Midnight at the Wandering Vineyard

by Jamie Raintree

Thankfully, no one sees me leave the guest house and I’m grateful not to be spotted doing the walk of shame. I don’t want anything to break the spell I’m under. This night means so much more than a one-night stand or the fulfillment of Sam’s and my long-held desires. No one else can understand that the way we do.

  After my shower, as I’m drying my hair, I hear a car pull into the parking lot. I pull back the curtains to see if it’s Kelly. It isn’t and I don’t think much of the unfamiliar car—we’re used to customers, suppliers, and employees coming and going.

  A few minutes later, though, as I’m getting dressed, I hear Mom’s laughter and my curiosity draws me to discover who our guest is. I pull my shoes on and go outside.

  As I draw close, I overhear Mom’s conversation with a woman who looks to be in her midthirties, with silky, stick-straight brown hair and a wide stance. She holds a little blonde girl on her hip—three or four years old, maybe. Her mother struggles to wrangle the many layers of the white skirt she’s wearing, but the woman hardly notices her own battle, as caught up as she is in her conversation with my mom. I keep a respectful distance.

  “Did your dining room table come in?” my mom asks her.

  “It did!” the woman says. “Do you want to see a picture?”

  “Of course!”

  She sets her daughter on the ground to pull her cell out of her back pocket. She and Mom lean over it to inspect the picture while the little girl meanders over to me with a curious grin. She’s the only one who seems to have noticed my presence. I give her a small smile, letting her know it’s okay to approach.

  “Your hair is pretty,” she says in her elfin voice.

  “Thank you,” I say, trying not to laugh. “I like your dress.”

  “It’s a princess dress,” she declares.

  “I can see that.”

  “Oh, Aubrey,” the woman says. “Don’t bother the nice lady.”

  Mom sees me standing there and reaches for me.

  “Actually, this is perfect,” she says. “Now you can meet my daughter.”

  She motions me over. Aubrey runs to my mom and leaps at her. Mom catches her and swings her around, finally landing Aubrey on her hip like it’s a well-rehearsed routine. We must have had a similar routine when I was that age but I don’t remember it.

  “Aubrey,” Mom says, “this is my daughter, Mallory.”

  “She’s too grown-up to be a daughter,” Aubrey says.

  We all laugh.

  “Even daughters grow up, believe it or not.”

  “Hi. I’m Chelsea,” the woman says. She reaches for my hand and I shake it. “I feel like I know you already. Your mom talks about you so much.”

  “She does?” I ask.

  She must see the wariness in my expression because she clarifies.

  “I’m a client of your mom’s,” she says. “Well, not your mom’s but the office. I’ve just spent more time with her than the lawyers I pay hundreds of dollars an hour.”

  She laughs and Mom shrugs apologetically.

  “Worth every penny,” Chelsea assures, pinching her daughter’s cheek. Being that my mom is in divorce and family law, I can imagine how Mom helped Chelsea. Judging by her naked ring finger and her smile, it seems things went her way.

  “Her case is the big one we just closed,” Mom tells me and I nod.

  Unexpectedly, tears begin filling Chelsea’s eyes and she waves at her face in an attempt to dry them. Mom frowns and reaches out for her.

  “I’m sorry,” Chelsea says. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to do this. You’ve seen me cry too many times already.”

  “Hey,” Mom says gently, running her hand over Chelsea’s shoulder. “What have I said?”

  “Never apologize for my feelings,” Chelsea says. “I know. I just... I don’t want this visit to be about me.”

  Chelsea opens her car door and leans in for something. Mom purses her lips at me in sympathy and bewilderment.

  I can go, I mouth, but Mom shakes her head.

  Chelsea turns back and hands Mom a box wrapped in green paper with large shiny polka dots and a bow.

  “What’s this?” Mom asks. She lowers Aubrey to the ground and Aubrey immediately latches herself onto her mother’s leg.

