by Tessa Layne
“Oh, she’s not a date,” Nico says wryly.
“Who is it then?”
“Alison.”
“Alison,” I echo back with more than a little surprise.
“She’s been working her ass off, and you’ve hardly noticed.”
“That’s not true. Besides, I’m paying her a fortune.”
Nico turns around and glares at me. “Can’t you see that she’s exhausted? Or are you too wrapped up in your grief to notice?”
His words arrow through me. He’s right. I rub my forehead, squeezing my temples. “Okay, fine. Take her to dinner. And tell her thanks.”
“Why don’t you tell her that?”
“Fine. I will. Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
“Yep,” Nico laughs. “I am. Whatcha gonna do about it?”
I fist my hands on my hips with a wry grin and a shake of my head. “Not a damned thing. See you later?”
Nico nods. “I’ll make sure this goes out in the four p.m. pickup.”
“Thanks.” I give him a wave as I turn and trudge up the hill, checking out the grapes as I go. If the weather holds, and we don’t get rain, the Chardonnay grapes will be ready to harvest in another couple of weeks. I head to the farmhouse and jump in the shower. By the time I’m cleaned up and enjoying a glass of Chardonnay from the cellar, Nico and Alison are long gone. It’s a pretty spot, here on Mt. Veeder. It’s off the beaten path, less crowded. A perfect place for me to lick my wounds and figure out what to do with the rest of my life. As if the universe could hear my thoughts, my cell buzzes beside me. It’s Austin. Finally.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I growl into the phone.
“I had to sort some shit out.”
“There seems to be a lot of that going around.”
“Yeah, well get ready, because we have to sort out even more.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Are you at your vineyard?”
Warning bells sound in my head. “Yeah, why?”
“Hang tight. I’m nearly there. And Jason is with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My heart races like I’ve run straight uphill when Austin’s Pagani rolls to a stop in front of the farmhouse. I sit back in the Adirondack chair, pinching the stem of my wine glass a little too hard. I motion to two seats on the other side of the barrel that acts as a table.
“Jesus, you two get in a bar fight?” Austin has two black eyes. Jason, a puffy split lip, a gash across his cheekbone and one black eye.
Austin eyes Jason with a half-smile. “I guess you could say we aired some grievances.”
Shit, I’d like to air some grievances. Instead, I offer them wine. “From the cellar. A surprise bonus we’ll be launching this fall.” They each take a glass and I pour. From the expressions on their faces, it’s clear this isn’t a social call. “Spit it out. I don’t have all night.”
They exchange glances. Austin puts down his wine then pulls a briefcase onto his lap. “Let’s start with the easy stuff.” He hands over a stack of papers.
“What’s this?”
“This is a paper trail of how Dad’s board has been fleecing him for years. This is your copy to keep, so take as long as you want reading it. Jason and I are taking it to Dad as soon as I’ve talked to you and Nico, and demanding he fire his board and hand the company over to us, effective immediately.”
“Are you kidding me?” I skim the pages, surprise growing with each page. We’ve been hemorrhaging money for years. “This is nuts,” I say, more at what I’m seeing in the spreadsheets than at Austin’s plan. I’m not sure how I feel about getting reeled into the family business like this, when all my efforts have been to extract myself.
“We need you, Dec,” Jason adds.
I scowl. “And what’s your role in all this? I’m not sure how I feel about working with you.”
He winces at my honesty but doesn’t retaliate. “I will be involved strictly as a sounding board. I relinquished my shares of the company when I left California. I have no intention of reclaiming them.”
Austin continues. “Nico’s been groomed as CEO from the time we were kids. I think we should ask him to take over. My skills are best used as CFO.”
“Sounds good.” I don’t see that there’s a place for me. And that’s fine, I guess. All I know is that I have no intention of moving back to the family estate in Napa. I’m parking myself here for the foreseeable future.
“What do you think about taking over acquisitions and development? You’ve always had a good nose for opportunity.” Austin waves in the direction of the vines. “Hell, look at this place.”
