Mitch sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Have you ever had any dealings with her?”
“Francesca is on the board. She’s fair and she’s loyal.” Quinn hesitated.
“Go on.”
“She’s Frank DeAngelo’s daughter. He was an important man here in the valley. Francesca has a great deal to live up to. So far, she’s done well. As far as sharing her water, she could go either way. That’s up to you. She’s not the only one you’ll have to convince. Santa Ynez doesn’t have a Wal-Mart or a Starbucks or even a Rite Aid. The people here don’t have a warehouse mentality.” He fixed a level gaze on Mitch. “Personally, I think the odds of your conglomerate making a go of it here in the valley are poor. Why don’t you cut your losses and go somewhere else before it’s too late to back out?”
Mitch pushed back his chair and stood. “Thanks for your time and the information. Lunch is on me.”
The other man looked up at him. “I understand you’re in the business of growing grapes yourself?”
Small towns. Mitch wasn’t accustomed to having his every move reported before he even made it. “That’s right.”
“You don’t want to step on too many toes if you have a personal investment, Mr. Gillette. People here take care of their own. If you intend to settle here, you want to be part of that.”
Mitch didn’t offer his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind. As I said before, you’ve been very informative. I appreciate it.” He nodded and walked to the cash register where he paid the bill and left the restaurant.
It wasn’t until he’d pulled out on to Refugio Road that he remembered he needed groceries. Mitch looked at his watch. His morning errand had taken much longer than expected. He had two hours before he was due at the high school to pick up Drew and Sarah. Then there was her dressage lesson at the equestrian center and he still hadn’t visited the construction site. He swore under his breath and turned north onto Highway 154, accelerating to the speed limit. Maybe he could swing grocery shopping with Drew while Sarah took her lesson. Otherwise they would make do with scrambled eggs for dinner.
The road past Los Olivos and the Firestone Vineyard narrowed to one lane in both directions. Once again the natural beauty of the land soothed his spirits and captured his attention. Small creeks, some barely trickles this time of year, gurgled over rocks and the smooth trunks of fallen trees. Rising on either side of the road was a ghostly forest of pin oak in the throes of death, their twisted branches and gnarled trunks strangled by a mesh of delicate sea-foam green, the beautiful but deadly parasitic Spanish moss. A mile down the road, the trees disappeared and soft hills dotted with beef cattle and horses rolled down to the sea. There were vineyards this far inland but no wineries. GGI hoped to change all that. At one time Mitch had enthusiastically supported the project. Now he wasn’t so sure. What that meant as far as his career with the company, he could only imagine.
A year ago, even six months ago, temporary unemployment didn’t worry him. He had been a free man. Relocation wasn’t a drawback. The idea had even been mildly interesting. Now, everything was different. Two teenagers who had just lost their mother couldn’t be bouncing around the country, changing schools and friends and neighborhoods. They needed stability. They needed a father who was employed, and there were few employment opportunities in the Santa Ynez Valley.
Mitch drove down the gravel road to the job site. Bulldozers had already leveled the area where construction would begin on the winery. The actual start date was dependent upon the Urban Planning Commission’s report forecasting traffic, parking and general pollution problems created by the operation of a winery the size of this one.
Mitch wasn’t worried. The site was perfect. He’d looked long and hard for that perfect combination of sloping hills, protective mountains and cool ocean breezes. Already, the ground had been turned on most of the acreage. So far, everything was on schedule, with the exception of the report. But reports were always late. The water factor was crucial. He needed an irrigation source and quickly. Francesca was a possibility, but Mitch hadn’t reached his current position by relying on possibilities. GGI would have to dig for its own well. He set the brake, changed into his hiking boots and climbed out of the car. Immediately his feet sank into the mud.
Frowning, he bent down to examine the soil. It was dark and very wet, almost the consistency of swampland. Where was the water coming from? The last rain was nearly two months behind them.
Drew found Sarah near the flagpole. “I waited for you at lunch.”
“I’m sorry, Drew. My math teacher had some questions about the math I had last year.”
He shrugged and spoke casually. “It doesn’t matter. Tell Dad I’ll get a ride home later. I’ve got something going.”
Sarah shook her head, dismayed. “Please, Drew. He said to wait here.”
He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have time for this. I’m outta here.”
She watched helplessly as her brother disappeared into the crowd of milling students. “Please, come back,” she whispered, knowing the futility of her request. “Please, don’t stick me in the middle again.”
Twelve
Mitch turned his Infiniti into the school parking lot and pulled up to the curb in front of the flagpole. Sarah sat by herself on a low retaining wall. She stood when she saw him and slowly made her way to the car. “Dad. You’re late!”
“I’m sorry, honey. I had a problem at the job site.”
She threw her book bag into the back seat and climbed into the car, averting her face. “But you were supposed to be here an hour ago.”
“I couldn’t, Sarah,” he said helplessly. “I’m so sorry.” He forced a smile. “How did it go today?”
She shrugged, fighting back tears.
Mitch touched her shoulder. “If there had been any way of letting you know I was going to be late, I would have. Do you believe that?”
“It’s okay.”
