“Nick, it’s Melanie. Melanie doesn’t honor agreements. Geez. What do you need? A copy of Satan for Dummies?”
Nick didn’t say anything. Dana shook her head.
“She manipulated this entire situation to make sure you and I would never speak again.”
Nick threw his hands up in the air. “What? That’s crazy. You think she’s behind the bird, and your mother?”
“No,” Dana said. “But if you went out to work for Melanie and she bought my winery anyway, exactly what would you be able to do about it? You’d already be out there, working for her. And by then, you and I would absolutely have no chance of ever…” She trailed off.
“But why?”
“I don’t know. She probably still wants you, Nick. You were likely the only man ever to send her packing half-naked. Melanie takes stuff like that very seriously. I beat her out for sophomore class president, and you see how obsessed she’s been with me all these years. She’s nuts.”
Nick felt the realization wash over him. Dana was right. Jesus. “What the hell is wrong with women? Can’t you just knock each other’s teeth out in a bar like men and get it over with?”
“I wish,” Dana said. “If I thought one well-placed right hook would end it with Melanie, she’d be carrying her teeth in a jar right now.”
Nick shook his head. “I’m so stupid.”
“Yeah,” Dana said, her voice softening.
He leaned his head down toward her. “So, are we okay?”
Dana eyed him for a moment. “I’m still a little skeeved out from talking to Melanie. And I’m mad about you not telling me, but I’ll get over it, I’m pretty sure. I just… I’m gonna go to the winery and be alone for a little while, okay?”
Nick nodded, reached over to the kitchen counter for a plate, and handed it to Dana.
“Take this with you. It might be cold, but at least it’s something. You haven’t eaten in a while.” He snapped a paper towel off the roll and handed it to her. “Do you want coffee? I can pour you some.”
“Nick,” she said, taking the towel, “I’m trying to hold on to a little righteous indignation here. You floating all over me like a mother hen doesn’t help, know what I mean?”
“Oh. Sure. Yeah.” He paused for a moment, unsure. “So, no coffee then?”
She let out a half laugh, half sigh. “No. I’m just gonna take my plate of cold eggs and cold bacon and go sulk in the winery for a little while.”
She turned and started toward the door, then stopped and shot a look at him.
“For the record,” she said. “I’m not running.”
Nick nodded. “I know.”
“I’m just taking a moment for myself.”
“I know,” Nick said, smiling.
She smiled back. “Just wanted to make that clear.”
She turned and headed toward the door. As she passed, the bird gave a squawk and fluttered in its cage.
“Shut up, chicken,” she said, pointing her fork at it. “Nick makes a mean marsala.”
***
Simon dialed on a cell phone from the back of the SUV. Babs glanced to Vivian as Simon put the phone to his ear.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “You’re driving. You can turn the car around.”
Vivian shot her a sideways glance. “No way. I want my bird.”
“Are you crazy?” Babs said, only realizing after she said it that the answer was pretty obvious. “How do you think you’re going to get the bird away from him?”
Vivian sighed as though Babs was the stupidest person in the world. “The same way I get things from Gary. I put ice cubes in my mouth, then I unzip—”
“Oh, dear God,” Babs said, holding up her hand. “My fault for asking.”
Vivian glanced at Simon in the rearview and smiled to herself. “See how tense he is? My guess, he hasn’t had a good roll in ages. That bird is good as mine.”
“You would really sleep with him? He almost killed your husband.”
“Oh, please, it’s a little knock to the head. Gary will be fine.” Vivian bit her lip. “I’m a little worried about getting the blood out of that rug, though.”
“Gee, Gary’s a lucky guy.”
Simon flipped the phone shut and leaned forward, placing the barrel of his gun between the front seats as he did.
“Enough talking. You”—he indicated Vivian with the gun—”drive. And you”—he looked at Babs—”shut up.”
“Who was that on the phone?”
Simon gave her a black look and tilted the gun barrel toward Babs. “Shut up is an American phrase, isn’t it?”
“Oh, stop,” Babs said, trying to keep her breathing even so she’d look calm. “You’re not going to shoot me in the car. It’d spook Vivian, and she’s not a great driver to begin with…”
“Hey,” Vivian protested.
“… and I’m sure you don’t want the police to notice us,” Babs said over her, “so put the gun away. You’re just being a big bully with that thing.”
Simon didn’t put the gun away, but he did point it away from Babs. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“So, let me see if I understand this correctly,” Babs said. “We get to Dana’s, you see there’s no bird, and you take my daughter hostage in order to coerce the information out of me, is that right?”
Simon shrugged. “Something like that, yeah.”
“Okay,” Babs said. “Consider me coerced. Turn the car around, Vivian. The bird is back in the city at my apartment.”
Vivian gasped. “Oh! You bitch! I’ve been driving this stupid thing for two hours! I hate driving.”
“Sorry, Viv. Promise to make it up to you when we get to my place. I’ll give you some ice.”
Vivian shot her a look, and she shot it back. Vivian glanced up in the rearview at Simon.
“So, am I turning the car around?”