  “I heard about what happened at the office and I was shocked,” Chelsea says. “After two years of seeing you every week, I was actually sad to think I wouldn’t get to come into the office anymore, as crazy as that sounds. And now, with the office closed, I can’t even drop by to say hi. But I wanted to give you a gift even before I knew. Just to show my gratitude for all you’ve done to make sure I get to be the one to raise my little girl.”

  Mom exhales loudly and I think she’s going to cry, too. She unwraps the gift and I take the paper from her hands. When she lifts the lid on the box, she peers inside and gasps. I lean forward to catch a glimpse of it but I can’t make it out. I take the lid from her and Mom draws the statuette out of the brown paper it’s wrapped in. She holds it up so we can all admire it.

  It’s a figure of a woman in a blue skirt, sitting with her ankles crossed. Standing in the space between her knees is a girl about Aubrey’s age, with flowing brown hair to match her mother’s and a pink dress. The mother’s ear is close to the little girl’s heart, both of them with their eyes closed. They wear peaceful smiles as if time has stopped just for them and there is nowhere else in the world they would rather be but next to each other.

  “I know how much your daughter means to you,” Chelsea says, smiling at me. “And I wanted to make sure you never forgot how grateful I am for what you’ve done for our family.”

  Chelsea runs her hand over Aubrey’s hair and there’s no mistaking the unending love she feels for her daughter. I recognize it in the way my mom looks at me.

  Mom can’t contain herself any longer. Tears slide down her cheeks and she reaches for Chelsea, wrapping her in a hug. I hear Mom whisper, “Thank you,” in her ear and in that moment, I fully understand what Mom was talking about when she said that one day I would want to feel like my work had meant something.

  No client at my firm has ever looked at me like that. I’ve never spent more time with a client than a perfunctory meeting to get the most necessary information about their business. And before now, as passionate as I am about everything else in my life, I’ve never even thought to get to know them better.

  Because as good as I may be at creating marketing campaigns and writing brochure copy, that’s not where my heart is. And as long as my heart isn’t in it, my work will never mean more to me than a title on a business card.

  My mom turns to me with watery eyes and rosy cheeks, and she pulls me into a hug.

  “Being your mom is the best job I’ve ever had,” she says and I allow myself to feel every word of it, every emotion of it. I feel her heart pressed against mine, and that long, aching sense of loneliness I haven’t been able to shake inexplicably drifts away.

  This is what Kelly meant by needing relationships. It’s not just about parents or boyfriends or friends. It’s about giving a little bit of myself to everyone I meet and allowing them to give a little bit of themselves in return. Chelsea and my mom may never see each other again, but they’ve made an impact on each other’s lives that they’ll never forget. If I create those kinds of connections, I’ll never be lonely a day in my life.

  After Chelsea leaves, Mom and I walk back to the house together.

  “Can you help me with something?” I ask her, fumbling with the wrapping paper. She laughs and takes it from me.

  “Of course,” she says. “Anything. What do you need?”

  * * *

  When I tell Mom my plan, she knows exactly who to call. I get on the phone with the woman, a client of the firm’s, and as I tell her what I want to do, she shares her story with me and cries and agrees immediately. We make plans to me
et in an hour.

  Before I head out the door, Mom stops me and looks at me. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with glistening pride in her eyes.

  “I love you, too,” I say, laughing through my discomfort.

  No matter how old I get, I’ll always be their child. And while it can be awkward at times to be seen through those eyes, there’s also a steadiness in it.

  “Okay, I have to go,” I say, laughing again.

  “Fine,” she says, releasing me. “Go. Have fun. I love you.”

  “Thank you,” I call to her as I bound out the back door.

  When I arrive on Kelly’s doorstep, she’s surprised to see me. She must have just gotten home from work because she smells like dark roast and sugar. Her braid is limp, loose strands falling around her face.

  “What’s up?” she asks. “Did we have plans?”