Silently damning the public-school system for their ban on cell phones, he drove out of the lot. It wasn’t until he reached the first stop sign that he remembered Drew. “Where’s your brother?”
“He met someone. He said to tell you he’d get a ride home later.”
Mitch frowned. He opened his mouth to ask if this kind of behavior was normal for Drew and then closed it again without saying anything. Somewhere there was an unwritten rule between siblings about telling tales. Mitch wouldn’t put Sarah in that position. “Do you want to know what happened?” he asked instead.
She hesitated and then nodded, trying to appear interested.
Mitch’s heart warmed toward her. She really was a trouper. “There’s a problem with the water table on the construction site.”
“What does that mean?”
“The underground water is so high that the ground is the consistency of sludge. It’s impossible to build anything until it’s dried out. It sets the project back and it could be expensive. I had to make a conference call to two members of the board of directors. That’s why I was late.”
She looked at him, concerned. “Are you in trouble?”
He smiled. “No, sweetheart. The project just isn’t running smoothly, that’s all.”
She settled back in her seat.
“Did you happen to meet Drew’s new friend?” he asked casually.
“No. He’s mad at me. I didn’t meet him for lunch because I had to talk to my math teacher.” She looked around. “Are we going the right way?”
“Damn. I’m sorry, Sarah.” He’d forgotten all about her riding lesson. Mitch had apologized more in the last four months than he had in his entire forty-five years, with the exception of the time he’d lived with Susan.
At the next intersection he made a U-turn and drove back up Refugio Road to the equestrian center. “Do you mind if I shop for groceries while you ride?”
“No. Can you get me some lunch food? I’d like to pack a lunch until I figure things out at school. The cafeteria line is really long
.”
“What would you like me to buy?”
Her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know, Dad. Just get what looks good. It can’t be that hard. You know, chips, fruit, sandwich stuff.” Her face lit up. “I know. Ask Julianne. She’ll know.”
Mitch would like nothing more than to ask Julianne, but he didn’t want it to be the sole reason for calling her. She was sensitive and intelligent and very cautious. He didn’t want her to think that the primary reason for his interest was his children.
“Maybe I will” was all he said.
Julianne peeked into the convection oven. The cheesecake was perfect, golden on top and firm in the middle. She turned off the timer, pulled on her oven mitts and slid the baking sheet out of the oven to cool.
“Is it done?” her grandson asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Not yet. It has to cool. Then I’ll add the topping.” She pulled off her mitts and ruffled his hair. “Are you hungry ?”
He thought a minute. “Not for real food.”
“What then?”
“Something sweet with whipped cream and chocolate.”
He’d seen her cream-puff éclairs. She looked at the clock. “We only have about two hours until dinner, Nick. If you eat an éclair now, you won’t be hungry, and you know how that upsets your mom.”
“What are we having?” he asked.
“Meat loaf.”
“I won’t be hungry for that anyway, so I might as well have an éclair.”
“I thought you liked my meat loaf.”
“I like éclairs better.”
“I’ll tell you what. I really want you to eat dinner. You can have a cookie or a Popsicle now and I’ll save you an éclair for dessert.”
He considered her proposal. “Who are the rest of the éclairs for?”
“The Gillettes’ housewarming tomorrow.”
“Am I going?”
“You certainly are. We’re all going.”
“What are we having tomorrow?”
“Mexican food. Tacos and enchiladas and chili rellenos, rice, beans and tortillas.”
“And chips?”
She nodded. “Chips, too.”
“All right. I’ll eat meat loaf tonight and a Popsicle now.”
She pointed to the freezer. “They’re in the side compartment. I think there might be some cherry-flavored ones left.”
The phone rang. It was her business line. She picked it up. “Julianne Harris.”
Mitch Gillette sounded exasperated. “I’m at the grocery store buying lunch food. Can you help me?”
“That depends on what kind of lunch you’re serving.”
“I won’t be serving at all. It’s for Sarah and Drew. They want bag lunches and I’m at a loss. Ordinarily I wouldn’t bother you with this, but Sarah suggested I call you, and I think it’s a damn good idea because I’m hopeless. What do kids eat these days? It can’t still be peanut butter and jelly.”
“How about some fruit, chips and sandwich stuff? How hard can that be?”
“The variety is ridiculous. What does Nick eat for lunch?”
“I don’t think it’s the same thing at all,” Julianne advised him. “Nick is eight years old. His friends won’t think he’s odd if he brings lettuce wraps and deviled eggs. That won’t do for fifteen-year-olds.”
“All right. What do fifteen-year-olds eat?”
“I really think you should let them choose their own food, Mitch. That way you can’t lose.”
“Sarah’s at a dressage lesson and Drew could be anywhere.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A friend is giving him a ride home.”
“That isn’t what you said.”
Mitch sighed. “I didn’t like it either, but until he shows up, my hands are tied. Meanwhile, my refrigerator is bare.”
“Buy some whole-grain bread, sliced turkey, romaine lettuce, cheddar cheese and a few apples,” she suggested. “You can’t go wrong with those. Kids usually like anything in small packages. Chips and cookies come that way. You’re on your own as far as drinks. Just don’t make the lunches too bulky. They won’t eat bulky lunches.”