Babs deliberately met and held Simon’s eyes. She had no idea what she’d do if they actually turned the car around and went back to her place, but she’d have two hours to figure it out. At any rate, she wanted him as far away from Dana as she could get him.
“No,” Simon said. “Keep driving.”
Babs tried to look like she didn’t care as she turned to face forward, but her heart was racing. “Fine by me. It’ll only be that much longer before you get your bird.”
“I have a little time,” he said, “and I want to hear what your answer is when I’ve got a gun to your daughter’s head. Just to be sure.”
“Ugh, God!” Vivian said. “Does that mean I’m going to have to drive all the way there and back? That’s like ten hours total!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Vivian,” Babs snapped, “reassess your priorities, will you?”
“There’s no need to be snotty about it, Babs,” Vivian said. “We’re stuck here, we might as well be civil.”
“Sorry, I’ve had a few too many guns in my face during the past two days to feel particularly civil right now, Viv.”
Vivian gave an indignant grunt. “You are just never going to let that go, are you?”
“Hey!” Simon yelled from the back, pointing his gun at Vivian’s head. “You, drive. And you, shut it.”
Babs clenched her teeth and fell silent. Simon huffed and leaned back in the backseat.
“I swear, this is the last time I kidnap women,” he grumbled.
Twenty-two
Nick didn’t realize he’d finished the dishes until his hand reached for a plate that wasn’t there. His mind had been on Dana, wondering how long he’d have to wait before it’d be okay to go to the winery and find her. Now that the truth about Melanie was out, it was driving him crazy not to be with Dana, figuring out where to go next.
He tossed the dish towel onto the counter and looked out the window. It was a scene he’d been living without for a long time. He would have thought he’d be over it by now, but the familiarity of it, his own longing for it, struck him square in the chest. Rol
ling green hills, trees bursting out in yellows, reds, and browns. The crisp fall air, full of grapes and earth.
He had a shot. He could have it ail again. All he had to do was go after her, tell her they belonged together, and they could sort it out together.
He turned around, leaned against the sink, and looked at the front door. He could see the top of Finn’s head through the window. So be it. If he had to beg in full view of Finn, then he had to beg in full view of Finn. He clutched the towel in his hand and moved toward the door, his heart pounding as he pushed through.
Finn was on the porch, sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, reading the local weekly paper.
“Wow,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You held out for fifteen minutes. Good for you, man.”
“I’m going to the winery,” Nick said, tossing his cell phone at Finn. “Come get me if Babs calls.”
“Fine,” Finn said, tucking the phone in his pocket. “But if you ask me, she seemed like she needed a little time.”
“None of your business, Sparky,” Nick said, moving down the front steps.
“Ah,” Finn said, turning the page. “Just like old times.”
***
Behind the bar, Dana put the empty plate in the sink and stared out through the window, remembering how her father used to stand in this very spot and watch her walk to the school bus every morning. When she and Nick were engaged, she used to imagine watching her own child through that window someday. Of course, those thoughts were eventually overshadowed by the image of the child having to pick up the pieces after she and Nick destroyed each other, which tended to put a damper on the fantasy.
She walked through the empty room, her hand running along the smooth counter, her feet making that familiar scuff sound against the worn, wooden floor. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Wood. Dust. Wine. Smells that had been as much a part of her as of the winery. Where did she end and it begin?
And, finally, the question she’d been avoiding for months now: Did she even really want it?
“I hate this part,” she muttered to herself as she absently ran her fingers over the bar. She’d always used her father, her grandfather, the Wiley history, as an excuse not to look any deeper into why she wanted that place. Was it just obligation that kept her there?
Did she really have a choice, like Mom had said?
No. There it was, deep inside her, that No stomping its feet and holding its breath, insisting that Dana do everything in her power—including letting her mother risk her life—to keep this place. Why? Did she even really want it?
It was time to figure out what she wanted, before Nick got there—she knew he’d be coming—and touched her and sent her head spinning so far out into orbit that she couldn’t think straight. She had to know, now, what it was she really wanted, and what she was willing to do to have it.
And she had to admit that part of her was so angry with Nick and her mom because they tried to save something she wasn’t sure she wanted saved. If they’d just butted out, she’d be able to let the place go knowing she’d done everything in her power to save it. No guilt, no obligation. She’d be free of all of it.
But now… now she was torn. She didn’t want Melanie to have the place, she knew that. But if Melanie took it, if it was beyond Dana’s power…
“Oh. God. I need a drink.”
Dana went behind the bar and knelt, running her fingers along the bottles.
“Let’s see, what goes with confusion, heartache, and internal conflict?”
She gasped as she realized exactly which wine this moment called for. She popped up from behind the bar, punched the register open, and grabbed the keys to the cellar from under the money tray.
Talk about perfect timing.
***
Nick knocked on the door to the gift shop. There was a yellowed note, closed for the season, written in Dana’s hand and stuck in the window.
But no sign of Dana.
He cupped his fingers against the windowpane, shielding the sun from his eyes. Still couldn’t see much. He tried the knob again.
