Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard

by Jamie Raintree

  “And what is that?” I asked.

  “Oh, please. Don’t pretend we don’t all know what is going on here. You’re in love with a guy who is only going to use you, and that’s if you’re lucky enough to get his attention in the first place.”

  I gasped, physically struck by her words. Kelly had certainly always been open about her opinions, and I didn’t always agree with them, but she had never used her words as a weapon before. When I glanced at Tyler, I could see that he was shocked, too.

  “That was really mean, Kel. And not true.”

  I had caught Sam’s attention and the fact that my best friend didn’t believe it—didn’t believe I was worthy of him—stung like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  Kelly scoffed, picking the brush back up and disappearing into the tack room to replace it. When she came back out, she was a little more composed. “I don’t understand what you think is going to happen with him.”

  I didn’t know what I expected to happen with Sam either, and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t have shared it with Kelly in that moment. Not with the level of disdain in her voice.

  “You don’t even know him,” I said instead.

  “I don’t want to know him! I want to spend my time being with the people that mean something to me. People I’m going to know longer than a few weeks. Although, frankly, I’m starting to wonder. If one good-looking guy can make you forget about all the plans we had for this summer, maybe college will make you forget about me completely.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to go to New York,” I said, finally admitting it because this was about more than Sam. The more I thought about spending another four years in stuffy classrooms to get a degree I felt certain I would never use, the more Columbia looked like a prison.

  “Yes, you do,” she said in a low voice.

  “How do you know what I want?” I shrieked. “I don’t even know what I want.”

  And having people constantly tell me what they thought I should want was exhausting.

  “That’s exactly my point,” she spit back. “And as long as you keep trying to be what you think he wants, you’re never going to figure it out.”

  “But I’m supposed to listen to you?”

  “I know you better than he does,” she said. “I know you better than anyone.”

  She exhaled heavily, like knowing me so deeply was a weight she carried. She looked tired. Pale. She’d grown weary over the course of the summer and I’d only now noticed, proving everything she was saying was true.

  But my defensiveness got the best of me.

  “Funny,” I said, “considering how little you understand yourself.”

  I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth—a gun at a knife fight. There were so many heartbreaks from Kelly’s childhood that led her to try to control life with a white-knuckle death grip. For our entire friendship, I’d known that about her and had given her a wide berth when she got too tightly wound. I forgave her character flaws the way she forgave mine. That’s what made our relationship work.

  And now I’d thrown it all in her face. All those years of her trusting me with the parts of herself that scared her, and I’d used it against her.

  “Kelly, I’m so sorry,” I said, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. Maybe Kelly was right. Maybe I was turning into someone else. The real Mallory would never purposely hurt someone she loved.

  “Don’t bother apologizing,” she said, her voice icy. “Clearly you do know what you want.”

  Kelly stalked toward the parking lot.

  I stood there, huffing for air, my blood pulsing through my body with such ferocity that I swayed with its rhythm. Tyler’s arms wove around me from behind and I broke down, collapsing into him.

  TWENTY-THREE

  NOW

  Kelly falls asleep on the way home, emotionally exhausted and, I’m sure, avoiding me. She wouldn’t let me comfort her as we left the tarot reader, wouldn’t speak to me as I navigated us back to the freeway. On the long drive home, I replayed everything the cards said, wondering at what point they began to come up for me. Was the reading mine from the very beginning?

  When we get to my house, I try again to talk to her about what happened but she can’t seem to find words as she moves from the rental car to her own. She vaguely says she’ll call and backs up without looking at me. I hug myself as she drives away, feeling emotionally raw and confused. Is she angry at me about what the cards said or for taking her there in the first place? Either way, I wish I could apologize, to get back to where we were before.

  I traipse up the porch steps, where Dad and Sam are sitting with the remnants of dinner and an open bottle of wine. I stop and stare at Sam, his expression uncertain after the way we left each other the night before. I couldn’t help but feel lied to even though Sam has made no commitments to me. In fact, we both specifically agreed to take it one day at a time. But what’s the point of this experiment if he’s already making plans to go back to his old life? What’s the point if I’m still planning to go back to mine?

  When you see him in a new light...

  I remember what the psychic said. Could I accept Sam for who he is, blind ambition and all? Could I be a part of his life without losing myself? Would that make the difference?

  Sam clears his throat and excuses himself from the table.

  “Do you want to go for a walk?” Sam asks. I look to my dad. Does he sense what’s going on here? Does Sam care? Do I?

  He’s in love with you...

  “Sure,” I say.

  He places his hand on my back and guides me out into the vines. The angle of the sun casts long shadows of the grapevine canopies along the dry ground between the rows. The temperature has started to cool but I can still feel the dried salt on my skin where my back was pressed against the car seat. Sam shoves his hands into his pockets and looks over his shoulder, back to where my dad is watching us, and I feel the sting of betrayal once more. So he does care.

