3 Savor Page 4

  Loren shook his head. “Be nice.”

  “It was a joke,” Sally said. “Karok Indians don’t have much of a sense of humor, do they?” she teased, slipping an arm around him as they came through the door.

  Billie waved a hand toward the living room. “You guys go on in and sit down. I’ll get the wine.”

  They didn’t get two steps further before “Surprise!” rang out and people popped up from behind furniture like a team of synchronized Jack-in-the-boxes. Margaret, Davy, Adam – even Carl was there. That’s when Billie noticed the banner hanging across the fireplace. In bright red and blue crayon colored letters it said, Welcome Home, Uncle Handel!

  Davy was the first to rush over. Margaret must have already warned him to be careful of Handel’s injuries because he didn’t throw himself at him like he usually did, expecting to wrestle on the floor or play kickboxing. Instead, he handed him a neatly wrapped present and waited expectantly. His grin was wide and toothy, showing an early overlapping problem he’d soon need braces for. “Open it!” he urged, with a ten-year-old’s impatience. “Mom and me found it at an antique store on the way home the other day. She said it would be perfect for your collection.”

  Margaret gave Handel a careful side hug and kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, big brother,” she said. They exchanged a look that bespoke their strong connection as siblings; those who had gone through hard times together and come out the other side.

  He wrapped an arm around her and pressed his cheek to hers. “Thanks, Meg.”

  Billie already knew that Margaret had found a beautiful old fountain pen, trimmed in gold and onyx. It was even engraved with Handel’s initials, although later, when the shopkeeper packed it in the storage box, she learned those letters stood for Henrietta Peterson. The original owner’s full name was carved into the lid in a feminine font. But that didn’t dampen Margaret’s excitement. It was a one-of-a-kind find and she knew her brother would go crazy for it.

  They waited to see his expression and it was priceless. Eyes wide with excitement, he stared at the pen in the box, looking much like Davy did on Christmas morning. Billie looked over his shoulder at the bulbous black and gold pen lying on a bed of red satin. It looked expensive.

  “Wow! I don’t believe it. This is a 1912 Pregnant Parker!” He glanced at his sister and back to the pen. “Where did you find it? And how can you afford it?”

  “Pregnant Parker?” Sally looked at Billie and started laughing.

  “Because of the shape,” he explained, not detracted from his perusal of the writing object. He lifted the pen out and handed Davy the box. “They started making these eyedropper filled fountain pens back in the early 1900s. This is an amazing find! I love it!” He grinned, elated.

  Margaret made an exaggerated expression of relief, pretending to wipe sweat from her brow. “Whew! That’s good. Cause you may have to help me pay for it. My credit card is maxed out.”

  “Fine with me,” he said, as though she’d just asked him to pay a parking ticket. “The gift is in finding it. This is a rare and beautiful work of art. A perfect addition to my collection.”

  Billie loved the look of happiness in her husband’s eyes. “Awesome. Another box to gather dust,” she teased. “While you all practice your penmanship, I’ll get the wine.”

  She hurried to the kitchen, a secret smile curving her lips.

  Carl joined her a couple minutes later and opened the wine while she set glasses out on a tray. He showed her the containers of pasta he’d brought and put in the refrigerator for her and Handel. “Louis Linguini and Ziti Alla Nicolina. Handel’s favorites,” he said with a shrug. “Pasta is good for getting strength back.”

  “Thank you, Carl. That was very sweet of you.”

  He didn’t seem in any hurry to return to the party. Leaning against the counter with arms crossed, he shook his head slowly, dark eyes glinting in the overhead light. “I thought for a bit there that we’d lost him,” he admitted. “We grew up together you know. Like brothers. Almost family. Thank God he made it. I don’t know what I would have done.”

  If anybody needed a hug, it was Carl. She put her arms around him and he hugged her warmly back. “You’re not almost family, Carl. You are family.”

  “I see you don’t need my help in here,” Handel spoke from the doorway.