I’m intrigued, but still suspicious. “Why’d Jason come with you then? You could have asked me this over the phone.”
“I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting since Millie’s been put on bedrest,” Jason offers.
“And since I beat the crap out of him,” Austin brags, although it looks like he took a worse beating than Jason.
“Okaaay,” I draw out the word. Because, seriously… big fucking deal. All I do now, is reflect. And brood. “You want a brownie for that?”
He snorts. “No. But I’d like to… talk about the way things were when we were young.”
“I don’t have time for this.” I stand. “Is there anything else?” I’m done with this conversation.
Neither one moves. Jason drops his head. “Look, I know I was an ass-”
“And I said we’re done here,” I say tersely.
“Hear him out, Dec.” Interjects Austin. “Please?”
“Fuck you, Jason.” I hurl my wineglass off the porch, taking little satisfaction in the sound of it shattering. “I still have nightmares about that afternoon in the barn. How dare you show up on my property looking for absolution? After all you did? Don’t tell me that after half a lifetime of being a monster, the villain in every one of my nightmares - waking or sleeping - that suddenly you realize that you’re shit-eating bacteria? Get the fuck out of here.” I step off the porch.
“Wait,” Jason calls. “I want to explain.” From the sound of it, he stops a few feet behind me.
“So you can ease your conscience and go back home to Prairie, patting yourself on the back? I don’t fucking think so. Your bullshit apology isn’t going to stop my nightmares, or erase what happened.”
“I know, I know. And I deserve your wrath. I do. And I hope that someday… not today, or tomorrow, or even next year… but someday, I hope I can earn your forgiveness.”
My throat closes, and a wave of white-hot anger blinds me, pumping ferociously through my veins. “You made my childhood, our childhood a living hell. I hope karma bites you so hard you lose your other leg.” It’s a childish thing to say, coming from a childish place, but it makes me feel a little better to say it.
“Karma is biting me,” he says quietly. “Millie’s on bedrest and although the doctors say everything’s going to be fine, I’m fucking terrified. I’m scared that my unborn child or my wife, or both of them are going to pay for the sins of my past.”
“And so now you’ve had a change of heart?” I say harshly. I turn and close the distance between us, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “Now, you come to me as some kind of act of atonement, or-or-or spiritual bargain? Make amends for all the shitty stuff you’ve done in your life and keep your fingers crossed everyone you love will be okay? Fuck. You.”
“Declan,” Austin says sharply.
I turn and glare at my twin. “What? So you get to take a few punches, have a beer and shake? And it’s all good?”
“So take your shot,” Jason says, opening his hands. “If it will make you feel better. Take it.”
I remember my martial arts training from high school, and before I can even think about it, I’m in ready position, weight forward, knees loose, hands open, ready to react. The anger coils deep inside me, like a rattlesnake, ready to strike hard and fast. My brain goes quiet. And in the quiet, I hear the gentle voice of my tea
cher, Marty. Always walk away. If you can’t walk, then run. And if you must stand and fight, punch to kill. The fight goes out of me. I glare at him. “I hope you remember this moment for the rest of your life. Asshole. That I chose not to beat you to a pulp. Live with your guilt, and leave me the fuck alone.” I turn to walk away, where exactly, I don’t know. Just… away. But Austin’s voice stops me.
“He’s getting help, Dec. He’s asked for help.”
“He’s a bully. Bullies don’t change their stripes.”
“I want to,” Jason says quietly. “Finding Millie… changed me. She makes me a better man. A better person. And her dad, too. And I want to be a dad like him. You’re not the only one lying awake at night haunted by memories. I know nothing can erase the horrible things I did, and I’ll carry the guilt that I should have been better and wasn’t the rest of my life.” He clears his throat. “I have an appointment with Travis Kincaid’s shrink when I get home. I’m going to make this right. For all of us.”
“What do you want from me Jason?”
