She found it comforting that he was the kind of man who kept a first aid kit substantial enough for an entire summer camp, let alone one adult with a thoroughly bruised ego.
“There are no vines on that part of your property.” He surveyed the tiered contents of his multi-level kit, selecting band-aids, ointment, wipes.
She ripped open a tiny packet containing an antiseptic wipe, dabbing it on her wounds. “Checking the wines.”
“The night before the harvest?” Evan tended to his foot, looking up at her with one raised eyebrow.
Carmen sighed. It was, after all, the nightly truce. A perfectly valid explanation of why, by daylight, she felt differently. “I might have been watching you swim.”
“I wasn’t swimming.”
She spoke before thinking. “But you normally…”
He smiled. “I normally swim. And you walk the fields. Except tonight, you went to the winery.”
“Yes. Look, I’m sorry I got upset when you brought the eggplants over. This harvest is getting on my last nerve. And don’t get me wrong, I’m still mad at you about the wedding…”
He nodded. “Likewise.”
“But…”
His face grew serious. “But…”
They studied each other, their faces shifting from somber to grinning, acknowledging their complicity. As if they’d discovered a pocket of air inside the seething current of their hostilities.
Tonight.
Tomorrow would be different. Daylight would bring new realities. The harvest. The need to keep the winery.
To win.
As the pool reflected the moon and an owl lifted off from the Alvarez winery, swooping low over their heads, they threw back their heads, laughing. Silently agreeing to a grace period. Evan limped into the house, returning with a bottle of wine and two globe glasses.
He poured the special vintage without asking. “We’re quite a pair. My foot.”
She lifted her glass. “My everything.”
“Your everything seems fine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Very fine.”
She let herself enjoy the compliment.
They clinked glasses. “To accidental meetings.”
They drank, enjoying the quiet and each other’s company. Coyotes howled through the inky darkness. The lake’s mineral tang mixed with the sweet grape-scented air. It was a heady combination that, when combined with the velvety wine, was intoxicating.
Evan put his glass down on the metal table. “Maybe we should stop relying on accidents. Maybe we can work around…” He waved his hand at the fields, the land. “All this.”
She played along. Why not? It was night. The rules seemed suspended. “Maybe.”
Evan stood up, wincing as his foot bore his weight. “Let’s go for a swim.”
She looked at the pool. “Now?”
He nodded. “In the lake!”
She put down her wine. “You’re crazy.”
Evan nodded. “This whole night is crazy. And it may never happen again, but why not? If this is the one night we get to do this, then let’s do it right.”
Carmen took a deep breath. “One night.”
His smile lit up the dark. “One night.”
He wore his swim trunks and she found a suit left in the family shack by the lake. As she pulled on the bikini in the dark shack, she heard the distant plop of rocks he was throwing into the dark lake, one after another, echoing off the hillside.
She found Evan perched on a boulder on the shore, eyeing the black water, looking worried. “Wow, it’s dark.”
Carmen’s father had situated the shack on a space free from rocks near the shore. She laughed, diving headfirst into the lake. End-of-summer warm water embraced her. She surfaced, twisting toward Evan, waving. “Come on, it’s nice!”
She started to swim, which was, she thought, a change. Him watching her swim. The water was the perfect temperature. “Excellent idea, Evan.” She liked saying his name.
“Thank you. I’m full of them. Most of them aren’t so scary.”
Carmen could tell that he wanted to join her in the worst way but unlike her he didn’t know the shallows. He couldn’t map out the boulders, the sandy spots where it was safe to dive, in his mind. Evan wasn’t a man accustomed to venturing places where he had less control. Where measuring obstacles was impossible. Carmen had been swimming here since she could walk. He should take her word for it. She was, after all, leading the way.
Carmen reached the rock where she had contemplated much of life as a child and young adult. Her thinking rock. She pulled herself out of the water onto its rough surface, finding the smooth spot that folded over like a chair, providing the ideal seat for one. Or two, provided they were friendly. She settled in, turning to the shore. Evan paced, limping on his bandaged foot.
