All for a Sister (30 page)

“Oh, Papa!” Celeste used her mother’s sturdy, still form to clamber to her feet, then ran into her father’s waiting arms. She buried her face in his shirt, mindless of the tears that soaked it through. He, too, sagged against her, and they held each other as Papa wrenched his son’s name from the back of his throat, over and over again.

Celeste heard a soft sound coming from behind her father and pulled away to see Graciela standing in the doorway, holding a crumpled lace handkerchief to her mouth, quietly but visibly sobbing. Celeste tried to catch her eye, seeking a secondary source of comfort, an extension of her father’s warmth, but Graciela wouldn’t look at her. She looked higher, and Celeste knew she was looking at her father. Moreover, she knew her father was looking at Graciela. The strength of their gaze wrapped them all together in the light of that single, glowing flame until Mother, with a single, dry breath, blew it out.

DANA GOES TO THE BEACH

1925

AT DANA’S REQUEST,
the driver, Gustav, slowed his speed on what she would describe as the perilous, twisty, turning road. Her stomach was in enough distress with the thought of the afternoon ahead; she didn’t need that odd feeling of having her insides sloshing around, not quite in the same place as her outside.

“Lady, I’m telling you if I drive any slower, we’ll be crawling backward on three legs.”

“Please.” She pressed her handkerchief to her mouth before continuing. “I’ve never been in a car—on a road like this.”

That wasn’t exactly true. She’d driven through the hills with Werner the night of Celeste’s premier, but that was at night, where she didn’t have to see the blur of the passing scenery around and, more disturbingly,
below
the car. Also, she’d been in the front seat, next to the driver—next to Werner—and perhaps his comforting presence made the difference.

“If I’d’a known you wanted to go this pace, I’d be sure to charge Mr. Ostermann by the hour instead of the mile. Might I suggest you get a Chinaman and a rickshaw for the trip back?”

“How much farther?”

“Sit back, close your eyes. Ten minutes, tops.”

Closing her eyes didn’t help at all. It seemed her best bet was to open the car’s back window and put her face to the wind. The smell of the ocean was instantly refreshing, almost healing, and she breathed it deep.

Yesterday, when she’d received word that Werner wanted to see her this afternoon—alone—she’d assumed he wanted another meeting in his office. The car arrived promptly at nine o’clock that morning, far too early for Celeste, who had only been home and in bed for a few hours. Even then, Dana suspected that had been Werner’s design, knowing the starlet’s dislike for early appointments. It wasn’t until Gustav made the first unfamiliar turn that she realized they weren’t headed to Werner’s office at all. By then, she was trapped in the backseat, too late to change her mind, and going too fast to jump. The latter impulse came after learning that she was being taken not to his office, but to his home.

By now, the sound of the ocean wrapped around the rumbling of the car, and she could see the shoreline. They drove past three houses, then four, without the driver giving any a passing glance.

“Do you know which one is his?”

“I been driving Mr. Ostermann out here nearly every day for five years. Yeah. I know. So sit back. When we stop, we’re there.”

There
turned out to be like nothing she’d ever seen before.

The house looked to be a natural outcropping of the craggy wall behind it, the stone taking on purposeful form and structure with the discipline of thick, rugged wood beams. Morning sun glinted off massive windows, and a wooden walkway extended in a serpentine pattern, disguised by the rocks and grass and sand.

“This is it.”

The driver hopped out and opened her door with a practiced flourish. She took his offered hand and stepped out of the car,
surprised at the wobble in her legs. Smiling self-consciously, she blamed the unfamiliar feeling of sand.

“Allow me to walk you to the door then, miss.” He was infinitely more polite now that they weren’t moving.

“Thank you,” Dana said, though with each passing breath, the idea of ascending to that house became more terrifying, and she wondered if she’d have the strength of mind and body to do it at all. While she pondered the possibility of climbing into the car to be driven back to what was now a wonderfully familiar home, she heard her name on the breeze, and again, until she looked up to see Werner at the top of the walkway, waving.

He looked like she’d never seen him before—his shirt loose and billowing, open at the collar, and his hair freed from any constraint, standing on edge and making him look like one of the little boys set loose to play in the courtyard before that awful, rainy day.

He was coming down the walkway with a quick, not-quite-running step, and to her delight, his arrival onshore was preceded by that of a short-legged dog, who ran immediately to Dana, gave her a quick sniff, then moved on to the driver’s equally eager greeting.

“Hey there, Ozzie.” He scratched behind the dog’s ears and offered his face to its darting pink tongue. Dana wrinkled her nose, though she was fascinated with the idea of such abandon.

“Ozzie! Here.” Werner stood at her side, and after one final, circling sniff, little Ozzie stood between them, paws prancing impatiently in the sand. Werner took Dana’s hand. “How lovely of you to come.”

“You said to.”

He smiled, looking younger still. “You can always refuse an invitation, you know.” He turned to the driver. “Thanks for getting her out here safe and sound.”

“No problem, Mr. Ostermann. When . . . ? I mean to say, what time—?”

“I will telephone this afternoon.” Werner spoke as though he were sweeping away an unsightly conversation.

The driver tipped his cap, bade good morning to Ozzie and Dana respectively, and returned to his still-running car.

“Well, then.” Werner rubbed his palms together in the first gesture of nervous energy she’d ever seen from him. “Would you like to take a walk on the beach? Or come up to the house first? I have some breakfast laid out. Are you hungry?”

“I—”

“Let’s go up to the house, have some coffee. Let the sand warm up a little bit.”

At that, she glanced down to see that his trouser legs were rolled, exposing tanned legs and bare feet. Dana couldn’t remember ever seeing a man’s bare foot before, and the sight of it made her feel more comfortable than she could have imagined. She agreed, and he made a
tschik-tschik
sound to Ozzie, who raced up the walkway in front of them.