  Carl released her like she was a hot potato. She turned around to find her husband grinning at them like an idiot on painkillers. He laughed at Carl’s discomfiture. “Don’t mind me. I’m just the invalid husband.”

  “If you saw what he brought us for dinner, you wouldn’t be giving him such a hard time. What do you think I was hugging him for? Not for his handsome Italian looks, that’s for sure.”

  “Ziti Alla Nicolina?” Handel asked expectantly using his best Italian accent.

  Carl laughed and lifted the wine bottle. He poured a glass for Handel. “Maybe.”

  “Don’t get him all excited, Carl. He’ll start drooling like a puppy. He hasn’t had anything to eat but soup and Jell-O since he woke up.”

  “Mama Mia! How horrible for you. A man without food and wine is an empty vessel.” He grinned and handed Billie a glass of wine as well.

  “So true.” Handel carefully swirled the wine in his glass and breathed in the bouquet. “I have a feeling this would pair magnificently well with a plate of Ziti,” he said wistfully.”

  “A toast first.” Carl raised his glass. “To second chances and living life to the fullest.”

  “Second chances!” Handel and Billie echoed.

  “I wondered where you guys disappeared to. You’re back here swilling all the wine. Figures,” Sally said, her voice droll. She pushed a stray lock of red hair behind her ear, grinning. The others were right behind her. “See,” she said, waving a hand toward the three of them, “I told you they’d started without us.”

  Crowding into the kitchen, everyone grabbed a glass and Carl poured the wine. He opened another bottle and they each made a toast, getting sillier and sillier until they were all laughing so hard Handel clutched his chest and begged them to stop.

  Davy had his glass filled with apple juice and when it was his turn, lifted it high. “To Uncle Handel,” he said. “I hope I’m as tough as you someday. You totaled your Porsche and didn’t even cry.”

  Everybody laughed except Handel. He glanced at Billie, hoping for denial but getting confirmation. “My Porsche? Totaled?”

  She shrugged. “Sorry, hon. I thought you knew. I mean… what did you think happened to it?”

  Everybody grew silent, watching him as though he’d lost it.

  The doctors hadn’t found any signs of long-term brain damage, but they said he might experience short-term memory loss until he’d had time to heal. She didn’t remember discussing the accident with him after he woke. The doctors kept him so busy with tests and therapy for the past two days that when they managed to have time alone, they didn’t want to talk about why he was there. Instead they made plans to go away together for a vacation as soon as the trial was over. They talked about fixing up the house, maybe getting a dog, although Handel was still on the fence about that. Plans for the future.

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really think about it at all.” He set his glass down on the table and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “No Porsche, huh?”

  Billie met his eyes and smiled. “It’s not all bad. You have a new pen.”

  •••••

  When everyone had gone, Handel let Billie talk him into getting in bed while she cleaned up. She could tell that even though it hadn’t lasted long, the party had exhausted him. The lines around his mouth were etched a little deeper and she wondered if they were from the pain of his broken ribs or what his near death experience had wrought.

  The house was quiet when she flipped off the lights. She stopped to look out the kitchen window at the tall oak and eucalyptus trees. Moonlight shimmered off leaves and spilled through the branches to the familiar tire swi
ng swaying gently in the night breeze. She smiled, remembering the first time she kissed Handel there. On a night like tonight, with only the moon watching, she’d fallen in love all over again with her childhood friend. Handy. She closed her eyes and said a little prayer of thanks that God had seen fit to give them more time together. Life without him was unimaginable now.

  Her cell phone, left on the kitchen counter, started playing Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony. She hurried to pick up. “Hello, Mother.”

  She heard engine noise in the background and wondered what her mother was up to this time. She seemed to be on a mission lately to do all the things common sense had once talked her out of doing. After a short-lived long-distance romance with Carl’s older brother, Antonio, she’d sworn off men and decided to quit worrying about love and start thinking about having some fun. Her exact words. Billie didn’t know if she was fulfilling some crazy bucket list or she’d gone completely insane.