“Hey!” Her voice carried over the water. “Wasn’t this your idea?”
He stopped. “That was before I saw this water. It’s like ink.”
“Do you want me to swim back and get you?”
“No, thanks. I’ll just stand here and feel like an idiot.”
She stood up. “I’m going to.”
“No, I’m fine. I just need a little more—”
She dove into the lake, leaving a white ring on the surface, swimming half the distance to him underwater.
Her head rose, sleek as a seal. “Ready?”
He shook his head, teeth white in the dark. “Show off.”
“We used to have underwater swimming contests.”
“And you won.”
“Bingo.”
“I’ve never swum in the lake at night.”
“Evan Hollister, I can’t believe it.”
“A great many people have never gone night swimming in a lake.”
“A great many people don’t know how to live.”
“And I suppose you are going to show me how to live?”
She was quiet for a moment, ducking her head under the water, slicking it back with her hands as she surfaced. “I am.”
Fifteen
Breaking Eggs
Evan peered over the side of the shore. Carmen was quite close now. Her sleek hair accentuated the fine bones of her cheeks, the arch of her forehead. She was beautiful. His throat constricted at the thought. The night wasn’t long enough. He needed to get over his fear. Who was it who said do one thing every day that scares you? This scary thing was keeping him from being close to the amazing creature backstroking through the water. She would show him how to live. How to feel instead of think. Maybe this was love. Plunging in, despite your fear.
Evan took the leap.
It was darker than anything he’d known. He should have kept his eyes shut. Should have stayed on the shore. His heart seized into a tight underwater knot. He kicked for what he hoped was the surface, panicked that he might mistakenly be swimming to the bottom. He’d read stories. Knew it was possible. Then Carmen swam towards him. He felt her presence. A couple of kicks and he broke the surface. Around him were the hills, the lights of Wapato Point, shimmering. The moon.
Carmen’s face glistened with water.
“Hey, you made it. Isn’t the water nice?” She trod water without effort, completely unaware that he’d been having an underwater crisis that now receded further into the distance with every breath.
“Beautiful.” More than that. It was breathtakingly gorgeous. The night. The air. The carpet of stars spreading above their heads. The Milky Way stretched out like watercolor across the shimmering sky. He wanted to hold onto this moment, access it for the rest of his life.
“Come on!” Carmen kicked towards the rock.
He followed, suddenly as comfortable in the water as if it had been broad daylight. But it wasn’t. It was a gorgeous, silky night dropped like a gift into his lap. He was breathless with gratitude. If there was a perfect moment, this was it.
For once, he was completely aware.
In awe.
Carmen scrambled up the rock, turning to help him up, her han
d cold, slick and firm. They sat with their arms and legs touching on the rock. Evan was acutely, blissfully aware of every inch of contact with her skin. Her glowing skin.
Carmen shivered.
“Are you cold?”
She turned to look at him. “No. Just happy.”
Their faces were so close. Kissing would have been the most natural thing in the world, but he didn’t want to ruin it.
“Me too.” He turned his face to the water. He was so happy it was ruinous.
They both allowed the silence to fill the space. It was comfortable. The quiet allowed the beauty of the night to take hold. Water lapped softly at the rock. Voices rose from a campfire across the lake. Bats flitted erratically across the sky. The moon peeked from a cloud, tracing a path of silver water.
Carmen’s arm felt cold against his. She tucked her legs inside her arms, hugging them tightly. After a while, she said she had to get back.
“Yeah,” Evan reluctantly agreed.
“This rock…” Carmen began slowly, taking a deep breath. “It was the place I’d escape to as a kid.”
“Every kid needs one.”
She nodded. “After my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, her friends invaded the house. Cleaning, cooking, bringing food, gossiping. I’d swim out here and just, you know, breathe. Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “Completely.” His brain couldn’t pluck words to express his feelings. Thanks for bringing me here felt inadequate.
