He nodded once, firmly. “You have a deal.”
We shook hands, and Lisa smiled proudly. Leaning close, she confided, “I told him it might cost one hundred dollars, so now he thinks he’s a smart negotiator.”
With a quick grin for Tyler, I said, “I was thinking of charging you fifty dollars.”
He shook his head. “It’s too late to change your price. We shook hands and everything.”
Giving Lisa and Tyler the quick tour of my workshop had made me anxious to get back to work on the Kama Sutra. But that work would have to wait until Robin was out of the city and safely delivered into my mother’s care.
So first thing the next morning, I called Inspector Lee to make sure it was acceptable for Robin to go to Sonoma. She gave her approval, of course, since it was pretty obvious from Galina’s attack that Robin had become a target. I gave Lee my mother’s phone number, just in case.
After I packed Robin’s three sweat suits, various accessories, and meager supply of toiletries, the three of us hit the highway.
Driving Robin’s vintage Porsche Speedster was a total blast for me, though not so much for Robin. I could actually hear her teeth grinding as I revved the engine on the straightaway out on Highway 37. I might’ve ground the gears once or twice, but it wasn’t my fault. The car was old. Yes, it was a classic, but let’s face it: The old thing wasn’t as fluid as it once might’ve been. But Robin acted as if I’d taken an ax to the engine just by shifting gears. I knew she was a little sensitive, so I didn’t take her swearing and cringing personally.
At one point along the highway, Derek flew by in his Bentley Continental GT. He passed on Robin’s side and she gazed over at him. When I glanced over, I saw Derek laughing uproariously. Was Robin making a face? Was I being mocked? I ignored them both. This was the sort of thing a true friend like myself had to endure once in a while.
An hour later we parked in my parents’ driveway, and I couldn’t stop smiling as Mom and Dad came out to greet us.
Mom wore a long-sleeved, full-length rainbow tie-dyed dress that floated and swung around her boots as she jogged down the stairs of the front porch. She’d dyed and sewn the dress herself from thick cotton knit that accentuated her tall, still-youthful figure.
Dad was dressed in the familiar faded Levi’s he’d always worn whenever he worked with the grapes in the fields. Today he wore another Mom original, a sage-colored tie-dyed henley shirt that looked almost new.
They were still in love, still adorable, and if you squinted just a little, you could picture them as two young Grateful Dead fans who first met at a Dead concert in Ventura County almost forty years ago.
After many hugs and outraged cries over Robin’s injuries, Mom touched Robin’s forehead, her third eye, where higher consciousness was centered, and chanted quietly, “
My mother used this chant whenever anyone around her was distressed.
All the pent-up tension seemed to melt from Robin’s shoulders and she smiled. “Thanks, Becky. I’m so glad I’m here.”
“Me, too, sweetie,” Mom said. She wrapped her arm about Robin, Dad grabbed her small suitcase, and Derek and I followed them into the sprawling ranch house in which I’d grown up.
“I’ve made sandwiches and potato salad for lunch,” Mom said, then turned to Derek. “You’ll stay for the day, won’t you?”
Clearly, Derek was the authority as far as Mom was concerned. She was probably right to consult him instead of me. I would’ve been happy spending a night or two, but Derek had an actual office to run back in the city.
Dad poured everyone a glass of the new sparkling wine he’d been experimenting with at the winery. Robin took one sip, then set her glass down. I could tell she was still in pain and was glad to see Mom come over and rub Robin’s shoulders. She relaxed instantly.
We ate lunch under a huge oak tree on my parents’ terraced patio overlooking the vineyards Dharma was famous for. Off to the left of the house and rambling up the hill was the apple orchard Mom had started the first year we moved into the house. In honor of Robin’s arrival, Mom had made her fabulous Crazy Delicious Apple Crisp for dessert.
Many Thanksgiving moons ago, when, as usual, I’d insisted on pumpkin pie after the huge meal, Mom also brought out her fledgling attempt at apple crisp. Not impressed with the presentation at first-it wasn’t pumpkin pie, after all, and I was so devoted to pumpkin pie that my family and friends had taken to calling me Punkin-I forced myself to take one small taste. I didn’t want to hurt Mom’s feelings, after all. Then I took another bite. Then another. In the end, I declared it my new most favorite dessert ever. Especially the way Mom made it, with spicy, lightly sweetened apples and the crunchiest, most crumbly, crispy layers of yumminess on top. Her secret ingredient was a luscious caramel sauce she added at the end. And ice cream on the side of the dish didn’t hurt, either.
Whenever I visited my parents now, I always went home with a bag of apples. Everyone in town did. Mom was known as the Apple Lady at the local grammar school. I guess that was better than being known as the Murder Scene Queen. Just saying.
After lunch, Mom helped Robin move to the chaise longue and tucked a blanket around her. With great care, she daubed some cream on Robin’s swollen face and set a glass of bright green parsley water on the nearby table for her to drink.
I hoped Robin knew better than to touch that stuff. I still had nightmares about parsley juice, Mom’s cure-all for most ailments.
Then Mom turned to another of her cure-alls. She pulled a disposable lighter from her pocket, lit a small bundle of sage incense, and blew on it until it was smoky, filling the air with its pungent aroma.
“I’ll now recite an original healing love chant,” she announced. She bowed to Robin, then bowed to the four directions and hummed loudly. Waving her arms and shaking the bundle of smoking sage above Robin’s head, she began her chant.
I started to applaud but Mom stopped me. “Not yet, there’s more.” Then she swayed and hummed and continued in an even deeper yet louder tone.
There was a moment of silence, followed by a burst of applause.
