Intensity

to the Napa Valley, where most of the red light had gone out of the sky and darkness encroached on all sides.

The old man in the Buick was no longer in front of them. They were not driving as fast as before, and evidently he had gotten far ahead of them.

Laura said softly, 'Dear God.'

Chyna was shaking uncontrollably. She plucked a few Kleenex from the console box between the seats, blew her nose, and blotted her eyes. Over the past two years, she had shared part of her childhood with Laura, but every new revelation-and there was much still to reveal-was as difficult as the one before it. When she spoke of the past, she always burned with shame, as though she had been as guilty as her mother, as if every criminal act and spell of madness could be blamed on her, though she had been only a helpless child trapped in the insanity of others.

'Will you ever see her again?' Laura asked.

Recollection had left Chyna half numb with horror. 'I don't know.'

'Would you want to?'

Chyna hesitated. Her hands were curled into fists, the damp Kleenex wadded in the right one. 'Maybe.'

'For God's sake why?'

'To ask her why. To try to understand. To settle some things. But? maybe not.'

'Do you even know where she is?'

'No. But it wouldn't surprise me if she was in jail. Or dead. You can't live like that and hope to grow old.'

They drove down out of the foothills into the valley.

Eventually Chyna said, 'I can still see her standing in the steamy darkness on the banks of that canal, greasy with sweat, her hair hanging damp and all tangled, covered with mosquito bites, eyes bleary from vodka. Laura, even then she was still the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. She was always so beautiful, so perfect on the outside, like someone out of a dream, like an angel? but she was never half as beautiful as when she was excited, when there'd been violence. I can see her standing there, only visible because of the greenish glow from the headlights of the Mercedes rising through the murky canal water, so ravishing in that green light, glorious, the most beautiful person you've ever seen, like a goddess from another world.'

Gradually Chyna's trembling subsided. The heat of shame faded from her face, but slowly.

She was immeasurably grateful for Laura's concern and support. A friend. Until Laura, Chyna had lived secretly with her past, unable to speak of it to anyone. Now, having unburdened herself of another hateful corrupting memory, she couldn't begin to put her gratitude into words.

'It's okay,' Laura said, as if reading Chyna's mind.

They rode in silence.

They were late for dinner.

* * *

To Chyna, the Templeton house looked inviting at first glimpse: Victorian, gabled, roomy, with deep porches front and rear. It stood a half mile off the county road, at the end of a gravel driveway, surrounded by one hundred twenty acres of vineyards.

For three generations, the Templetons had grown grapes, but they had never made wine. They were under contract to one of the finest vintners in the valley, and because they owned fertile land with the highest-quality vines, they received an excellent price for their crop.

Sarah Templeton appeared on the front porch when she heard the Mustang in the driveway, and she came quickly down the steps to the stone walkway to greet Laura and Chyna. She was a lovely, girlishly slim woman in her early or mid forties, with stylishly short blond hair, wearing tan jeans and a long-sleeved emerald-green blouse with green embroidery on the collar, simultaneously chic and motherly. When Sarah hugged Laura and kissed her and held her with such evident and fierce love, Chyna was struck by a pang of envy and by a shiver of misery at never having known a mother's love.

She was surprised again when Sarah turned to her, embraced her, kissed her on the cheek, and, still holding her close, said, 'Laura tells me you're the sister she never had, so I want you to feel at home here, sweetheart. When you're here with us, this is your place as much as ours.'

Chyna stood stiffly at first, so unfamiliar with the rituals of family affection that she didn't know quite how to respond. Then she returned the embrace awkwardly and murmured an inadequate thank you. Her throat was suddenly so tight that she was amazed to be able to speak at all.

Putting her arms around both Laura and Chyna, guiding them to the broad flight of porch steps, Sarah said, 'We'll get your luggage later. Dinner's ready now. Come along. Laura's told me so much about you, Chyna.'

'Well, Mom,' said Laura, 'I didn't tell you about Chyna being into voodoo. I sort of hid that part. She'll need to sacrifice a live chicken every night at midnight while she's staying with us.'

'We only grow grapes. We don't have any chickens, dear,' Sarah said. 'But after dinner we can drive to one of the farms in the area and buy a few.'

Chyna laughed and looked at Laura as if to say, Where is the infamous Look?

Laura understood. 'In your honor, Chyna, all wire coat hangers and equivalent devices have been put away.'

'Whatever are you talking about?' Sarah asked.

'You know me, Mom-a babbling ditz. Sometimes not even I know what I'm talking about.'

Paul Templeton, Laura's father, was in the big kitchen, taking a potato-and-cheese casserole out of the oven. He was a neat, compact man, five feet ten, with thick dark hair and a ruddy complexion. He set the steaming dish aside, stripped off a pair of oven mitts, and greeted Laura as warmly as Sarah had done. After being introduced to Chyna, he took one of her hands in both of his, which were rough and work worn, and with feigned solemnity he said, 'We prayed you'd make the trip in one piece. Does my little girl still handle that Mustang as if she thinks it's the Batmobile?'

'Hey, Dad,' Laura said, 'I guess you've forgotten who taught me to drive.'

'I was instructing you in the basic techniques,' Paul said. 'I didn't expect you to acquire my style.'

Sarah said, 'I refuse to think about Laura's driving. I'd just be worried sick all the time.'

'Face it, Mom, there's an Indianapolis 500 gene on Dad's side of the family, and he passed it to me.'

'She's an excellent driver,' Chyna said. 'I always feel safe with Laura.'

Laura grinned at her and gave a thumbs-up sign.

Dinner was a long, leisurely affair because the Templetons liked to talk to one another, thrived on talking to one another. They were careful to include Chyna and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, but even when the conversation wandered to family matters of which Chyna had little knowledge, she somehow felt a part of it, as though she was, by a magical osmosis, actually being absorbed into the Templeton clan.

Laura's thirtyish brother, Jack, and his wife, Nina, lived in the caretaker's bungalow elsewhere in the vineyard, but a previous obligation had prevented them from joining the family for dinner. Chyna was assured that she would see them in the morning, and she felt no trepidation about meeting them, as she'd felt before she'd met Sarah and Paul. Throughout her troubled life, there had been no place where she had truly felt at home; while she might never feel entirely at home in this place either, at least she felt welcome here.

After dinner, Chyna and Laura went for a walk in the moonlit vineyards, between the rows of low pruned vines that had not yet begun to sprout either leafy trailers or fruit. The cool air was redolent with the pleasant fecund smell of freshly plowed earth, and there was a sense of mystery in the dark fields that she found intriguing, enchanting-but at times disconcerting, as if they were among unseen presences, ancient spirits that were not all benign.

When they had strolled deep into the vines and then turned back toward the house, Chyna said, 'You're the best friend I've ever had.'

'Me too,' Laura said.

'More than that?' Chyna's voice trailed away. She had been about to say, You're the only friend I've ever had, but that made her seem so lame and, besides, was still an inadequate expression of what she felt for this girl. They were, indeed, in one sense sisters.

Laura linked arms with her and merely said, 'I know.'

'When you have babies, I want them to call me Aunt Chyna.'

'Listen, Shepherd, don't you think I should find a guy and get married before I start pumping out the