They swam back slowly, scrambled out at the shore. Evan waited while she wrapped herself with a towel and shook out her hair, feeling like a coward for not kissing her.
Across the street from the water, where both their driveways met the road, they turned to each other.
Carmen realized she’d been holding her breath. “That was…”
Evan laughed. “Yeah, it was.”
“Pretty incredible.” She twisted her hair, letting the droplets hit the dust.
Evan nodded. “Thanks for introducing me to night-swimming.”
“One of the perks of living here.”
“Good luck with your harvest.”
“Good luck with yours.” Her response was perfunctory.
“Good night, Carmen.” His voice was soft.
“Good night.” Her voice, Evan thought, already had an edge to it.
“Miss Alvarez?” A voice whispered in the dark. Carmen groaned, rolling over. Didn’t she just go to bed? “What time is it?”
“It’s five-fifteen,” said the girl.
“Who is it?”
“It’s Nathalie. The cook.”
Carmen rolled over, letting her eyes adjust long enough to look at her phone. “Okay. Why are you waking me up?”
“Chip bailed, Miss Alvarez. He texted me last night that he up and quit, and I can’t do this. I can’t make breakfast for this many people on my own. I couldn’t even make waffles for my mom on Mother’s Day.”
Carmen sat up, feeling for her shorts on the bed. “You said you liked cooking breakfast.”
“I do, but I’m not very good at it. I thought Chip could help. You know. Make pancakes or something. But we’ve got people who don’t eat gluten and vegetarians and I don’t what else, and then Chip goes AWOL on me. I didn’t know what else to do.”
Carmen pulled her shorts on under her sleep T-shirt, whipping her hair into a ponytail. She shimmied her bra under the shirt. “Where did he go? Can’t we just call him?”
“He’s working at another winery.”
Carmen poked her head out from the closet, where she was clawing her way through sweatshirts. “What winery?”
“Hollister. He said it was right next door. The guy paid more.”
Carmen growled. “Of course, he did. Probably didn’t even need a cook.”
Nathalie shook her head, still in the hallway. “No, he needed cooks. He wanted to hire me too, but I made you a deal. I didn’t want to leave you without anyone to cook breakfast.”
Carmen padded to the hallway, facing the girl. “Please tell me you’re not leaving after breakfast.”
“I, um.” Nathalie nervously nibbled a nail before stopping herself. “No. I’m not. I wouldn’t. No way.”
Carmen hurried into the kitchen, realized she needed to ask Nathalie a question and doubled back. Nathalie was furiously texting. Carmen caught a glimpse of the message. Tell Mr. Hollister that I can’t make it. I’m staying here.
Cracking eggs was therapeutic, if you put some muscle into it. They were cracking dozens. Carmen spoke tersely with Nathalie, who’d been so completely focused on her message, she hadn’t noticed Carmen’s return. Afraid of her own anger and worried about losing her remaining cook, Carmen had quickly ducked out the hallway.
Carmen couldn’t believe that Evan was such a liar. A two-faced skunk. It made her look stupid, and worse, humiliated. She’d thought last night had been one of the best, if not the best, of her life. She’d shared the thinking rock with him. Brought him to the place where she’d faced growing up, the death of her mother, the harshness of life. She’d been stupid enough to think the rock had become a place to find beauty. Love.
It had all been a lie.
The pain was sharp and breathtaking.
Carmen chopped a cantaloupe as if it had broken into Orchard House.
After a quick survey of the refrigerator, Carmen had planned a hasty menu: migas (Mami’s specialty: eggs with fried tortillas, peppers, smashed pinto beans and cotija cheese), fruit salad and vegetarian sausages. Gallons of hot coffee from the dispensers she’d rented in Wenatchee. She’d told the harvesters that they’d need to be down for breakfast at six to avoid the heat of the day.
There wasn’t much time for talking while she and Nathalie worked steadily, getting breakfast outside on the long table set up on the patio.
