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〃I was instructing you in the basic techniques；〃 Paul said。 〃I didn't expect you to acquire my style。〃
Sarah said； 〃I refuse to think about Laura's driving。 I'd just be worried sick all the time。〃
〃Face it； Mom； there's an Indianapolis 500 gene on Dad's side of the family； and he passed it to me。〃
〃She's an excellent driver；〃 Chyna said。 〃I always feel safe with Laura。
Laura grinned at her and gave a thumbs…up sign。 Dinner was a long； leisurely affair because the Templetons liked to talk to one another； thrived on talking to one another。 They were careful to include Chyna and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say； but even when the conversation wandered to family matters of which Chyna had little knowledge； she somehow felt a part of it； as though she was； by a magical osmosis； actually being absorbed into the Templeton clan。
Laura's thirtyish brother； Jack； and his wife； Nina； lived in the caretaker's bungalow elsewhere in the vineyard； but a previous obligation had prevented them from joining the family for dinner。 Chyna was assured that she would see them in the morning； and she felt no trepidation about meeting them； as she'd felt before she'd met Sarahand Paul。 Throughout her troubled life； there had been no place'…where she had truly felt at home； while she might never fe 61 entirely at home in this place either； at least she felt wele here。
After dinner； Chyna and Laura went for a walk in the moonlit vineyards； between the rows of low pruned vines that had not yet begun to sprout either leafy trailers or fruit。 The cool air was redolent with the '47。 pleasant fecund smell of freshly plowed earth； and there was a sense of mystery in the dark fields that she found intriguing； enchanting…but at times disconcerting； as if they were among unseen presences； ancient spirits that were not all benign。
When they had strolled deep into the vines and then turned back toward the house； Chyna said； 〃You're the best friend I've ever had。〃
〃Me too；〃 Laura said。
〃More than that。。。〃 Chyna's voice trembled。 She had been about to say； 'You're the only friend I've ever had； but that made her seem so lame and； besides； was still an inadequate expression of what she felt for this girl。 They were； indeed； in one sense sisters'。
Laura linked arms with her and merely said； 〃I know。〃
〃When you have babies； I want them to call me Aunt Chyna。〃
〃Listen； Shepherd； don't you think I should find a guy and get married before I start pumping out the babies？〃
〃Whoever he is； he better be the best husband in the world to you； or I promise I'll cut his cock off。〃
〃Do me a favor； okay？〃 Laura said。 〃Don't tell him about this promise until after the wedding。 Some guys might be put off by it。〃
From elsewhere in the vineyards came a disquieting sound that stopped Chyna。 A protracted creaking。
〃It's just the breeze working at a loose bam door； rusty hinges；〃 Laura said。
But it sounded as if someone were opening a giant door in the wall of night itself and stepping in from another world。
Chyna Shepherd could not sleep fortably in strange houses。 Throughout her childhood and adolescence； her mother had dragged her from one end of the country to the other； staying nowhere longer than a month or two。 So many terrible things had happened to them 'in so many places that Chyna eventually learned to view each new house not as a new beginning； not with hope for stability and happiness； but with suspicion and quiet dread。
Now she was long rid of her troubled mother and free to stay only where she wished。 These days； her life was almost as stable as that of a cloistered nun； as meticulously planned as any bomb squad's proceIdures for disarming an explosive device； and without any of the turmoil on which her mother had thrived。 I Nevertheless； this first night in the Templetons' house； Chyna was reluctant to undress and go to bed。 She sat in the darkness in a medallion…back armchair at one of the two windows in the guest room； gazing out at the moonlit vineyards； fields； and hills of the Napa Valley。
Laura was in another room； at the far end of the second…floor hall； no doubt sound asleep； at peace because this house was not at all strange to her。
From the guest…room window； the early…spring vineyards were barely visible。 Vague geometric patterns。
Beyond the cultivated rows were gentle hills mantled in long dry grass； silver in the moonlight。 An inconstant breeze stirred through the valley； and sometimes the wild grass seemed to roll like ocean waves across the slopes； softly aglimmer with lambent lunar light。
