terrace behind the mansion. The air was warm, almost balmy, and it held the faint salt smell of the Pacific mingled with the lemony aroma from the cypress trees surrounding the mansion. She rested her cane against one of the patio chairs and walked to the edge of the terrace to be as close to the water as she could get. What a glorious day on her beloved Cypress Point! The indigo sea beneath the vivid blue sky was framed by the cypress, which grew so close to the terrace she could reach out and touch the coarse leaves. Lifting her arms, stretching them wide, she drew the world into an imagined hug.
She should be at peace now, in this paradise that was her home, as she neared the end of a long-enough life. She should be able to embrace the world with abandon, to visit the seals on Fanshell Beach with nothing else on her mind but their huge dark eyes and shimmering bodies. But peace was elusive, and the reason for that was no mystery to her. Thirty-four years was a long time to be haunted by something. The guilt and sorrow and wretched sense of loss remained tangled up in her heart and her mind. Was she to die still burdened by her memories of that time?
Shanti Joy Angel. How could she ever forget that name? Thethree words alone pulled her back to Big Sur. She didn’t care what Alan had to say about it, she would see the young woman. She was not much of a believer in fate or in things happening for a reason, but this seemed a sign, something she shouldn’t ignore. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the baby from Big Sur had called her at this moment in her life, when the peaceful pull of death was thwarted by her preoccupation with her sins.
Or, perhaps, it was a gift.
6
Cypress Point, 1937
“W E LIVE ON THE C IRCLE OF E NCHANTMENT, GIRLS,” F RANKLIN Kling said. He was standing on the terrace of the mansion, smoking a cigar as he looked out at the Pacific, his seven-year-old twin daughters, Carlynn and Lisbeth, on either side of him.
“What’s that mean, Daddy?” Carlynn asked.
It was a moment before Franklin responded. He didn’t want to speak again for fear of breaking the spell that had come over him as he stared out to sea. The view was bordered on all sides by the deep green of the Monterey cypress trees, which clung to the rugged bluffs along the coastline. The crimson sun was just beginning to sink, inching closer to the water, and the air was clear, although all three of them knew the fog would soon be rolling in. This clarity on a late-summer afternoon was rare. Franklin felt at peace, except for one thing: Presto, the family’s huge, red dog, was not out here with them. Presto was always with the children, whether they were here on the terrace or up in their rooms. This evening, though, the dog was asleep in thekitchen. Asleep for an hour—or maybe for all eternity. Franklin didn’t want to think about it. He would have to address the topic later, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the view, his cigar and his daughters.
“That’s another name they sometimes call the Seventeen Mile Drive,” he said, glancing down at Carlynn. “You don’t realize. You go on about your days as though you lived someplace perfectly average. As though you lived in Iowa City, for heaven’s sake.” Franklin had grown up in Iowa. “But you actually live in paradise. And every once in a while, it pays to stop and think about it.” He looked out at the sea again. “The Circle of Enchantment,” he repeated.
“What does enchantment mean?” Carlynn asked.
“It means…captivating,” Franklin tried, then shook his head. “No, beyond captivating. It means…it means drawing you in, in a magical sort of way. Think of all the amazing things you can see here. You girls don’t know any different, of course, since you’ve always lived here. Spoiled, you are.” He chuckled and puffed at his cigar. “Where I grew up, it was flat and cornfields for miles and miles. Nothing to rest your eyes on. Here, just driving
She should be at peace now, in this paradise that was her home, as she neared the end of a long-enough life. She should be able to embrace the world with abandon, to visit the seals on Fanshell Beach with nothing else on her mind but their huge dark eyes and shimmering bodies. But peace was elusive, and the reason for that was no mystery to her. Thirty-four years was a long time to be haunted by something. The guilt and sorrow and wretched sense of loss remained tangled up in her heart and her mind. Was she to die still burdened by her memories of that time?
Shanti Joy Angel. How could she ever forget that name? Thethree words alone pulled her back to Big Sur. She didn’t care what Alan had to say about it, she would see the young woman. She was not much of a believer in fate or in things happening for a reason, but this seemed a sign, something she shouldn’t ignore. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the baby from Big Sur had called her at this moment in her life, when the peaceful pull of death was thwarted by her preoccupation with her sins.
Or, perhaps, it was a gift.
6
Cypress Point, 1937
“W E LIVE ON THE C IRCLE OF E NCHANTMENT, GIRLS,” F RANKLIN Kling said. He was standing on the terrace of the mansion, smoking a cigar as he looked out at the Pacific, his seven-year-old twin daughters, Carlynn and Lisbeth, on either side of him.
“What’s that mean, Daddy?” Carlynn asked.
It was a moment before Franklin responded. He didn’t want to speak again for fear of breaking the spell that had come over him as he stared out to sea. The view was bordered on all sides by the deep green of the Monterey cypress trees, which clung to the rugged bluffs along the coastline. The crimson sun was just beginning to sink, inching closer to the water, and the air was clear, although all three of them knew the fog would soon be rolling in. This clarity on a late-summer afternoon was rare. Franklin felt at peace, except for one thing: Presto, the family’s huge, red dog, was not out here with them. Presto was always with the children, whether they were here on the terrace or up in their rooms. This evening, though, the dog was asleep in thekitchen. Asleep for an hour—or maybe for all eternity. Franklin didn’t want to think about it. He would have to address the topic later, but for now he just wanted to enjoy the view, his cigar and his daughters.
“That’s another name they sometimes call the Seventeen Mile Drive,” he said, glancing down at Carlynn. “You don’t realize. You go on about your days as though you lived someplace perfectly average. As though you lived in Iowa City, for heaven’s sake.” Franklin had grown up in Iowa. “But you actually live in paradise. And every once in a while, it pays to stop and think about it.” He looked out at the sea again. “The Circle of Enchantment,” he repeated.
“What does enchantment mean?” Carlynn asked.
“It means…captivating,” Franklin tried, then shook his head. “No, beyond captivating. It means…it means drawing you in, in a magical sort of way. Think of all the amazing things you can see here. You girls don’t know any different, of course, since you’ve always lived here. Spoiled, you are.” He chuckled and puffed at his cigar. “Where I grew up, it was flat and cornfields for miles and miles. Nothing to rest your eyes on. Here, just driving
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