What the hell just happened? Christine thought as she drove down the hill with its winding roads. It shouldn’t have happened like that. Not the way I had imagined.
She could imagine Vivian sitting there alone, baffled. She fretted that Vivian now knew there had been more to her supposed reasons for coming to Los Angeles other than to reestablish family ties with Vivian.
The convertible turned right and cruised east on Ventura Boulevard. Christine occasionally glanced at shop windows while she continued to ponder.
Christine returned to the house about an hour later.
“Well, Viv,” Christine said as she stood outside the front door with two fingers surreptitiously crossed behind her back. “I’ll admit that my actions were inexcusable and reprehensible. I guess I’d been blindly irrational about everything. It is my fault for letting my emotions get the best of me. I’m sorry I blew my top the way I did. I really didn’t mean to create a scene like that. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought a gun with me. I didn’t mean to upset you and I am sorry I called you a bitch.”
“What do you have behind your back?” Vivian asked with suspicion. “Another gun?”
Christine shook her head and held out her arm with a pair of long-stemmed red roses in her hand.
Vivian and Christine prepared finger sandwiches and cold cuts for lunch. Earlier, Vivian had accepted Christine’s apology, forgiven her, and put the incident out of her mind.
“Would you like a grand tour of the estate?” Vivian asked Christine. She halved gherkin pickles with a paring knife.
“That would be cool,” Christine said with a nod. She cut a thin slice of cheddar cheese and placed it onto a serving plate.
After they ate, Vivian showed Christine every room in the house, except the sealed room on the second floor in the west wing.
“It contains some of Rose’s personal belongings,” Vivian said. “Believe me, it isn’t worth setting foot in.”
This piqued Christine’s curiosity. She decided she’d wait a while before pressing on. They went down the hall to Vivian’s master bedroom.
“Oh, how lovely,” Christine said. “This is really nice, Viv. I don’t know how you did it, but . . .”
“Well, it hadn’t been easy, I’ll tell ya,” Vivian said. “But time heals, as they say. Keeping busy helps a lot, too.”
They stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall. Christine glanced at a spot on the polished hardwood floor. She noticed something glimmer for a second and took two steps forward to get a closer look.
“Hmm . . .” she said, her brows furrowed. She reached out, gingerly picked it up, and cautiously turned it over. “Looks like a piece of glass. How did this get there?”
“I was rummaging through the closet in that room earlier before you came,” Vivian said. “I was looking for the wooden hoop with the canvas for my needlepoint project and I came across this framed portrait of . . . you-know-who. I got choked up and impulsively threw it on the floor and the glass broke. I guess this piece bounced out into the hall.”
Christine slyly peered down the hall to the other end and eyed the closed door to the sealed room.
“I’d sure like to see that picture,” Christine said.
“Well, it’s been put away.”
“Which reminds me, I’d also like to see that room. After all, you’ve piqued my curiosity.”