  “We do now,” I tell her.

  “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what these plans are?”

  I grin and shake my head.

  “You do know we already crossed the spontaneous item off our bucket list, right?” she asks. “We crossed them all off.”

  “This isn’t spontaneous,” I tell her.

  “Oh, now I’m even more worried,” she says, laughing. She nods me inside and disappears into the house. “I’ll change.”

  “Wear something comfortable,” I call after her as I close the door behind me.

  I step inside hesitantly. The house has always been dim, having very few windows, but it’s even darker without Shannon’s presence here. It’s even more still without the buzz of her favorite shows in the background. I’ve been very aware of Shannon’s passing, but being back in her space makes it more real, and the sadness washes over me anew.

  As I round the corner into the living room, I gasp. The room is empty. The white couch where Shannon used to sit is gone, as is the TV across from it. End tables, bookshelves, chairs—all gone. All that’s left are the distinct outlines in the carpet where the furniture sat, scraps of paper and sunflower-seed shells and staples littering the floor.

  When I look to Kelly for explanation, she’s leaning against her bedroom door frame, dressed in yoga pants, her arms crossed. Her expression is blank.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “Donated it,” she says simply. “I couldn’t keep walking past it. This house will never be the same without her here. No point in keeping all those reminders. I haven’t gone in her room yet,” she adds, nodding across the living room to the opposite door.

  I step toward her and she pushes off the door frame, meeting me in the middle of the room. We wrap our arms around each other and Kelly dissolves into sobs that rack her body. She squeezes me tightly and I hold her closer, leaving tears on her shoulder too.

  “Is it ever going to get easier?” she asks me.

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know.”

  Kelly lets me go to grab tissues from the bathroom. When she returns, we dry our tears and look around the room, both of us remembering Shannon and this life she lived. It may not have been a big life, but she made an imprint on Kelly’s life, and mine. My parents, too, having shared her daughter with us, and entrusting her to us when she left. Every impact makes a ripple. We never know how far it will reach.

  “There’s someone I want you to meet,” I say.

  Kelly nods, wiping her nose. “I’m ready,” she says.

  I wait for Kelly in my rental car while she locks up, and then we head toward the highway. To shake off the somber mood, I roll down the windows and turn up some country music. Kelly sticks her head out the window, letting the wind revive her, and we sing along to every word of “Cowboy Take Me Away.”

  “There’s something different about you today,” she says over the music.

  I shake my head, but can’t help my involuntary smile.

  “Uh-huh,” she says, knowing the exact reason why, as only a best friend could.

  We turn off the freeway into downtown, home to our city’s many festivals, hot springs, and historic sites. This area, at least, hasn’t changed much. So many of my childhood memories have been made here, running through grass and vendor booths, dancing to live music.

  “Where are you taking me?” Kelly asks.

  “You’ll see,” I say.

  I park on the south side of Downtown City Park and cut the engine. Kelly turns to me.

  “You’re making me nervous,” she says.

  “It’s going to be great. I promise,” I say. I nod her forward and we both get out of the car.

  The sun has started to set and a cool breeze rustles through the trees. Kelly walks alongside me and I spot the woman we’re here to meet underneath the gazebo.

  As we approach, Kelly whispers, “Do you know this woman?”

  Anna must be one of the few people Kelly doesn’t serve coffee to.

  “We’re about to,” I say, just as mom’s client spots us and smiles nervously.

  Kelly and I step into the gazebo and I reach out to take the woman’s hand. She’s in her late forties, with a puff of wavy brown hair and kind chocolate eyes.

  “You must be Anna,” I say. “I’m Mallory. And this is Kelly. The one I was telling you about.”

  Kelly and Anna shake hands, both of them standoffish.

  “I’m sorry,” Kelly says. “Mal has been keeping me out of the loop. I’m not really sure what we’re doing here.”

