Silent Flyght – Chapter 13

Well, I’m showing up tired again to Casa Aravena, early in the morning, but I’m in better spirits than before. Jinzo worked his wonders on me, and I fell asleep, curled up against his chest. For once, I didn’t even dream. At least, I don’t think I dreamed. Never mind. It doesn’t matter. The sleep I had wasn’t a lot of rest, but it was better than most nights. I’ve had my fair share of bad luck, but I’ve been lucky in love so far.

As I grow to trust each of the men in my network, my anxiety eases, bit by bit. We’re working together for the good of our whole family. We depend on each other. No deception. No secrets. I can rely on all of them.

So, the real question is, does Mat fit in? Can I come to rely on him as well?

I leave the autocab, my feet hit the ground, and I take a deep breath. Ahhh. The air smells of harvest — dark earth, manure, and sweet cinnamon from the kitchen. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I peer out at the other parts of the property. In the distance, the barn, housing the wine vats and distillery, has its doors open, and people mill around the warehouses where they store barrels, grapes, and heavy equipment. To the right, the horse stable doors are open and a worker hoses down the stone walkway. I really want to see the horses. I wonder if I can convince Mat to take me out there.

“Ms. Kawabata!” A man I only barely recognize crosses the gravel driveway to me. “You’re early.”

“I am?” I check the local time, and yeah, I’m fifteen minutes early. I must have had good luck with getting ready this morning. “Sorry. Shall I wait outside?”

“Not at all.” He makes a hurried bow as he gestures to the front door. “Mr. Aravena is ready to see you now. He’s in the arboretum.”

“Thank you,” I say, dipping my head as I walk past him into the house. “I know the way.”

“Of course, miz.”

I don’t check behind me to see if he’s tagging along. I brush off my pants and pat back my hair, making sure my ponytail is secure. Gotta look put together today despite everything I’ve been going through.

Following the long hallway that stretches the length of the house, I take a left at the first corner. I walk past the library (every rich person seems to have one), the cigar smoking room, a mud room, and finally arrive at the glass arboretum. My shoulders relax as I stop to enjoy the warm, humid air flowing over my skin. I need one of these at home. We have greenhouses, but they’re not a part of the living spaces.

The sound of a voice rises above the burbling of the nearby fountain.

“You can’t trust her; she’s a foreigner. Totally out of touch with what’s going on out there.”

I freeze behind the giant, showpiece Bird of Paradise plants that frame the doorway. They are one of the hardest plants to grow from seed. I’m impressed, even as I try to eavesdrop on the conversation happening at the arboretum’s bar. I peek through the leaves and catch Mat’s response.

“I’m not sure I believe that. We’ve been talking, and she’s well-traveled and conscientious. She seems very grounded to me,” he signs.

I angle my head to look to the left a bit. Mat is talking to his chief of staff, Peter. Peter, as I have learned from Marcelo’s briefing notes, handles Mat’s social calendar and anything else he books for the estate from tours to parties to school outings. The two of them were close growing up, old schoolmates. Mat values Peter’s opinion and often follows most of Peter’s advice.

“Grounded? The girl who’s mentioned on OEN at least once a week?”

Mat’s chest bounces. “I think you’re exaggerating just a bit.” His hands are showing signs of irritation.

“What is it about her that’s a better idea than someone from Sonoma?”

“She’s… I don’t know. We connected. She helped me without knowing who I was or even caring. And we… we hit it off right from the beginning. I’m taken with her.”

“This is ridiculous. Listen to me,” Peter insists, leaning over the bar to catch Mat’s attention. Mat is trying his best to ignore Peter by rearranging glasses in the bar back. “We’re doing something good here. Something important. I don’t know why you want to mess it up by getting an outsider involved.”

Mat blows out a frustrated breath and slams his hands on the bar. I jump and almost knock into the plant.

“Peter, stop! I’m not getting any younger!” Mat signs and I can tell his face is burning from here. “I want to meet someone. I want to have a family, or there will be no one left to hand this place down to. Vivian is the first woman I’ve connected with in five years.”

Peter scoffs. “You can hand it down to another kid like Papa Aravena handed this place down to you. There’s no reason to get this woman involved. She’ll ruin everything.”

“Mind your own business.” Mat stares Peter down.