“Thanks,” he said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Find your son,” she said before hanging up the phone.
Nick’s mouth was stained red from the Popsicle. He sat at the table swinging his legs. “I like pudding cups,” he confided. “Chocolate ones. You should have told him pudding cups.”
“I’ll remember next time,” Julianne promised.
Drew sniffed at the contents of the plastic bag. “What is this stuff?” he asked.
“What do you think it is?” Jason Saunders flopped down on his water bed. The mattress dipped and rolled with the weight of his body.
The room was dark with olive-green walls and shades pulled down against the afternoon sun. Drew reached into the plastic and pulled out a pinch of fine white powder. “I can’t smell anything.” He tested it on the tip of his tongue. “I know it isn’t cocaine.”
“It’s heroin. Pure as it comes.”
“I’ve never seen it like this.”
“You sniff it instead of injecting. No worry about bad needles with this stuff.”
“Is it expensive?”
“Only about four bucks a bag.”
Drew looked at the boy lolling on the bed. “Are you high?”
“I don’t get high anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Try it and see.”
Drew shook his head. “I don’t think so. Pot’s one thing, but heroin’s bad stuff. You got any weed?”
“Wally does. He’s my drummer. He’ll be here any minute with the rest of ’em. Come on,” Jason coaxed him. “Just once won’t hurt. How do you know you don’t like it unless you try it?”
“Not this time.”
“Why not?”
“I gotta get home. My dad’s paranoid. He’ll know if I’ve been doing anything.”
“Not with this stuff.”
Drew stared into the bag. It was tempting. He’d never done heroin. Maybe just once wouldn’t hurt. “How do you do it?”
Jason sat up and reached for the bag. “I’ll show you.”
Francesca pulled off her gloves and left them on the desk in the entry. Then she went in search of her son. “Nick. I’m home.”
“In here, Mom, with Gran,” he called from the kitchen.
She stood in the doorway. “Hello, you two,” she said. “I’m dirty but I wanted to find out how your spelling test went.”
“I only missed two.”
“Two? Why? You didn’t miss any on the test I gave you last night.”
“Miss Keller mixed up the words,” he said matter-of-factly. “When the words aren’t in order, I don’t remember them as well.”
“Next time I’ll mix up the words,” replied his mother.
“I don’t have another test until next week,” he reminded her.
“How many words are on your test, Nick?” asked his grandmother.
“Twenty.”
“Ninety percent is an A, Frances.”
“But he had a hundred percent last night.” She changed the subject. “What are we having for dinner?”
“Meat loaf.”
“Yum.” Francesca headed toward the stairs. “I need a shower and then I’ll set the table.”
“Nick will set the table,” said Julianne. She looked at her grandson. “Won’t you, Nick?”
The child sighed. “I guess so.”
Ten minutes later Jake walked through the back door. “How’s my favorite son?”
“I missed two on my spelling test,” Nick said immediately.
Jake grinned. “Only two? That’s great! You’re a genius.” He winked at this mother. “He gets it from me.”
“Don’t let Frances hear you say that,” she warned him.
“Gran’s letting me have one of Mr. Gillette�
�s éclairs for dessert,” Nick announced.
“Excuse me?”
Julianne laughed. “I made éclairs for the party tomorrow.”
Jake’s smile faded. He avoided his mother’s eyes. “I should take a shower. What time is dinner?”
“The same time it’s been for thirty years,” said Julianne. “Six o’clock.”
* * *
Over steaming mouthfuls of meat loaf and baked potatoes, Jake broke down the schedule for the acres not yet harvested. “I think we should be done by the end of next week.”
Francesca nodded. “We’re on schedule. Did you get a chance to check out the Syrah vines? Cyril thought there might be a problem there.”
Jake looked thoughtful. “I thought you discontinued that plot. The vines are gone.”
She stared at him. “Gone? They can’t be gone. How is that possible?”
“I checked this morning. The ones that are alive are riddled with mold. I assumed you wanted to clear out what was left and start fresh.”
“I want no such thing. What’s happened to them?”
“There’s a leak somewhere,” Jake guessed. “It’s a big one to have caused that much damage. I’ll go over the area tomorrow.”
“Take Cyril and Danny with you. Check everything carefully. I’ll be at the winery.”
“Maybe the earthquake had something to do with it,” Julianne suggested.
Jake nodded. “Possibly, although we have safety clips to shut down the system if that happens.”
Francesca looked down at her plate. We. He said we as if he belonged here. Did she want him to belong here again? More to the point, could she trust him to stay? Their relationship was a civil one, sometimes even friendly, but that was all. It was comfortable this way. Comfortable and safe. Safety had taken on new meaning in the last two years. Safety, she’d come to believe, was an acceptable alternative to the pain of loving someone who didn’t love you back.
“So, Francie, what do you think?”
“About what?”
“Do you want to go early and help Mom deliver the food to the Gillettes’, or shall I?”
“Nick has a soccer game. You take him and I’ll help with the food.”
Jake nodded at his son. “Did you hear that, big fella? It’s you and me at soccer tomorrow.”
A Delicate Finish Page 12
