“They” being my two brothers and their dodgy friends, Eric and Zorro (his real name). Both boys had been forced to attend Catholic school in Glen Ellen when we were kids. They’d railed against the nuns and the rules and the uniforms, but they’d spoken in hushed, reverential tones about those Catholic school girls.
As we passed the town of Glen Ellen and headed toward the Valley of the Moon, I realized I now knew more about Alice Fairchild and her life as a Catholic school girl than I knew about some members of my own family.
She’d met Layla when they both attended a fund-raising conference in Atlanta. She admitted that Layla could be abrasive, but Alice knew that behind Layla’s tough exterior was a sensitive soul. She had challenged herself to get to know Layla better and found out that the woman didn’t have many girlfriends. No wonder she didn’t know how to treat other women.
I thought it was a little naive of Alice to think Layla had an ounce of goodness underneath that mean-girl outer shell, but Alice certainly seemed to have found a friend.
“I really admire what she built at BABA,” Alice said. “I’d like to stay for a few years, then once Stuart and I start a family, we might move back to Georgia. If we do, I’ve always dreamed of opening a small arts center. I know I could put everything I’ve learned about fund-raising to good use. I’d love to pick your brain sometime about how I could set up some bookbinding classes for grown-ups. I’ve already talked to Karalee about her Saturday classes for kids. They’re amazing.”
“She’s great with the kids,” I said.
“Yes, she is. But now that Layla’s gone, I’m not sure what to do.”
“I’m sure the board would love it if you’d stay. But you don’t have to decide anything right now. Just take your time.”
I left Highway 12 at Montana Ridge Road and we wound our way toward Dharma. I was giving Alice some pointers on setting up book craft classes as we turned onto Shakespeare Lane, the two-block-long stretch of shops and restaurants that constituted the epicenter of downtown Dharma.
“You were right,” she whispered, looking from side to side as we drove past the pretty shops and tree-lined sidewalks. “It’s beautiful. You’re so lucky you grew up here.”
“I think so,” I said, smiling as I glanced around. “It cleans up pretty well, I must say.”
And I was willing to bet it beat a nun-infested Catholic boarding school by a mile.
I found a parking space a block from the main drag and we walked to Annie’s store. On the way, I pointed out the tasting room our winery operated, along with two good restaurants and a couple of high-end clothing shops. There were other stores in the area as well, a small luxury hotel and spa, and numerous B and Bs.
We passed Umbria, the town’s newest restaurant, and I reminded Alice that this was the place Sergio had mentioned last night. Next door to that was the Good Book, the independent bookstore where I occasionally gave crafty bookbinding classes. And next door to the bookstore was Warped, my sister China’s yarn and weaving shop.
I looked through the window and saw China teaching a knitting class to a small group. I caught her eye and waved, and she beckoned me inside.
If it wasn’t obvious, my siblings and I were all named for places my parents visited back in the days when they followed the Grateful Dead. There’s my oldest brother, Jackson, named for Jackson Hole, Wyoming, where the Dead never played but where my parents’ best friends lived and where Jackson was born. Then came Austin, named for Austin, Texas, where the Dead performed with Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan. The story on Savannah was that Mom and Dad attended a raucous show in Atlanta with the Dead and Lynyrd Skynyrd, then drove to the coast and stopped overnight in Savannah, Georgia. Our little Savannah was conceived that night.
My baby sister, London, was named for London, Ontario, Canada, where Mom went into labor while visiting friends after a Toronto Dead show. China’s name came from the China Lake Naval Air Weapons Center, where my parents got arrested for protesting against nuclear weapons. They had some great memories of that place. And I was named after the New York borough, having been conceived in the balcony during intermission of a Grateful Dead show at the now defunct Beacon Theatre.
“Come on, Alice,” I said. “I’ll introduce you to my wacky sister.”
“Is that Annie?”
“No, Annie’s not actually a member of my family, though you’d never know it if you saw her with my mom.”
“Hey, girl,” China cried, running to greet me. “You come for the opening?”
“Yeah.” I gave her a hug, then turned. “This is my friend Alice.”
“Hi, Alice, nice to meet you.” They shook hands.
“Your shop is beautiful,” Alice said, looking around in awe. “So many colors.”
“Thanks. Have a look around.”
“I will.”
I watched Alice whip around, trying to check out all the displays. China’s shop was so intriguing, it was hard to decide what to look at first.
One whole wall was covered in square cubbyholes, each one stuffed with a different color and weight of yarn. There were wire baskets hanging at different levels from the ceiling, some piled high with luxurious yarns, others with bunches of colorful embroidery threads. Several tables showed off knitted and crocheted blankets, adult and baby sweaters, booties, gloves, and more. In one corner was a massive loom with a half-completed multicolored blanket, China’s latest work in progress. It would eventually sell for thousands of dollars.
China was a talented weaver with a fantastic sense of design. She was the one who helped me get my loft pulled together when I first moved in. While I loved all my sisters, she was my favorite, the one I could most relate to. This was probably because she ate red meat and made a point of sinning on a regular basis.
“Have you seen Mom today?” I asked.
“She’s at Annie’s right now, and she’s all wigged out of proportion about London and the boys coming to visit.”
“That’s so unfair,” I said.
“I know,” China said. “Everything stops when London shows up.”
We laughed, but it was true. London was our youngest sister, and though I would never say it to her face, the prettiest. Growing up, she’d always tried to keep up with me and China and our other sister, Savannah. And she usually succeeded. Even now that we were all grown up, she was still doing it. For instance, two months after China gave birth to her beautiful baby girl, Hannah, London had to go and have twins. One boy and one girl.
She’d also married the perfect man. Trevor was a handsome doctor who happened to own a popular winery up in Calistoga. I mean, really, a doctor and a winemaker? She was such a show-off! I loved London and Trevor and the boys, but she could never be my favorite sister. She was too perfect. Not that I would ever tell her that.
My mom insisted she didn’t play favorites, but she got all google-eyed whenever London and her babies came to visit.
“Is Trevor coming, too?” I asked.
“Of course. He’ll be by later this afternoon.”
“And what about Savannah?”
“She’s still a freak,” China said, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.
“Ah, feel the love,” I said, giving her a one-armed hug. “I’ve missed you so.”
“I’ve missed you, too. You’re my favorite. Don’t tell the others. By the way, you realize we’ve inherited another sister, right?”
“I know,” I said. “And I blame myself. Mom is insane about Annie, don’t you think? I guess it’s because of Abraham.”
China agreed. “I admit I’m a little protective of her myself.”
“Me, too, but don’t tell her I said so. She’s really fun to tease.”
Annie, or Anandalla, as her mother had named her, was Abraham Karastovsky’s daughter. A daughter he’d never met until the week before he died. That’s when Annie showed up, giving Abraham the shock of his life. In a good way, of course. They’d made plans and were looking forward to getting to know each other. Then he was killed and my mother took Annie under her wing.