Peter backs away from the bar. “Your business is my business, or have you forgotten?”

Mat waves him away. “Leave me in peace. She’ll be here soon. You don’t get a say in this.”

Shit.

I’m not wanted here… and I’m about to be caught eavesdropping!

I back away from the door into the hallway, straighten my shoulders, and charge forward like I just arrived.

“Hello?” I call out. The plants and the fountain are loud enough to swallow up my voice, so I try again. “Hello, Mat?”

Peter rounds the corner and paints on a fabricated smile. I know I’m a horrible liar with the worst poker face on the planet, but I try to look natural, anyway.

“Vivian, it’s good to see you again,” Peter says, extending his hand to shake. I slip my fingers into his and try not to recoil from his touch. “I hear Mat will give you the grand tour today?”

“That’s right. I’m looking forward to seeing everything.”

His smile slips a fraction. “Yes, well, it’s the best time of year to be here. We’re crushing grapes today. I’m sure it’ll be fascinating for someone like you.”

What? That sounds vaguely insulting.

“Someone like me?” I look past him to Mat, heading this way.

“Uh, yes,” he says, backing away a half step, “someone from Ossun. I know you all mostly produce agriculture and livestock. There are only, what? Two vineyards on the whole planet?”

“Well, you know, someone has to feed the rest of us.” My stare is ice cold, and Peter’s smile falls into a solid line.

“Vivian,” Mat signs, inserting himself between the two of us, “I’m so glad you could make it today.”

He reaches for my hand and lifts it to his lips. My heart races from the contact, and my lips rise in an involuntary smile. Peter fades into the background.

“I’m happy to be here.” I flip my hand over so I can entwine my fingers with Mat’s, but I realize he needs his hands to speak to me. Still, I take a moment to hold him captive before I release him. “So, you’re crushing grapes today? I’ve never seen that.”

“Great, then it will only be a little boring for you,” he says, winking at me.

Mat leads me past Peter, and I smile at him like there’s nothing wrong.

Like I’m meant to be here.

Because I am.

—-

The whole day is a blur of details. Mat holds nothing back about the wine-making process, and my head spins from the terms I should know but don’t. His workers spent the nighttime harvesting grapes, tons and tons of grapes. I watch them being added to giant machines that de-stem and sort the grapes, then the grapes are crushed. Mat’s winery does both manual crushing and mechanical crushing, and he tells me all about which methods he chooses, whether he leaves the skins on, for how long, and on and on.

As the owner and master winemaker, Mat makes the decisions of what to do with different kinds of grapes and the output he expects from each season. He knows what he wants and how to get it. I stand back and listen to him discuss the various methods of fermentation and barreling he prefers with his five-person staff. They all have opinions on what would be best for each grape, and Mat listens carefully to everyone.

They give me a tour of the vats, both stainless steel and wood, and show me how they regulate temperature and fermentation times. I stand on the balconies over giant tanks and smell the pungent aroma of ripening wine. A man uses a paddle on a long pole to mix up the must (a term used for this grape mixture once it’s been crushed, I have learned). He balances on a piece of wood slung over the open vat.

“Has anyone ever fallen in?” I ask, watching him with wide eyes.

Mat laughs. “No one I know. Maybe before my time. Come. Let me show you what happens next.”

By the time lunch rolls around, I’m so excited I can’t wipe the smile off my face. This is such a wonderful blend of creativity and science. It’s everything I always loved about farming and more.

We sit at a set of wooden tables outside the warehouse where the wine is laid down in barrels. Employees occupy other tables, but they keep their distance from us, giving us a little privacy.

Taking a deep breath, I sit and gaze out at the vineyard. I haven’t felt peace like this in months. I pushed aside my worries for a few hours, and it was marvelous. And spending that time outside was just what I needed to give myself an emotional boost.

One of Mat’s staff delivers a basket of food to our table. Mat signs ‘thank you,’ a nod and a gesture of the hand from the chin outward. Everyone on his staff knows basic USL. I can see why he’s comfortable here and why he forgot his datapad on the Lee home ship.

I stand up to help him unload our lunch. Smoked meat and cheese sandwiches on crusty bread, tiny sweet pickles and olives, apples, fried chips, and cinnamon buns for dessert.