  I pull the bucket list out of my back pocket and hold it out to Kelly. She looks at it in confusion, grabbing for her own back pocket, where she’s been carrying the list since I gave it to her.

  “I thought...”

  “Take it,” I say.

  “But we finished it.”

  She takes the pink paper and unfolds it, reading the item I added to the list while she was locking her front door. It’s the only thing on the list in my handwriting with a big unchecked box next to it.

  “‘Help someone in need.’”

  She looks up questioningly, at me and then at Anna.

  “Is there something I can help you with?” Kelly asks, no further explanation needed. Because that’s Kelly’s heart. All she ever wants to do is to help others. That’s why a degree in psychology has been her life goal.

  Anna smiles, tears filling her eyes, and nods.

  We sit on a bench nearby and Anna explains how she recently went through a divorce. She tells Kelly that she was married for seven years to a man who was overly critical. It started with small things—the way she folded his shirts or the meals she prepared. Over time, his criticism escalated to bigger things, like the way she talked and how she acted around their friends. Their biggest point of contention, however, was Anna’s weight, which had gone up in direct proportion to how often her husband’s cutting comments increased her stress and anxiety levels. And the bigger Anna got, the more he verbally and emotionally abused her.

  “I looked in the mirror one day,” she tells us, “and I didn’t recognize myself. Not only because of the weight, but because I had lost my will to keep living.”

  Anna’s voice catches. Kelly’s face is red, too, Anna’s story hitting close to home. But she doesn’t cry. She gathers her strength to be there for someone else in a way she’s never been able to do for herself. It’s what she’s been missing since Shannon’s death, and what neither of us had realized until now is not Kelly’s weakness, but her biggest strength. Taking care of her mom kept her in Paso not only because Shannon needed her, but also because Kelly needed to be of service. It feeds her the way riding feeds me. It gives her life meaning.

  “That realization terrified me,” Anna says. “I knew right then that if I didn’t leave, I would give up completely. On life, and on myself. That’s when I met Elizabeth. She was such a friend to me through the divorce proceedings, but since everythi
ng was finalized, I’ve been feeling a little lost. I was so grateful to hear from her and Mallory today.”

  I smile encouragingly. Kelly nods.

  “What can I do to help?” Kelly asks, her voice concerned but calm.

  “Anna’s been looking for a walking partner,” I tell Kelly. “She wants to get healthy again. For herself, and for her baby.”

  Kelly’s eyes widen, and for the first time, I see the crack in her professional demeanor. She looks to me, then to Anna. Anna nods and places her hand on her belly.

  “Five months,” Anna says. “And before she gets here, I’d really like to find myself again. I want to be good mom to my daughter. I want to be healthy for her.”

  This is too much for Kelly—the one thing she always wanted from her own mom. Her tears spill over.

  “I’m sorry,” Kelly says, trying to keep it together. “My mom...”

  Kelly covers her eyes and we give her space to gather herself. I put my hand on her back, holding her up so she can hold up Anna. When her breathing steadies, she wipes her eyes and asks, “When do you want to start?”

  “Whenever you’re ready,” Anna says.

  “How about now?” I suggest, motioning to the park.

  Kelly laughs. “You really did think of everything, didn’t you?”

  “I promised you we’d finish the bucket list,” I say. Quietly, I add, “I wanted you to know, you don’t have to leave to live your dream. There are people who could use your help here. If that’s what you want.”

  Kelly smiles and squeezes my knee in a gesture of thanks. I love you, she mouths and my heart overflows.

  Kelly turns back to Anna and asks, “Are you up for it?”

  “If you’re willing,” Anna says with a laugh, acknowledging the unusual circumstances of their meeting.

  “Absolutely,” Kelly says. “I would be honored.”

  * * *

  “How often will we get to do this when you come to Washington?” Sam asks me in bed late that afternoon. My head rests on his arm, my nose grazing the side of his neck, the hint of cologne making my heart skip a beat.