  “Billie? Are you there? I can’t hear you,” her mother shouted into the phone.

  Billie moved the cell away from her ear. “I’m here. What are you doing? Skydiving?”

  Last week her mother had called to say she had signed up to go bungee jumping off a bridge up along the border of Canada. It seemed more than a little ludicrous that her conservative mother, who once told her not to jump off a bridge just cause everyone else did, would suddenly have a need for speed and a desire to take death-defying leaps of faith. Billie didn’t know if her mother had lost her mind, but from the distance of California there was nothing she could do about it.

  “No, of course not, honey. Stella and I are out at the races. Stock cars, you know? It’s pretty loud but I wanted to see how everything went today. I suppose Handel’s already tucked into bed. I was…” Revving engines and a voice over a loudspeaker drowned out the rest of her words.

  Billie waited for the noise to die down before responding. “What made you choose stock car races tonight, anyway?” she asked, walking down the hall to check that the front door was locked. “You’ve always hated loud noise. When I was a teenager, you wouldn’t let me turn my music up loud enough to hear the words.”

  “Oh, don’t exaggerate. Your childhood was just as rebellious and wild as the rest of the population. Don’t think I didn’t know you listened to Hell on Wheels or whatever that group was, when I wasn’t around. Anyway, I better let you go. I’m supposed to be getting popcorn for Stella. She’s probably wondering if I got lost. I had to step into the women’s bathroom to be able to hear.”

  “I’ll let Handel know you called. He’ll be sorry he missed you, but he was exhausted, so I sent him to bed. We had a little welcome home party when we got here. Davy even colored a banner.” Billie looked up at the paper strip still decorating the fireplace mantle and smiled before shutting off the lights in the living room.

  “I wish I could have been there,” her mother said, a touch of sadness filling her words in spite of the background noise. “I’m so happy he’s all right. He is all right, isn’t he?”

  Billy expelled a laugh. “Yes, Mother, he’s very all right. We both are now.”

  “Goodnight, honey.”

  “Night, Mom.”

  She shut off the phone, closed her eyes and drew a deep cleansing breath.

  But for some strange reason she was still hearing the sound of an engine revving. She went to the front window and pulled back the drapes enough to look out. Headlights cut a swath across her face as a vehicle spun in the gravel. The driver gunned the engine and tore out again, then spun another circle, throwing rocks and dust into the air. The winery’s security lights popped on across the yard as the SUV headed in that direction. They drove past the parking area, over the curb onto the sidewalk, slammed on the brakes and spun again, tearing up the flowerbeds she’d recently planted out front of the entrance.

  Angry now, she ran to the front door and threw it open. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but when the porch light came on and lit her up, the truck suddenly slid to a stop. The driver revved the motor. Vroom, vroom. It was obviously an intimidation ploy, and it was working. She took a step back, just inside the door and quickly punched 911 into her cellphone.

  The driver backed up slowly, then turned the vehicle toward the house and hit the gas. Were they crazy? She slammed the door and locked it. But that wouldn’t stop a truck. She turned to run toward the back of the house, when she heard them skid to a stop outside and the driver laid on the horn. They were definitely trying to get her attention.

  “911, what’s your emergency?” The voice asked from far away.

  Billie lifted the phone to her ear. “This is Billie Parker at The Fredrickson Winery. There’s someone outside driving their vehicle all over the place and damaging our property. Could you send out a patrol car?”

  She moved back to the window and peered through the drapes. The vehicle’s tinted windows reflected the porch light back at her, but made it impossible to see who was driving. While she watched, the driver side window of the SUV rolled down and the barrel of a gun stuck out. She dove for the floor, dropping the phone and hitting the end table with her head. There was a loud pop and the window cracked. Before she could find where she’d dropped the phone, she heard the truck speed away.

  “Billie?” Handel called from down the hall. She heard the slap of his bare feet against wood floors before the light in the living room flashed on. “Oh my God! Are you all right?” He dropped to his knees beside her. “You’re bleeding!”

