Entangled Read Free Page A

buildings, storage sheds, barn,
and winery were painted white with black trim, in sharp contrast to
the deep cerulean California sky, and rather modern when compared
to the neighboring wineries with their monastic style
buildings.
    The limo pulled up to the house and stopped
behind a red Porsche. The chauffeur opened the back door for us
before emptying the trunk of our luggage. I climbed out first and
stood looking around, my gaze resting briefly on each building as
though memories would suddenly start flooding back and I would
remember that summer with the clarity Mother seemed to have. But
nothing looked remotely familiar.
    Handel took Mother’s arm and walked with her
up to the house, not even waiting to see if I would follow. I
glanced back at the limo, but the driver had already climbed in and
was pulling away. There were two pickups parked across the yard in
the shade of a huge, oak tree and I caught a glimpse of someone
watching from the shadowed doorway of the winery. I shivered in
spite of the warm rays of the afternoon sun, and turned toward the
house.
    Handel held the door for me and I stepped
into the coolness of the darkened entryway. Bells of recognition
still had not started ringing inside my head and I wondered if they
ever would. Obviously, those weeks of my childhood had not been as
remarkable as Mother made them out to be.
    Handel led us down a hallway to a large room,
cavernous in its simplicity. A single chair sat close to the brick
fireplace, a piece of stray furniture lost and alone. An old,
brown, leather couch and end table were pushed close against a far
wall, as though someone had cleared the floor for a dance. However,
the walls were not empty; paintings filled with bright splashes of
color adorned them like jewelry on a naked woman.
    Mother stopped in the middle of the room and
gazed around, her eyes wide with something akin to shock. “What in
the world happened to Jack’s beautiful furniture?” she asked. “I
remember he had wonderful pieces that he picked up all over the
world.”
    Handel paused in his guided tour, his eyes
narrowing as he looked around, as though just noticing the bareness
of the room. “Oh — well, Jack gave it away,” he said with a slight
shrug. He met my look of incredulity and I swear there was
resentment in his gaze. My initial attraction to the man was
quickly fading. “I was surprised when he willed everything to you.
I thought he’d have the place sold and give the money to those in
need or designate shares to all of the employees. He had a heart as
big as anyone I’ve ever known.”
    Something about that statement made my
stomach turn, but I didn’t know if it was Handel’s attitude toward
me or my own sense of justice. I knew that inheritance didn’t
necessarily have anything to do with deserving. Lazy, worthless,
children inherited their hard-working parents’ fortunes everyday
just because they had matching DNA. I certainly didn’t feel that I
deserved my uncle’s money, but he had made the decision to leave it
to me of his own free will.
    I tore my gaze from Handel’s accusing one and
fixed my eyes on the huge painting above the fireplace mantel.
Streaks and wild dabs of paint adorned the canvas like a food fight
gone creatively abstract. I imagined anger rather than fun emanated
from the framed art. For some reason it frightened me, and I no
longer wanted to be in the same room.
    “I would like to take a tour of the winery if
you have time to show us around before we settle in a hotel for the
night,” I said. My voice seemed over loud in the hollow space and I
felt another headache coming on.
    “I’m sure that can be arranged, but aren’t
you planning on staying in the house while you’re here? I had rooms
prepared for you.” He spread his hands as though in supplication.
“It is your property now.”
    I was not seduced by his placating words. I
knew he resented me for being Jack’s niece. I cleared my throat and
looked at mother.