“Oh, I smelled cinnamon when I arrived, and I wondered what it was for.” My mouth waters looking at everything on the table. This will be awesome, and I’m so ready to eat. Walking around all morning has made me hungry. I snap my hands out. “Okay. No one say anything controversial. I actually want to eat today.”

Mat almost spits out his sandwich with laughter. He coughs and washes down his lunch with a gulp of water. I dig into my sandwich and inhale half of it within two blinks.

“Wow. You’re hungry,” Mat signs. “Quite different from last night.”

I peer into the sandwich and move bits of cheese around, so I get an even bite. “I can’t eat when I’m anxious or nervous. I eat best when I’m happy or just plain excited.” I tear a mouthful off the sandwich, chew, and swallow with some water. “Your winery excites the hell out of me.”

“Really? You like it?” He pulls an apple from the basket, cuts a slice off, and hands it to me.

“Thanks. Yeah, I love it. There’s so much to learn.” I’m sure my eyes are twinkling. Mat’s grin is surprised. “I love learning something new.” I melt down into my seat, thinking of everything I could master here. “And wine has always been a passion of mine. There’s so much that can be done with grapes. So many ways to eat or drink them. It’s really quite fascinating. A lot like other crops, though, I suppose. Just look at what you can do with wheat and rice.”

He cuts off another piece of apple and hands it to me.

“Sorry. I’m talking too much, right? Usually, people like it if I’m silent and listen.”

He frowns. “No, please talk all you want.”

I take another proffered piece of apple and decide to be bold. “I like spending time with you.”

“Me too.”

We munch on our apple slices and smile at each other. It’s adorably awkward.

“Ready for dessert?” He reaches into the basket and pulls out the cinnamon rolls. “These go well with pinot blanc.” From under the table, he grabs an insulated bag and produces a bottle of wine and two cups.

“I didn’t know that was there,” I say, peeking under the table to see if he’s hiding anything else.

“I have lots of secrets.” He pops open the bottle, pours the wine, and hands it to me. I take a cinnamon roll too and relax into the late stages of the meal.

Secrets. He does have secrets. If the conversation with Peter tells me anything, he’s hiding something. Is it a past action he’s ashamed of? Or something tangible?

I pull layers off the cinnamon roll and sip the pinot blanc. Mmm, yes, they go well together. But I keep the sips to a minimum because I know we’re headed into the storehouse soon where they lay down the wine in barrels. There will be drinking in there.

“Any secrets you’d be willing to share?” I ask, swirling the wine in the glass.

His smile is controlled. “I’ve never read Hemingway.”

“Me neither.” I pop the last of the cinnamon roll into my mouth.

Our eyes meet over the tops of our wine glasses.

“I never thought I’d meet anyone to love,” I confess, “much less multiple men.”

He tilts his head to the side and regards me before he sips his wine. “It’s been over thirty years, and I still miss my parents every day.”

I think about what I’m willing to confess. What is enough, but not too much?

“I hate my brother. I would kill him if I could.” If I could… He deserves to see how cold-blooded I can be. Instead, I need to hand him over to Athens Industries.

“I don’t think you would. You don’t seem like the killing type.”

How little he knows. Every day, I’m close to dragging my brother to the airlock and spacing his fucking ass. Too bad we’re planetside because he has pushed me to murderous thoughts lately.

“Don’t underestimate me.” I finish the glass of wine, and when Mat reaches to fill it back up, I put my hand over the top. “Actually, I think I’d like to save my wine appetite for the thief.”

His lips jerk. He’s impressed I know what a wine thief is.

“But first,” I say, turning in the direction of the horse barn, “I’d like to see the horses before I’m too drunk to enjoy them.”

“Horses?” he signs, his eyebrows drawn together. “You’re interested in horses?”

My face flushes. I try to blame the wine. “I… I’ve never seen one before in real life.”

He dusts off his hands, packs up the basket, and sets it inside of the warehouse we’re sitting next to.

“Let’s go.” He gestures to the barn, and I literally skip along next to him, so excited I can’t contain it.

The scent of the horses hits me before I see them, a combination of hay, dirt, and wet fur. It reminds me of the aroma of cows but less pungent. My heart races as we approach the stable’s end, and I peek around the corner. I draw in a sharp breath as a brown horse head emerges from his space to check out the silly people who have come to visit them.