Damn. He stepped back, looked around, tried to remember where Dana used to hide the spare set of keys.
He paused.
Oh, yeah. Keys.
He pulled his set out of his pocket, rifled through for the gold-colored one he’d kept but hadn’t used in six years, and stuck it in the lock. It turned easily, and a moment later he was inside. He shut the door quietly behind him, giving his eyes a moment to adjust before moving on. The lights were off, but there was enough sun coming in from the windows for him to see that he was alone.
He walked down the length of the bar, peeked through the open door into the office. “Dana?”
No answer. He came back out to the bar, crossed the room to the window, pushed the curtain aside to see if she was heading back toward the house.
Nope.
It was then that he noticed the door to the cellar was ajar. He pushed it open, made his way down the stairs into the center of the musty room. Random office supplies and gift shop merchandise took up the open area to his right as he descended the stairs; immediately in front of him was a series of wine racks, set up like bookshelves at a library, sporting all the different varieties of Wiley Wine.
“Dana?”
There was no answer, but the sound of clinking glass came from somewhere in the wine racks. At the back wall, light from a flickering candle fought a small battle against the cellar’s darkness. He made his way slowly past the racks, to the very last aisle. Dana sat on a stool next to the back wall, next to a large wooden wine barrel, which was serving as a table.
“Dana?”
She stared into the tiny flickering flame that came from a tapered candle sitting on the center of the upturned barrel. She had one hand on the neck of a bottle of wine, the other holding a full wineglass. She took a drink and slowly lowered the glass, her eyes on her hands.
“Perfect timing,” she said, holding the bottle out with a small smile. “I just started it.”
He glanced at the label and a wash of memory hit him. “The Merlot.”
“We’re a year and a few days past what would have been our fifth anniversary, but what the hell, right?”
She nodded toward the wall, where another stool hung from a series of thick wooden pegs. He pulled it down and sat across from her, watching her as she poured a glass for him. He laughed.
“You knew I’d be coming,” he said.
She handed him his glass. “Of course. I asked for some time alone. I’m actually very impressed with your restraint.”
“Sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t want you to—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” she said, holding up her glass. “Before we get into it, a toast.”
He held up his glass. “To what?”
She chuckled lightly. “Don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s to not knowing.”
They clinked glasses and each took a sip. It was good, the Merlot. Dark. Rich. Ages old. The night before the wedding, they’d found two bottles of Grampa Wiley’s inaugural harvest Merlot in the cellar. They’d decided to drink one that night, and have the other on their twentieth anniversary. It was so good, though, that by the end of the first bottle, they’d negotiated the second one down to their fifth anniversary.
“I love you,” she said. Nick had been so wrapped up in the memories of that night with the first bottle that he almost didn’t hear her. He started to speak, but she held up her hand and hushed him.
“I do. I always have. I think now I’ve made it pretty clear to myself that I always will. It’s the only thing I know right now, and I’m kinda clinging to it. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Dana—”
“Shh. Please. Let me get through this first, then I promise I will shut up and let you speak. But I have to say these things out loud because if I don’t, then I won’t unravel all this crap I’ve got in my head, and I have to do that be
fore we can move forward. Does that make sense?”
Nick nodded.
“Oh. Well, I obviously haven’t had enough wine yet then.” She took another sip, set the glass down on the barrel. “I’m thinking of selling this place to Melanie.”
“What?” Nick said. “That’s just crazy.”
“Oh, shit,” Dana said, slapping one hand down on her knee. “I said her name. Now I have to go put five bucks in the kitty.”
“Hey, if it helps, I think you’ve had enough wine,” Nick said. “I’m not understanding anything you’re saying.”
“Me, either,” she said. “It’s just… I love this place. I do. But there’s so much here, you know? There’s Grampa Wiley who built the place, and Mom who conceived me here, and Dad who died here. Mom and Dad fell apart here. You and I imploded here.” She met his eye and was silent for a moment, then went on. “I let my mother put herself at risk for this place. Why? So I could thumb my nose at Melanie? I mean, who cares? She’s just evil incarnate. What’s the big deal?” She paused, blinked. “Oh. Crap. I said her name again. Ten bucks.”
Nick leaned forward and took her wine from her. She moved forward and took it back.
“I’m trying to think, Nick. Thinking without wine gives me a headache.”
Nick leaned back and smiled. “Fine. Can I talk yet?”
“No,” she said. “I have to figure this out. I have to know what I want.”
“Right now? Why?”
“Because Mom is risking her life to get money for my winery, and when she comes to me with that money, I have to know what I’m going to do.”
He sighed, took a drink of wine. “Fine. Let’s start with what you know, then. What do you know you want?”
She stared down into her glass and laughed into it. “You.”
Nick smiled. “You got me. What else?”
She looked up at him. “I have you?”
“Yeah,” he said, his smile fading. “You do.”
“But… your life… your job… and don’t think I’ve forgotten that you almost moved to California to work for Melanie.” She cringed. “Fifteen bucks. Damnit.”
Maybe Baby Page 17
