pants, but it’s his shoulder gun holster I fixate on.