  “Are you okay?” he whispers. “What happened?”

  I run my hand through my hair. “I don’t even know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.”

  “Where have you been all day?”

  “With Kelly,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. Do you ever feel like no matter what you do, it’s wrong?”

  Sam raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Never mind.”

  “No, come here.” Sam wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. I bury my nose into his chest, the cotton of his shirt soft and comforting.

  “What, we’re far enough away now?” I ask.

  “Don’t do that,” he says. “I’m trying not to be disrespectful.”

  I look up at him, our faces inches apart. “To who?” Worried that I’ve screwed things up with Kelly again, I hardly feel strong, but I’m too exhausted for bullshit. I’m tired of feeling jerked around.

  Sam glances at my lips and I can tell he wants to kiss me. I turn my face away before he can.

  “You still don’t trust me,” he surmises.

  I break free from his grasp, walking away farther into the vines.

  “Why should I? From the moment we first met, it’s been all about you, Sam. What you want, what you don’t want. What you need, what you can get away with. Have you given one single thought to what I might want or need?”

  I’m yelling at the vines, too angry to ask these questions to his face.

  “No,” Sam says.

  I stop walking.

  “You’re right,” he says to my back. “I didn’t consider your feelings the last time I was here. I wasn’t expecting you. I wasn’t expecting how you would make me feel. I probably haven’t considered your feelings as much as I should this time either—”

  I cut him off with a glare.

  “I’m trying,” he says, his voice softer. “I rea
lly am. But it’s something I need to learn. My parents weren’t role models in that department. And Hannah... Well, I wasn’t at my best with her.”

  He comes closer to me, but keeps a cautious distance.

  “I want you in my life, Mal,” he says slowly. “You make me better. At least, you make me want to try. If I fail completely, well, you can’t be blamed for that.”

  I can’t help it—I laugh. Sam smiles and wipes the tears forming beneath my eyes with his thumbs, his touch gentle and exhilarating. Every time.

  “Do you remember that song we danced to?” he asks. “At the opening of the tasting room?”

  Of course I remember. For better or worse, every moment with Sam has been etched into my mind. It’s no wonder no man has ever been able to compare to him. Anywhere they might go, Sam has already traveled and claimed. On the one hand, I can’t imagine how anything long-term with Sam could ever work. Sam is a man of excitement, of adventure. Nothing keeps his attention for long. On the other, I don’t know how I cannot try.

  That’s the reason for my tears, despite the way the day went with Kelly. I know what Kelly is going through isn’t really about me. But if Sam really does love me and I’m hopeless without him, how can I get on a plane in two days and pretend none of this ever happened?

  “‘Leather and Lace,’” I say. “By Stevie Nicks.”

  He nods. He remembers, too, despite the way he tried to play it off in the days after our night together. Our summer together meant something to him, too.

  He holds his hand out to me. After a moment’s hesitation, I slip mine into it. He pulls me close and wraps his hand around my waist, as if we’re dancing again. I resist the urge to rest my head on his chest or give in too easily. I’ve fallen into his trap too many times.

  “That song reminds me of us,” he says. “Of what we could be.”

  He begins to sway me to the rhythm in our heads, there in the middle of the vineyard, with the last rays of daylight dancing over us, in this private world created by the acres of grapes that surround us.

  He sings the words off-key. I laugh at this perfect man who can do anything but hold a tune. I’m always grateful to see the cracks in his flawless facade.

  “You’re terrible,” I say. “You shouldn’t do that ever again.”

  But I could stand here with him like this forever. Luckily, Sam grins and keeps singing.

  “You give me something, Mallory,” he says when he finishes the chorus.

  “My leather? It’s the saddles, isn’t it? They’re not the most comfortable in the world, but they do keep you strapped to a moving horse—”

  “Hope,” he says, cutting off my sarcasm. “Inspiration. You make me want to see the world through your eyes and it makes me feel alive.”

  I’m speechless. I’ve spent so many years trying to change, to be more stable, reliable, and understanding of the expectations of the modern world. I thought that was what everyone wanted from me.

  “Are you sure it’s not the leather?” I ask.

  “Mallory, listen to me. Up until now, I didn’t think about giving you anything in return, and I apologize for that. Maybe I felt like I didn’t have anything to give—”

  I shake my head. How could he not see the way he lights me up? He’s the one who makes me feel alive.

  “There’s something I can give you now,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  Sam stops dancing. “Todd likes you.”

  “He does?” After the way I ignored him the entire night? I could laugh, but I don’t.

  “He thinks you’re smart and apparently your firm has quite a reputation in the industry. He thinks you could bring a lot to growing his firm. He’s very interested in hearing your ideas.”

  “Wait, what?” I say, dropping our hands.