“This is beautiful,” she said, her words increasingly inadequate with each ascending step.

“Thank you. It is important for me to be able to get away from the city. I keep an apartment close to the studio, but I prefer to be out here most of the time. Lets me think.”

Ozzie raced back and forth in front, as if tugging them up.

“And you have a dog.”

“I do.”

“I don’t have much experience with them. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“She’s a she, a Welsh corgi, and always so excited when we have a visitor. I think she gets bored with my company.”

“I doubt you have any shortage of visitors.” Dana might not
have known much of the world, but she was quickly learning, and a man as handsome as Werner with an isolated house on the beach was bound to have his fair share of visitors. The thought of it awakened a sort of privileged fear, making her wonder if she should have been more specific in the note she left for Celeste.

The walkway ended at a wooden deck that jutted out from the house to a free suspension over the beach below. On it, a table was set with a flapping white cloth, held in place by a feast. A platter of fruit—melon and strawberries arranged around a dish of cream—a platter of scones, and a silver carafe.

“I made the scones myself,” Werner said. “One of my other many talents. My grandmother’s recipe.”

Dana fought to hide her amusement. Never had she seen him with anything less than perfected, cool control, and here he was, fidgeting, as if seeking her approval. “It all looks lovely,” she said, allowing him to pull out her chair.

As they ate, he talked about the house, listing details of history and architecture, seeming to know every stone personally, intimately acquainted with every beam. “We’ll take a tour after we eat. Not much of a tour—it’s not a large house; but you’ll see how the ceiling . . .”

Distracted by the surf, she heard very little of what he said. Its rhythmic pounding drew her, and she found herself gazing over the railing, food forgotten on her plate.

Werner’s voice broke through. “It is hypnotic, isn’t it?”

“I never could have imagined such a thing.”

“Come.” He stood, wiped imaginary crumbs from his chin with his napkin, and crossed to her seat. “Let me show you something.”

An instinctual fear gripped her, digging through layers of naiveté, and she reached for her coffee. “I’m not quite finished here. The scones are exquisite. I might like to have another.”

“They will wait. I promise.”

Dana gave in to her trust and took his hand as he led her from the table and through a paned-glass door. The room inside looked to be an extension of the ocean itself. The walls were made of stone and wood, left to their natural textures, with abstract paintings of cool blues and grays bringing in an extension of the sky. One wall was pure glass, giving the impression that one could walk right out without the benefit of any open door—an idea she found both fascinating and frightening.

A spiraling staircase rose right up in the middle of the room, and it was to this that he led her, sending Ozzie scampering up first.

“Go on,” Werner urged. “I promise that Ozzie will defend your honor.”

More at ease following the dog than its owner, Dana climbed, arriving at a loft that overlooked the living area below. To the left, she saw a bed—
his bed
—neatly made with a woven blanket of bright design stretched over its expanse. Masculine, without a hint of lace or ruffle and, to her utter shock and shame, utterly inviting. Pausing, she sent a quick prayer of repentance, followed by one for protection from both her thoughts and his intentions.

“Other way,” he said from behind her, his voice both reassuring and amused. “Follow Ozzie.”

The little dog had scampered to a door identical to the one downstairs, to the right of the landing. She stood on her back legs, pawing at the knob, until Dana opened it onto a balcony that wrapped around the corner of the house, stretching higher, and farther still from the one below, where her coffee was growing cold.

“Go on,” Werner urged. “Step out.”

She did, and it was like stepping on sky. Only a waist-high railing, formed from uniquely twisted driftwood, stood between
Dana and the vastness of creation. The ocean stretched forever. To the left and right, nothing but sand and water. And sky—always and everywhere, the sky.

“Doesn’t it make you feel small?” Though he stood close by, his words whipped to her on the wind.

She shook her head. “No. I know what it is to feel small. This . . . I feel as big as creation. Look.” She reached out her hand. “I’m touching the horizon. I’m a titan.”

“So you’re not afraid?”

“No.” She didn’t dare turn around. If she looked at him, she would be.

A gust kicked up and threatened to blow her hat clean off her head, and she clutched at it, laughing. “Well, maybe I should be.”

He laughed too and held his hand out. “Give it to me.” She did, and to her amazement, he squatted and held it out to Ozzie, who clamped it gently in her mouth, barely able to keep the brim above the ground. Werner snapped his fingers twice and said, “Put it away” in a commanding voice, at which Ozzie ran off, taking Dana’s hat with her.

“What did you just do? Celeste is going to kill me.”

He stood. “Relax. It will be safe in a basket with some of her other toys. It was easier to teach her a trick than to run around picking up after her all the time. She’s very tidy.”

Dana ran her fingers through her hair, imagining how wild she must look now, and turned her attention back to the view, feeling brave enough to brace herself on the railing and lean out a little.

“There was a woman named Effie,” she said, feeling him take his place beside her, “who used to give me little gifts sometimes. Once, she gave me an alarm clock so I could wind it up and hear the ticking. I used to keep it stuffed between my mattress and the wall to muffle the sound. Not because it bothered me; really
it was comforting, somewhat. But to smooth it out, like I was spreading out each
tick
and
tock
, running the minutes into each other. Make the time go faster.”

Werner said nothing, but moved his arm closer to hers. Not touching, but closer. Had she not been watching, she never would have known.

“Later, she brought me a seashell, this big.” She held out her cupped hand. “Said if I put it to my ear, I could hear the ocean.”

“And did you?”

“I tried. But then, how would I know for sure? I’d never heard an ocean before. And from what I could tell, it wasn’t any different from covering my ears with my hands. But I tried.”