Haunted

CHAPTER 4

THE SUN COMING THROUGH THE GLASS DOOR AND right into my eyes is a painful wake-up call. I have to force myself to sit up, blocking the sun with a hand. It’s Christmas Day. My pounding head reminds me of last night. Bits of Culebra’s story insinuate themselves into my consciousness, stinging like wasp bites. Then there’s the aftertaste of all that whiskey. My throat burns. My tongue feels like I’ve been licking the insides of those oak barrels the stuff was aged in. I roll my head in my hands and groan.

From a galaxy far, far away, I hear the ring of a doorbell.

I sit up straighter.

My doorbell.

Shit.

I’ll ignore it. Even Santa wouldn’t have the bad judgment to ring my doorbell this early.

The doorbell rings again. This time, one long sustained clash of bells, like someone is leaning an elbow on the fucking thing.

Persistent bugger.

Foolhardy.

Slowly, I haul my ass out of bed, pull on a pair of sweats, shrug into a tee and start downstairs, dragging fingers through my hair as I go. Hand on the doorknob, I grind my teeth in anticipation of kicking the ass of whoever is standing behind the door. The scowl on my face should give even Santa pause. I yank open the door.

“Surprise!!”

Is it! Three pairs of laughing, wonderfully familiar, totally unexpected eyes gleam at me for a second before I’m completely wrapped in three pairs of arms all hugging me and clapping me on the back and kissing my cheeks in one fell swoop of exuberance.

My family has come to visit.

The scowl gusts away like a candle blown by a breeze. I’m laughing and hugging back and overwhelmed by how happy their unexpected presence makes me.

I herd the trio into the living room and get them seated on the couch. I take the chair opposite so I can look at them. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen them, three months or so, but each time I do, I take mental inventory. When they’re gone, the memory is all I have to cling to.

Mom looks as healthy and happy as ever. She’s gained a few pounds in the year she’s been away, but she wears it well. Her hair is no grayer than it was, but the hairstyle is different. Cut in a stylish bob that makes her look much younger than her sixty-plus years. Dad hasn’t changed a bit. Still carries himself like the successful businessman he was—or is. He’s gone from retired investment banker to running a winery. The change agrees with him. Tan, broad-shouldered, he reminds me more than ever of a Roman nobleman with his close-cropped hair of gray curls.

But Trish. My niece looks different every time I see her. She’s grown from an awkward thirteen-year-old into a graceful, self-confident soon-to-be fifteen-year-old. Her hair is drawn back from her smooth, even-featured face with a barrette and cascades down her back to just below shoulder length. She’s wearing jeans and a designer T-shirt with a logo I don’t recognize—something French.

They’ve been chattering like excited squirrels. “You all look so happy,” I find myself interjecting. “So wonderful!”

Mom beams at me. “Oh, Anna. We love France. Trish is doing well in school. Speaks French like a native.”

“Merci beaucoup, grand-mère,” Trish says with a grin.

Mom laughs. “Your dad has become quite the vintner and business is growing. Just a year and our wines have begun taking prizes in local fests.”

“Of course most of the credit has to go the great staff we inherited with the winery,” Dad says with a modest smile. “But we’ve experimented with some new grape blends that are getting noticed.”

“And wonder of wonders,” Mom adds, “Your dad is beginning to appreciate French food.”

She reaches over to take his hand. They’re like a couple of kids again. Dad beams. “I like your mother’s French cooking,” he says, eyes twinkling. “It’s a start.”

Trish has been looking around. “No Christmas tree, Aunt Anna?”

I shake my head. “Too busy. But David and I have one at the office.”

Yikes. A thought strikes me with the force of a sledgehammer. I should be offering them breakfast and I have no food in the house. Not a scrap. Comes with the territory, being a vamp and all.

How do I explain that to my family? “I wish you’d told me you were coming. I don’t have anything to offer you.”

“I know we’ve surprised you, Anna,” my mom is saying. “How about we take you to breakfast? If I remember correctly, you were never much of a cook.”

Thank you, Mom. “Where would you like to go? How about the Mission Café? It’s right down the street. I think it’s open for breakfast today.”

“Got something better in mind. Let’s go to the house.”

“Your house? In La Mesa?”

“It’s the reason we’re here,” Dad says. “We’ve made a decision.”

Before I can react, Trish says, “We got in late last night. So we went right there and opened it up. We went shopping and everything.”

“And we have a lot of things to do,” Mom says. “Things that affect you. Trish has a break from school so we thought this the perfect time.”

Wow. Mom is standing up and the others do, too. My cue to do the same. “Did you drive here?” It’s the only thing I can think to ask.

Mom touches my cheek. “We’ve probably overwhelmed you. Let’s get to the house and we can sort it all out.”

Dad rattles car keys. “The rental is right out front.”

Trish links her arm through mine, steers me toward the door. “What’s with the new boyfriend? We’ve been watching him on the news. He’s totally hot, Aunt Anna.”

“I’ll tell Stephen you said that,” I say, thinking this is the best Christmas present. Ever.