Grief washed over me. My mother had been seriously ill for two years. The stretch of time made me dizzy. I should have been there for her. What if?
"That doesn't help," Corsica said.
"What?" I brush my bearded chin across her head before letting her pull back to look up at me.
"Asking yourself 'what if?' All of it was out of your control. And, your mother's illness is out of your control." She kept her arms around me.
"How do you know?" The question was genuine.
She shook her head. "I just do. That's why I also know that I'll ride down to Monterey in the helicopter with you, but then I'm going to catch a ride with a friend back to Santa Cruz. You don't need me getting in your way right now."
"No, I do." I grabbed her hand as she wriggled free from my arms. "I just need you to distract Xavier. Keep him from wheeling and dealing with me. I can't handle his business tactics right now."
Corsica twisted her wrist free from my hand with one smooth move. "Then we've struck a deal. This is strictly business and once we're in Monterey it's done."
I should have felt relief, but Corsica's words nagged me the rest of the morning. Even though we were still perfect strangers, there was a distance between us that I swore was not there before. I understood Corsica being cautious–it was a strange favor I had asked her–but there was something else. Every now and then, her glances looked over me like I cliff she was trying to avoid.
It wasn't until we were walking across the tarmac to greet my father that I realized how ridiculous I was being. "I'm sorry. We can say goodbye here. Maybe I'll see you in Santa Cruz one of these days."
She slipped her hand through my arm and gave me an arched look. "As if I'm going to settle for taking a taxi now. Besides, I need to practice my schmoozing techniques if I want that job at the Ritz."
Corsica's shadowed looks were gone as we settled into the helicopter's leather seats. "Mr. Templeton, I was wondering if you could tell me about how you learned to play piano. I've been considering lessons," she said.
My father shot me a knowing glance, but smiled. "Of course. That sounds like a very pleasant conversation for the flight."
She guided the conversation through music to flying and delighted in all the extravagant details of the helicopter. I sat back and watched, shielded by her light arm still intertwined with mine.
"I didn't get on an airplane until I was eighteen," Corsica admitted to my father.
"Really? Where were you, the dark side of the moon?" I asked.
Her arm tensed in mine. "Try Mars."
"I give up, Penn," my father said. "I've been trying this whole time to decide where she is from."
I squeezed Corsica's arm. I didn't know where she was from. I still wasn't sure of her last name. She didn't notice my prompting and looked out the window, instead.
"There's my house," I pointed out.
Xavier realized my mistake before I did. "He's always claiming he's going to buy it from me. At this point, I look at the property as an investment."
Corsica tugged her arm away from me and pressed a hand to the helicopter window. "That's where we're staying?"
I choked on a hopeful laugh. "Oh, come on, you don't need to pretend like we've never been there before. I get paid to check in on his investments. I told you that."
"Yes, it's just, I've, I've never seen it from the air before." She sat up and blinked her eyes as if she'd just woken up.
Her eyes still had the same, starry look while my father pretended to give her the tour. He'd never seen my home before, and he kept stumbling over his own discoveries. Corsica didn't notice as her eyes swept each room and then returned to the view. The Pacific Ocean crashed and sprayed just a few yards and a steep cliff away.
"I thought you were heading back to Santa Cruz tonight," I whispered in her ear as we lingered in the library.
She spun in a circle as she took in the towering walls of books, then her eyes drifted back out the window. "I bet you can see the moon set on the water here."
"It's beautiful. You'll love it," I said.
Corsica blinked off the temptation and caught up with my father. "I'm glad you stuck with simplicity. The strong lines of the architecture and the focus on the views will make this a timeless showcase of a home."
"It could use a few more furnishings, maybe some real art, instead of these finger paintings," Xavier said.
"Those are from one of mother's prized students," I said, crossing my arms.
"Your mother teaches second graders?" Corsica asked with a snobbish toss of her hair.
My father barked out a laugh. "No. That's just what it looks like when Alice helps someone find themselves."
Corsica smoothed her long hair with one hand. "I prefer Matisse."
I narrowed my eyes at her arrogant stance. "Oh, my mother is going to eat her alive, don't you think, Xavier?"
Corsica slid her eyes to me. "Why do you say that?"
"This whole perfect, good girl thing you've got going on? My mother will tear it to shreds. She sees right through people. Right down to what's hidden inside."
Xavier shook his head. "Stop teasing her. Alice Brightwater might be very direct, but she is not cruel. She is one of the most loving people I've ever met."
"Not that you ever deserved it," I said under my breath.
The closer we got to my mother's encampment near Pinnacles, the more I thought about what sharp words she would have for my father. After all these years, I still didn't understand how hearing them fight left me feeling cut.
Corsica felt my hesitation as we parked my SUV and walked up the dirt road. My mother's encampment resided on a sunny piece of property spotted with oak groves. Tucked between the trees were tents that scattered into the woods around a large, brightly swathed yurt.
When my mother flew through the colored scarves and enveloped my father in a long embrace, I couldn't tell who was more surprised, me or Corsica.
"Xavier, you're getting your shoes all dusty just to see me?" Alice asked my father.
"Dust? I'm walking on air just being near you."
A wave of nausea hit me. My father had always been charming and gallant, right before he turned.
"Penn?"
The bad memories broke apart as my mother turned to me. Before I knew it, I was wrapped in the familiar lilac and sage smell of her. All those years of comfort and strength she gave me. Now, her body felt frail in my arms, and I was angry at the world. How could she be sick? My sweet, gentle, angel of a mother?
"This can't be your girlfriend," Alice said over my shoulder.
I kept my hands on my mother's shoulders. "She is. This is Corsica."
"No, no. She's all wrong." She shook her long, flowing sleeves at Corsica. "She's all layers of plastic. She just wants money. No, more than that. Luxury. Oh, Penn, she's everything you fought to get away from."
"She means me," Xavier said to Corsica with a conspiratorial wink. "I was the worst. Looks like now it's your turn."
"How are you still not the worst?" I asked.