“Oh my,” I breathe out. I take a tentative step around the barn’s opening and look at these formidable creatures. The nearest horse huffs a giant breath through his nostrils, and I shrink back.

I’ve grown up around animals — sheep, goats, dogs, and cats. And my extended family has a station in the south of Ossun that has cattle and steer, horses, buffalo, and some other large animals. Still, I’ve never spent any time around anything other than an occasional cow. Cows are not very intimidating. They tend to just stand there and chew. Horses, though, are strong and powerful. They command the space they inhabit. They could take you on a long, wild journey. They could sleep next to you and be your best friend. Or they could trample you and end your life with a quick stomp.

I swallow as I face the long nose and eyes of the creature not too far from me.

Mat touches my elbow, so I tear my eyes from the horse to face him. “Don’t be scared. These horses are very docile, and they love people.”

“Do you ride these?” I think of the movies I’ve seen with people riding horses, and they speak to them. The horses obey commands.

He shakes his head. “Only one. She’s attuned to the way I nudge or guide her reins. Want to meet her?”

He jerks his head and leads me farther into the stables, straight towards a white horse with red highlights in her mane. “Her name is Morango,” he signs, first finger-spelling her name and then signing the word for ‘strawberry.’ “My adoptive parents gave her to me when she was a foal. I was a part of her upbringing, which is why she understands me so well.”

Mat brings her forward, far enough to reach her head over the top of her stable door. I extend my fingers for her to sniff, and her breath is hot over my hand. I laugh as she rubs her nose against me, nuzzling my fingers with her whiskered lips.

“She’s sweet. Just like strawberries.” I stroke the short hair up between her eyes, and she holds still for me, not making any sudden moves.

“Well, I named her for the strawberry blonde hair of her mane. It was even more vibrant when she was a baby.” Once Mat’s hands stop signing, he strokes his hand down the length of her neck.

A loud clang echoes from the back of the stable, and the horses neigh and whinny. Morango throws her head back, and I jump to the side, pulling my hand close to me.

Mat lets out an irritated growl and stalks towards the back room. I follow along, wondering what the ruckus is. He opens the door, and a black cat shoots out between his legs, followed by a calico cat running after it.

“Damned cats,” Mat signs before turning around to open the door farther and head inside. On the floor, a mop and bucket are tipped over, and dirty water is everywhere. I take in the room quickly to see if anything else is amiss, but everything looks okay. The desk is clean but piled with new reins for horse tackle. They must be replacing some. Another door to the rear of the room creaks open, and a marmalade cat slinks out. I startle and jump back as he meows and careens across the room.

Mat crosses the room swiftly and closes the door as I’m about to peek in and check it out. A cold burst of air precedes the door closing, raising goosebumps on my arms.

“We keep plenty of cats on the property to drive away mice, but they have problems of their own,” Mat says, trying to put on a smile though he looks annoyed.

He rights the mop bucket and sponges up the dirty water on the floor.

“What’s in the back room that they love so much?” I will not mind my own business. Minding my own business has gotten me into plenty of trouble in the last few weeks. Now I make sure I know what’s going on at all times. “Seems kinda cold in there.”

“Feed for the horses.” He hesitates as I stare him down. He places the mop in the bucket, crosses the room, and opens the door again.

I peek my head in and find exactly what he declared. Bags of feed for the horses are piled against the far wall next to giant barrels of accessible feed. Tall, wooden boxes fill up most of the space, all stamped with the words ‘Fragile’ and ‘Glass.’ Piles of blankets sit beside a stack of buckets.

“We buy plenty of stuff from off-world and have it shipped here. I keep it in cold storage so it doesn’t spoil.”

He sighs as he turns away from me and returns to the puddle of water. When he has it cleaned up, he looks at the room before securing the mop and bucket against the wall. I close the door to the cold storage behind me.

“Everything else looks okay,” he says, then dusts off his hands.

“No more cats.” I smile at him, and his smile returns.

“Shall we move on to the warehouse where we lay down the wine? I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Sure. Sounds great.”

He gestures for me to walk ahead of him, so I go without complaint.

But something about the whole incident bothers me. I feel like animals are always trying to warn me, keep me out of danger.

I cast a glance over my shoulder as Mat closes the door to the room behind him.

I’m probably just being paranoid.

I’ve said that before.