“Nothing.” He circles around, coming to stand in front of me, close enough that even when I look away, I see him. “I want you to know I’m sorry. That the words themselves are inadequate, but I do mean them. And that I want to be a better man. For you and Austin, and Nico. For Millie, but especially for my child.”
“You know why Emmaline dumped me?” I say, focusing my attention on a lonely redwood at the edge of the vineyard. “Because there is no karmic bargain. Her parents both died of early-onset Alzheimer’s, and she carries the gene, too. Emmaline is the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met. With the kindest heart, and there’s no avoiding her fate. No bargaining with God, or whoever is pulling the strings up there. She will die young. Without her memories. And she dumped me because she didn’t want me to watch that happen.”
Behind me, Austin lets out a low whistle.
“I don’t get to be a better man for her, because she won’t let me. So don’t come waltzing in here thinking an apology will suffice. It won’t. Not even close.” I’m done. I don’t have any words left. I’m exhausted, and wrung out, and even though it’s only eight p.m. I want to go to sleep. “I need you guys to leave now.”
“I’m not going to give up,” Jason says firmly. “I’m going to show you I’ve changed.”
Austin claps me on the shoulder. “Think about it? I need to meet with Dad ASAP.”
I nod. “Sure.”
I wait until they’ve disappeared down the drive before I return inside. I want to call Emmaline. I need to talk to someone about this. Someone I’m not related to, who’s emotionally removed from the fucked-up-ness that is my family. Someone who can tell me if I was too harsh, or too weak, or too, too… anything. But I can’t call her. I won’t call her, because if she didn’t answer the phone, I think it might break me. A man can only handle so much, and I feel like my cup has overflowed with shit. The smelly e-coli ridden diarrhea kind. I lie down on my cot and prop my head on my hands and stare at the ceiling. I’ve heard of people talking to their deceased loved ones like they’re in the room, that it can help with the grief. So I begin to talk. “Hey, Em. I wanted to tell you about my day today. Total clusterfuck. I sent you a letter, by the way.”
Chapter Thirty
A few days after Austin and Jason leave, I make up my mind. I wrestled with it - vacillating between fuck-off and hell yeah. It’s only been through talking at night with the Emmaline of my dreams that I’ve been able to reconcile my Hulk Smash feelings with the pragmatism of a really good business decision staring me in the face. I call Austin and say yes.
I’ve come to another conclusion during the long, dark, lonely nights that I’ve spent talking to Emmaline on the ceiling. And that is, I’m not letting her go. Not entirely. I can only imagine the grief she’s dealing with right now, and I know her - she’s not meeting her girlfriends for coffee and a gossip. If anything, she’s going to be working her fingers to the bone fulfilling her Madame M orders, and designing her next show. She should have more than enough funds to do whatever she wants now, thanks to the deal I made with Danny, and by God, I hope she takes the opportunity and runs with it, that she flies.
After my second long night of talking at the ceiling and waking up hoarse, I decide there’s a better way. I start writing letters. I write Em long handwritten letters on spiral bound notepaper- the kind I used in high school. Sometimes they’re short. Sometimes, if I’m wrestling with something, they’ll be five or six pages. But I write nearly every day, and at the end of every letter, I remind her that she’s never alone, and that I will love her, no matter what happens. I keep meaning to send them, but I don’t want to appear stalkerish. But then I get to the last page in the notebook, and I think fuck-it. She’s hurting, and maybe reading my letters will help her not hurt. So, the day after we harvest our Chardonnay, I drive into town and I send the notebook in a priority envelope.
Alison joins me on the porch, a few days after the last of the Chardonnay has been brought in. We’re all wiped out, and to be honest I don’t know how Alison is still standing, let alone smiling. She’s been working round the clock, supervising the harvest, the crushing, and the fermentation.
“Are we there yet?” I ask as I motion her to join me on the porch.
“Not even close. It’ll be at least two more weeks before we barrel.”
I lift my glass. “How does it feel, Madame Winemaker, to have your first harvest under your belt?”