Above the hills was the Coast Range； and above those peaks were cascades of stars and a full white moon。 Storm clouds ing across the mountains from the northwest would soon darken the night； taming the silver hills first to pewter and then to blackest iron。
When she heard the first scream； Chyna was gazing at the stars； drawn by their cold light as she had been since childhood； fascinated by the thought of distant worlds that might be barren and clean； free of pestilence。 At first the muffled cry seemed to be only a memory； a fragment of a shrill argument from another strange house in the past； echoing across time。 Often； as a child； eager to hide from her mother and her mother's friends when they were drunk or high； she climbed onto porch roofs or into backyard trees； slipped through windows onto fire escapes； away to secret places far from the fray； where she could study the stars and where voices raised in argument or sexual excitement or shrill drug…induced giddiness came to her as though from out of a radio； from faraway places and people who had no connection whatsoever with her life。
The second cry； though also brief and only slightly louder than the first； was indisputably of the moment； not a memory； and Chyna sat forward on her chair。 Tense。 Head cocked。 Listening。
She wanted to believe that the voice had e from outside； so she continued to stare into the night； surveying the vineyards and the hills beyond。 Breeze…driven waves swelled through the dry grass on the moon…washed slopes： a water mirage like the ghost tides of an ancient sea。
From elsewhere in the large house came a soft thump； as though a heavy object had fallen to a carpeted floor。
Chyna immediately rose from the chair and stood utterly still； expectant。
Trouble often followed voices raised in one kind of passion or another。 Sometimes； however； the worst offenses were preceded by calculated silences and stealth。
She had difficulty reconciling the idea of domestic violence with Paul and Sarah Templeton； who had seemed kind and loving toward each other as toward their daughter。 Nevertheless； appearances and realities were seldom the same； and the human talent for deception was far greater than that of the chameleon； the mockingbird； or the praying mantis； which masked its ferocious cannibalism with a serene and devout posture。
Following the stifled cries and the soft thump； silence sifted down like a snowfall。 The hush was eerily deep； as unnatural as that in which the deaf lived。 This was the stillness before the pounce； the quietude of the coiled snake。
In another part of the house； someone was standing as motionless as she herself was standing； as alert as she was； intently listening。 Someone dangerous。 She could sense the predatory presence； a subtle new pressure in the air； not dissimilar to that preceding a violent thunderstorm。
On one level； six years of psychology classes caused her to question her immediate fearful interpretation of those night sounds； which conceivably could be insignificant； after all。 Any well…trained psychoanalyst would have a wealth of labels to pin on someone who leaped first to a negative conclusion； who lived in expectation of sudden violence。
But she had to trust her instinct。 It had been honed by many years of hard experience。
Intuitively certain that safety lay in movement； she stepped quietly away from the chair at the window； toward the hall door。 In spite of the moonglow； her eyes had adjusted to darkness during the two hours that she had sat in the lightless room； and now she eased through the gloom with no fear of blundering into furniture。
She was only halfway to the door when she heard approaching footsteps in the second…floor hall。 The heavy； urgent tread was alien to this house。
Unhampered by the interminable second…guessing that acpanied an education in psychology； reverting to the intuition and defenses of childhood； Chyna quickly retreated to the bed。 She dropped to her knees。
Farther along the hall； the footsteps stopped。 A door opened。 She was aware of the absurdity of attributing rage to the mere opening of a door。 The rattle of the knob being turned； the rasp of the unsecured latch； the spike…sharp squeak of an unoiled hinge…they were only sounds； neither meek nor furious； guilty nor innocent； and could have been made as easily by a priest as by a burglar。 Yet she knew that rage was at work in the night。
Flat on her stomach； she wriggled under the bed； feet toward the headboard。 It was a graceful piece of furniture with sturdy galbe legs； and fortunately it didn't sit as close to the floor as did most beds。 One inch less o