At six o’clock, Carmen wondered if she should go rouse the harvesters. Then she heard her father’s guitar. Carmen bent over laughing. A second later Lola came downstairs and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Traen de vuelta nuestra infancia.” Brings back our childhood. She pointed upstairs. “Padre loco.”
Nathalie’s mouth gaped open as she heard Alvarez senior strolling the hallway, strumming on his guitar, singing the classic mariachi song “México Lindo y Querido” at the top of his strong baritone voice. He belted out the song as if roaming an outdoor fiesta.
When they’d stopped laughing, Lola explained to Nathalie, “When we were kids, we always used to complain when my dad played his mariachi records. He’d come home from work and walk around Orchard House in his undershirt, singing these songs. He’d dance with my mom. It was so corny. We’d just plug our ears and moan. One day, Mami woke us up and nobody came down to breakfast. Papi got his guitar and started playing the mariachi songs.”
Carmen snorted. “And singing.”
Lola smiled. “So loud. Just like…” She pointed upstairs.
Nathalie grinned. “That’s kind of sweet.”
Lola took another sip of coffee. “Yeah, you know, I’d give anything to see him and Mama dancing to those mariachi songs again.”
A bleary-eyed math teacher in yoga pants came downstairs. “Man, that’s so authentic.”
Lola offered him a cup of coffee. “What’s authentic?”
“Hiring a mariachi singer to wake us up.”
Lola and Carmen burst out laughing.
“Yeah, that’s our dad. Senior auténtico.”
Nathalie proudly opened the door to the patio, where the long table groaned with breakfast foods heaped onto platters.
“That looks amazing!” the math teacher enthused.
Carmen slung an arm around Nathalie. “It does.”
Nathalie gave her a grateful look. “Thank you.”
“Eat up,” said Carmen. “Lunch will be here before you know it.”
While she sat at the table with her enthusiastic crew, Carmen forgot, for a moment, about her renewed hatred for Evan Hollister.
Once all the harvesters
were seated, Carmen saw her father pushing his chair back with a solemnity she recognized. She felt an urge to stop him, to make sure he wasn’t going to embarrass himself or her. His memory loss was at fault, she thought, forcing herself to sit down. He was entitled. This was his winery.
He clinked his glass until the assembled group, most of them half his age or less, settled, listening with rapt attention.
“Buenos días. This is early for you city people, and the middle of the day for farmers,” he began. “I’m not just the mariachi singer from earlier…” There was a smattering of laughter and clapping. “I am Juan Alvarez and I came here fifty years ago from Mexico, over the Rio Grande.” His audience was spellbound. “I worked first in the fields, for many years, always staying late, asking questions, learning. I know many of you are interested in how we do things.” He raised a hand thick with calluses. “We do them by hand. Thank you for being here.” His eyes grew moist as he looked at Lola and Carmen. He put his hand over his heart. “Mis hijas. My daughters. They have gathered you here to help with a thing we can’t do alone. Muchas gracias from the bottom of my heart. I hope that you learn what I learned many years ago. When you give to the land, it gives back to you. It heals you. Makes you whole.”
As the sun rose over the eastern hills, spreading across the lake, there wasn’t a dry eye at the table. The young people took his message to heart, standing to give the old man an ovation.
Juan raised his hands. “Stop, or you’ll get more singing.”
They clapped harder.
Juan shook his head, clearly pleased.
Carmen wiped her mouth, taking a last swig of coffee. “Okay Papi, now we work.”
Juan nodded. “Trabajamos.”
Lola put her hand on her father’s shoulder. “Papi, you don’t have to come.”
Juan patted her back. “Lola, por favor. I’m not dead yet.”
He was the first person in the rows with his clippers.
Breakfast had gone well, despite Evan’s latest move. But a steady stream of meals? That was going to be problematic.
Summer at Orchard House: An utterly compelling and heart-warming summer romance (Blue Hills Book 1) Page 15