She stares at me for a second, as if debating whether or not to tell me what she really thinks.
“Don’t hold back,” I say wryly.
She shoots me a grin and raises her glass. “I think it’s fucking awesome.”
“Have you thought of a name?”
“I want to wait until it’s gone through fermentation. You only get to name your first wine once.”
Fair enough. We won’t bottle until sometime in the spring, so there’s plenty of time to design labels. “So I’ve been thinking about the Chard that’s down in the cellar.”
“The one you can’t get enough of?” Alison teases.
“The very one. Tell me again how you think those barrels were processed.”
“The Chardonnay was barrel fermented.”
“So it’s sitting on the lees?”
Alison gives an approving nod. “You’ve been doing your homework.”
“I have to. Now that I’ve been sucked into the family business, I have to brush up on my wine knowledge. Any idea how long those barrels have been sitting?”
She shakes her head. “I’d say easily five years, but with no documentation, we can’t release it as a vintage. We can release it as an estate reserve, though.”
“Something one of a kind.”
“Exactly. One release only, blah, blah, blah. Sell it for a Ben Franklin, maybe two, and we’ll be off to a good start.”
“Two-hundred bucks? Are you nuts?”
She points to my glass. “That shit’s the shit, Declan. Trust me.”
“I do, and I will. So I have the perfect name for it.”
“It better be good,” she cautions.
“Madame M. Label is black with gold lettering and a gold Venetian mask on the corner.”
Her brows knit together. “Madame M… like the lingerie?”
“You know them?”
“Who doesn’t? They’re only the most exclusive brand of lingerie, like… ever. The waiting list for custom pieces is years long.” Alison purses her lips. “But won’t we get sued if we use the name?”
“I don’t think it will be a problem when we announce that half the proceeds will be given to Alzheimer’s research.”
“A million dollars, huh?” she shakes her head. “My roommate in college lost an uncle to Alzheimer’s.”
“Everyone knows someone who’s had it.”
“You’re a good man, Declan, and I’m proud to work for you.”
We clink our glasses, and sit quietly. But out of the corner
of my eye, I can tell she’s fidgeting. Which means something’s bothering Alison. She’s not the fidgeting type. “What is it Ali?” I ask.
“Well… ah… there’s a problem I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
There’s a quality in the tone of her voice that puts me on instant alert. “What is it? Is everything okay?”
“Yes… no…. hell, I don’t know.”
My stomach flip-flops. “You’re not sick are you?”
She shakes her head with a breathy laugh. “No, no. Nothing that awful.”
But she looks a little pale, a little sick. “Tell me you’re not pregnant.”
She belly laughs this time, pink erupting on her cheeks. “Oh god, no. But maybe just as bad?” She gives me a guilty look and puffs out her cheeks as she lets out a breath.
“Ali…” I say in my sternest tone of voice.
She downs her wine and slams the glass on the barrel between us like a shot glass and looks me straight in the eye. “I’m in love with Nico.”
“Oh, Christ.”
Chapter Thirty-One
October
* * *
The release party for the Madame M Chardonnay is set for Emmaline’s birthday. It’s also the inaugural celebration of the Fieldstone Winery. Alison came up with the name when she discovered that most of the stones used to build the farmhouse and the barn came from the hillsides where the vineyards were planted one-hundred years ago.
The caterers are putting the final touches on the buffet table as I take a final round through the barn. Austin and Nico are both here. For obvious reasons, Jason’s at home with Millie, but he did call. It’s work, but we talk weekly. At first the conversations were stilted and awkward, and I wanted to punch something when I got off the phone. But we’re making progress, even if it’s slow. However, that small success doesn’t even begin to fill the hole in my heart left by Emmaline. I sent her an invitation, along with a note explaining why the name, and why the fundraiser. But she’s not coming. I fight a wave of disappointment as I adjust my cufflinks and avoid going into the cellar, which still makes me think of her. Vividly.