  She reached up and gently probed her forehead. Her fingers came away red. “I see that.” She tried to stand up and he grabbed her forearms to keep her from falling. “Sorry. I’m a little dizzy,” she apologized.

  “What happened? Something woke me up, and I heard you scream.”

  “They shot at me,” she said, pointing at the window, still shocked by that fact. It was the second time someone had tried to kill her since she’d moved to California and she didn’t like it any better than she had the first.

  “They who?” he asked, eyes wide. He moved to the window and pulled the drapes aside revealing a bullet hole the size of a quarter. The tempered glass splintered around the smooth hole like the rays of the sun.

  A siren wailed in the distance and Billie put a hand on his bare back. “I think you better go put on some clothes, babe. The police will be here soon.”

  He glanced down and seemed to just realize he was standing there in the buff. “You already called them?” He looked groggy and confused, glancing around the room as though trying to fill in the blanks.

  Billie pointed at her phone lying under the edge of the recliner. She must have tossed it when she fell. Handel reached down and picked it up. She took it and held it to her ear. The dispatcher was still on the line. “Go. Get dressed,” she said, and waved him away. “I’ve got this.”

  The police car turned into the winery entrance, lights flashing. “They’re here now,” she told the emergency operator. “Thank you.”

  She pressed a tissue to her forehead to stop the bleeding. Slipping the phone into her back jeans pocket, she opened the door. Handel caught up to her before she stepped out onto the porch. He was fully dressed now in khaki shorts and a green t-shirt.

  “That was fast. The drugs must be wearing off,” she said, remembering that he moved a little slower when he was on his meds.

  “Tell me about it.” He grimaced.

  Two officers got out and came to the door. “Are you Billie Parker?” the older one asked.

  “Yes. I called.”

  They were staring at Handel oddly and she realized they thought he was drunk. He was weaving where he stood. She grabbed his arm. “I think you better sit down. This is too much stress for you after just getting out of the hospital.”

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled, but she could tell he was not.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, sir?” the officer asked, hands on his belt. He stepped forward, a look of concern drawing his brows together.


  “My wife is the one who got hurt. Someone shot at her,” he said, anger tingeing his words. He wasn’t fully aware of the facts, but his protective side was out full force.

  Billie invited the officers inside as she relayed everything that had taken place since talking with her mother. They took down the report and the younger officer asked, “How did you hurt your head, ma’am?”

  “When I saw the gun, I dove to the floor,” she said, pointing, “and managed to hit my head on the table over there.”

  The officer inspected the damaged window. The bullet hole was right at his chin level. Exactly where Billie’s face had been when they took aim. She swallowed hard, thinking how quickly things could change. Handel had survived a near fatal car crash and before they had time to truly appreciate the reprieve, death came knocking again. Well she certainly wasn’t ready to let him in.

  The senior officer, who’d introduced himself as Officer Torn, dug the slug out of the far wall and put it in an evidence bag while his partner went outside and took a few pictures of the window and tire tracks. Billie had a feeling it was all a waste of time.

  “Did you see the license plate or anything that could be used to identify this vehicle? Or recognize the face of the driver or shooter?”

  She shook her head. “It was too dark and the windows were tinted. It was a mid-size SUV. Maybe an older Chevy?” She sighed. “I wish I remembered more, but to tell you the truth, being shot at really clears your mind. Literally.”

  “If you think of anything else, give us a call.” He handed her his card. “Without a license or accurate description of the vehicle, there’s not much we can do. I’m sorry.”

  “What about the ballistics report?” Handel asked, getting up from the couch and following them to the door. “Someone can just shoot at my wife and get away with it? Like it’s some kind of prank?”

  Billie could see the pain was starting to get to him. He was edgier than usual and not thinking clearly. She put her arm around his waist. “They’re doing their job, Handel. It was dark and I was more worried about them tearing up the flowerbeds than trying to read their license plate. I’m sorry. If I’d known they were crazy enough to shoot at me…”