  “The meeting today went well, Mal. Really well. We need to make some updates to the proposal but if things go the way I hope, we could close this deal next week. This is huge. For both of our businesses. We’re going to need help.”

  “So you’re offering me a job?”

  “Not me, no. But Todd is, if you want it.”

  “In Washington.”

  “I know you’re having a hard time trying to decide what to do next. Maybe a change of scenery would be just what you need. I promise, it’s not as rainy as they make it out to be. And there have to be more horses there than in New York City. Heck, if you like it there, I’m sure we could find a way to get Midnight shipped out.”

  I only half hear what he’s saying, but from what I do hear, it’s clear he’s already thought this through. “I’m confused. You’re saying you want me to come live in Seattle? By you?”

  “Well...yeah.”

  “You want...? Wait, what do you want?”

  Sam laughs and takes my hands in his. “I want to see what could happen.”

  “That’s a big commitment to make just to see what could happen—moving to the other side of the country.”

  “The only way to ever see what could happen is to commit, right?”

  He’s doing it again—that charming-smile-gets-anything-he-wants thing.

  This time, though, he wants me. Real and in public. And that changes everything.

  “But? I thought you didn’t want all that anymore. I thought that was why you were here.”

  He wraps his hand around the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he says. “Business calls to me. It’s not all about the money. It excites me, these kinds of deals. The possibilities. The challenge. The risk. Maybe I need to do it differently, but I don’t think I could give it up altogether. I don’t think I want to.”

  As he says it, something in him shifts, like he’s finally accepting this himself. Something in me shifts, too—the way I see him. My aversion to his corporate lifestyle has never been about the work or even necessarily about the extravagance. It was because it never seemed like a conscious choice. His choice, rather than an excuse to show up his father. But somehow, in the midst of doing what he thought he had to do to get out from under his dad’s thumb, he found his passion. He found himself.

  I step forward and kiss him.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say.

  Sam smiles against my lips. “Okay.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I wake up to several missed calls from Denise. A feeling of dread washes over me and my mind starts generating justifications to give her for not being back in the office yet, not calling, not having sent over that brochure copy I promised. Denise and I didn’t discuss an exact date for my return, but I should have known that when Denise said a week, she meant seven days, not the loose five-to-ten-day range we use around the vineyard, which is subject to change based on the weather.

  Not wanting to hear the disappointment in her voice, I send her a text.

  I’m so sorry. Things are still a mess here and I hate to leave before all the arrangements are settled. Can you ever forgive me?

  I try for playful, pulling the friend card.

  The response comes back immediately.

  I’ll deduct a pair of designer heels from your next paycheck.

  I laugh and relief washes over me. With a deep breath, I reply.

  Is there any way you can spare me for a few more days?

  The next response takes longer.

  I’m starting to question your commitment to this job, Mallory.

  My stomach sinks. As much as I’ve questioned whether New York is where I belong, deep down, I’ve always pictured myself returning. Settling back into my apartment, maybe getting a bigger one with my promotion. Eventually running into a man on Fifth Avenue who would make me forget about Sam. Mostly.

  I know it’s a lot to ask, and I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important.

  I watch her chat bubble grow and shrink several times.

 
Send me the first draft of the florist brochure today.

  Thank you! You really are the best boss ever!

  She doesn’t respond, though I don’t expect her to. I breathe a sigh of relief and tramp down the stairs to get Mom’s laptop to finish—start—the brochure copy.

  Dad is in the kitchen, pouring himself a second cup of coffee and finishing the scrambled eggs Mom must have made him before she left.

  “Well, good morning,” he says, his mouth full. “You’re looking better today.”

  I bite my lip, realizing how shell-shocked I must have looked the night before after Kelly left, but also what he may or may not have seen between Sam and me. If he did see us hugging, kissing, he shows no sign of it.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I think.”

  “Hey,” he says. “I was just about to head out for my morning walk-through. Want to join me?”

  I make a noncommittal noise, glancing toward Mom’s office, but then I acknowledge how little time I’ve spent with my dad since I’ve been home. The brochure can wait one more hour.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’d like that.”

  The weather has grown steadily warmer over the couple of weeks I’ve been here and the moment I step off the back porch, I wish I’d grabbed a hat. But the travel mug of coffee Dad offers will suffice. I walk alongside him into the vines.

  For a while, we walk silently and I watch Dad inspect the grapes, checking for signs of mold or insects. He pulls a few bunches of young grapes that aren’t flourishing to keep them from interfering with the health of the rest of the vine. He places them into a small plastic bucket that clips to his belt.

  I reach out and touch the leaves, feel their texture between my fingertips. Their vitality, their color. Humans are designed to connect with nature, to be inspired by it. Who wouldn’t want to bring a little piece of it with them when they spend most of their day inside an office? And no doubt the florist is as meticulous and dedicated to caring for their flowers as Dad is with his vines. Finally, the brochure concept clicks.