with a bottle and good buns.
He thought of Cleveland, thought of Albuquerque.
They were silent until they reached a rest area. Dion got out and stretched before walking around to the driver's side. He leaned against the hood of the car. 'I don't understand why we're moving to Napa,' he said.
His mom, adjusting her halter top, frowned. 'What do you mean, you don't understand why? J got a job there, that's why.'
'But you could've gotten a job anywhere.'
'You have something against Napa?'
'No,' he admitted. 'It's just ... I don't know.'
'Just what?'
'Well, it seems like people usually have a reason for moving.' He glanced at her, reddening. 'I mean moving to a specific place,' he added quickly. 'They have family there or they grew up there or they really love the area or their company transfers them or ... something. But we don't really have any reason to be going.'
'Dion,' she said, 'shut up and get in the car.'
He grinned at her. 'All right,' he said. 'All right.'
* * *
They spent that night in a Motel Six in Santa Barbara, staying in a single room with twin beds.
Dion went to bed early, soon after dinner, and fell asleep instantly. He dreamed of a hallway, a long, dark hallway at the end of which was a red door. He walked slowly forward, certain that the floor under his feet was soft, slimy, and not stable, though he could hear the clicking of his shoe heels on the hard cement. He continued to walk, looking straight ahead, afraid to look to the left or to the right. When he reached the door, he didn't want to open it, but he opened it anyway and saw behind it a stairway leading up.
Down the center of the steps trickled a thin waterfall of blood.
He walked up the stairs, looking down at his feet, following the blood to its source. He reached a landing, turned, continued upward. Now the trickle was thicker, moving faster.
He turned on the next landing and saw seated on the top step a beautiful blond girl of approximately his own age. Her straight hair was tied in a bun at the top of her head, and she was smiling invitingly at him.
She was completely naked.
His eyes moved down her body, over her milky white breasts to her widespread legs. From the hairy, shadowed cleft between her thighs streamed an unending ribbon of blood which cascaded downward from step to step. He walked slowly up to her. She reached out to him, motioning for him to put his head in her lap, and when he again looked at her face, he saw that she had turned into his mom.
They left early the next morning, before dawn, and for breakfast they stopped in the small town of Solvang, some forty miles north of Santa Barbara. A well-known tourist attraction, Solvang was supposed to be a Danish village, but Dutch windmills, Swedish flower boxes, and a varied amalgam of Scandinavian influences could be seen in the architecture of the storybook buildings. They ate at an outdoor cafe, and Dion had something called a Belgian waffle, a huge, exaggerated waffle square piled high with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Although he was still troubled by his dream, he felt better today about leaving Arizona, and he looked up at the blue sky, at the green, rolling hills surrounding the community. He knew Napa was still an eight-hour drive away, but he imagined it looking much the same as Solvang--small, cute, beautifully unreal. For the first time he thought he understood why his mom wanted to move to northern California's wine country.
And then they were on the road again, taking with them a white wax sack filled with Danish pastries for the trip. The countryside grew flatter, more farmlike, and though it was initially quite scenic, the sameness of it soon grew monotonous, and Dion, lulled further by the subtle rolling motion of the car, soon fell asleep.
He awoke before lunch and was still awake an hour later as they drove into San Francisco. His mom, obviously excited, grew more talkative as they drew closer to Napa. Her enthusiasm was catching, and Dion found himself anxiously awaiting the moment they pulled up in front of their new home.
His first view of the Napa Valley was disappointing. He had been expecting to find lush green farmland surrounding a small town, a quaint clapboard community with a bandstand in the park and a steepled church overlooking a town square. Instead, the first sight they saw through the white, smoggy air was a crowded Burger King situated next to an abandoned Exxon station. After the build-up, the sight was more than just depressing. He stared out the window. There was no sign of a farm or even a grape arbor, only rather ordinary buildings on typical city streets. He glanced over at his mom. She was still happy, excited, but his own mood of anticipation had been effectively squelched. As they passed through town, he was filled with a growing feeling of dread, a feeling which reminded him for some reason of his dream.
The feeling grew as they drove by shopping centers, through subdivisions, and past tourist traps. The town became more rural, less developed, as they drove north, but it was more than just the physical surroundings which had brought upon him this dread, and he felt as though a great emotional weight had been placed upon him, a heavy, undefinable feeling which increased as they headed toward their new home.
Ten minutes later they were there. Dion stepped slowly out of the car.
The house was nicer than their house in Mesa. Much nicer. In place of the small carport and adjoining storage shed they'd had in Arizona was a beautiful redwood garage. In place of gravel and cactus was a yard filled with bushes and green trees. In place of the crackerbox dwelling was a small but breathtaking wood and glass structure straight out of Architectural Digest. The house was situated in the flatland between the hills which surrounded the valley, nominally part of a subdivision, but the way it was set back from the road, fronted by shrubbery, gave it a refreshingly rural air. His mom grinned. 'How do you like it? I had someone at the office pick it out. I figured they'd have an inside track. What do you think?' Dion nodded his approval. 'It's great.'
'We're going to be happy here, aren't we?' He nodded slowly. 'I think we are,' he said. And he was surprised to discover that he believed it.
April felt good.
They'd been here nearly a week, and it was as if they'd been living here for years. Already Napa felt more like home to her than Mesa ever had.
She stood at the kitchen window, sipping coffee, watching Dion mow the back lawn. He was shiftless and sweating, and she thought that if he wasn't her son, she might try to seduce him. He was turning into a very good looking young man.
She wondered if he'd grow up to look like his dad.
Not that she remembered what his dad looked like.
Not that she knew who his dad was.
She smiled to herself. Omaha. There'd been a lot of guys back then.
Regular lovers as well as one-nighters. And she had never used any form of birth control. She hadn't liked condoms or diaphragms, hadn't liked any sort of barrier to contact, and she hadn't been responsible enough to take birth-control pills on a regular basis. So she'd trusted to luck or fate or whatever, and had just accepted things as they came.
She was glad she'd gotten pregnant, though. She was glad she'd had Dion.
She didn't know where she'd be today without him. Dead, she supposed.
Overdosed. Or carved up by a Mr. Goodbar.
He turned the mower, started back toward the house, saw her in the window, and waved. She waved back.
On the trip over, Dion had asked why they'd moved to Napa, and she hadn't been able to answer him. Why had they come here? As he had pointed out, there was really no compelling reason for them to start over in this place. She had no friends or relatives in the region; her job was one she could have gotten in any mid-sized city or major metropolitan area in the country. She'd told him that it was as good as anywhere else, that it was far enough away that she wouldn't be known, but the truth was that ... She'd been Called.
Called. That was how she thought of it. It didn't make any sort of logical sense, but emotionally it felt right. She'd seen an article on the Wine Country in the Arizona Republic's Sunday magazine supplement, and had found herself drawn, pulled to the area. For two weeks the idea of moving had grown within her, making her nervous and anxious, growing from a desire to a necessity in her mind, intruding upon her daily thoughts until she thought she'd go crazy. It was as if something inside her was telling her that she had to move to Napa. She'd fought it at first, but she'd finally given in. She had always been one to trust her instincts.
