A Delicate Finish

by Jeanette Baker

  “We lost.”

  “Obviously. The question is why?”

  Answers, glib and conciliatory, passed through Mitch’s mind. He could prevaricate, ask for more time to get the message out. He could request additional money and staff. He could say that the vote was close enough to warrant another go at it next time around. But he did none of those things. “This is a different kind of community, Leland. People like things the way they are. They see no need for a massive winery.”

  The silence on the other end of the line was a long one. Finally, Hawkins spoke. “That’s your final assessment?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I assume the water problems in the area still exist.”

  “The crack in the dam has been repaired. There’s nothing wrong with the acreage. It could be ready for planting next year. However, the site isn’t far from a fault line and buyers could be skittish. It could take some time to sell.”

  “All right. Wrap it up as quickly as possible. There’s a site in Washington State that looks promising. I’ll be in touch next week.”

  Mitch replaced the phone and turned off the light. He walked through the kitchen and opened the door to his recently installed wine closet. Selecting a bottle Julianne had given him, he found a glass and returned to the living room. The setting was dreamlike. A soft autumn rain drummed against the windowpanes. In the fireplace, flames leaped and hissed, throwing an arc of light against the back wall. Upstairs, his children slept contentedly in their beds. Here, in the living room, he sipped a world-class Pinot Noir/Grenache blend.

  If only his mood matched the comfort of his surroundings. If only he could chalk this failure up and go forward without the complications that moving his family would bring. Drew and Sarah had finally settled in. He balked at the idea of telling them that once again they would be uprooted, to another home, another school.

  In his worst moments, Mitch had considered boarding school. There, at least, they would have stability. It wouldn’t be as important for him to establish a base if they were only home on holidays. But as soon as the idea formed in his mind, he’d discarded it. He’d spent a lifetime without his children. They were nearly adults and he barely knew them. If he was ever to establish a relationship with them it was now. Besides, now that most of the kinks had been ironed out, they were comfortable with one another. He liked them. He enjoyed their individual personalities. He looked forward to their being here in the house with him.

  He leaned back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes. His options were clear: stay with GGI for a regular paycheck, benefits and stock options, or strike out on his own. What would be best for the kids? They would be leaving for college in less than three years. He wasn’t poor by any means, but if he stayed and tried to make a go of it as a vintner, most of the capital from the sale of his Tiburon property would be used up starting a business. Then there was his personal life to consider. But not now. He wasn’t up to it.

  At first, he thought the tapping at the door was more rain, but when it stopped and then started again, he realized that someone was knocking. He frowned. It was nearly midnight. Setting his glass on the table, he walked across the room and opened the door.

  Julianne, the collar of her trench coat standing up against the downpour, stood on his porch, empty-handed and smiling. “Is it too late to come in?”

  Surprise and pleasure left him momentarily speechless.

  “If it is, I can go.”

  “No, no.” He took her hand and gently pulled her into the house. “I could use a friend.”

  “I’m sorry about the election, Mitch.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled. “I’ve opened a bottle of wine. Will you join me?”

  “Yes.”

  Together they walked into the warm living room. He held out his hand. “Let me take your coat.”

  She shook her head and sat down on the couch. “Not yet. I’m still cold.” She picked up the bottle of wine and looked at the label. “It’s one of ours.”

  “Yes. It’s exceptional. Warm up near the fire and I’ll be right back with your glass.”

  When he returned, She was staring into the flames, a delicate flush coloring her cheeks. He poured her wine and handed her the glass.

  “I really am sorry about the election.”

  “Are you?” He stood across from her near the fire, his eyes level and steady on her face. “I would have thought otherwise.”

  “I voted against you.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.”

  “It wasn’t easy, you know.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I knew what it meant while I was doing it.”

  “What does it mean, Julianne?”

  She spoke quickly. “That you’ll go away and I’ll never see you again.”

  He nodded. “That’s one possibility.”

  “So, you’re really leaving?”

  He looked at her, his gaze moving over the petite strength of her small figure, at the blue, blue eyes and the sharp bones of her cheeks and the way the firelight danced over her nose and lips. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly.

  She caught her breath.

  “I think I’ll stay here, raise my children and see if I’ve got what it takes to grow grapes and make wine.”

  Her hand flew up and stopped halfway to her mouth. “Are you sure? Really sure?”

  “Yes.”

  She leaned back against the cushions, pressing her palms against her hot cheeks. “I was so afraid.”

  He went completely still. “Why?”

  She shook her head.

  “Why, Julianne?”

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell him what she wanted, what she’d always wanted since the very beginning, when he’d knocked on her door and asked if she had a horse for sale. He was the reason her hands shook when she marked the ballot against the development of the land GGI had purchased for their winery. She’d done what was right for the land and for Francesca and Jake and Nick. But it wasn’t right for her. It couldn’t be right to send him away, not when she felt this feeling every time she was with him.

  Desire was a complicated emotion. She desired Mitchell Gillette, but it was much more complicated than mere wanting. She knew it had to do with the way he felt about her. When a man says he’s falling in love, a woman sits up and takes notice. She can’t help wondering what it would be like to love him back. Julianne hadn’t loved for a very long time, not since Carl had helped Lisa DeAngelo with her buttons. Funny, how that seemed so unimportant now. Time was the balm to all wounds.

  She drew a deep breath and then exhaled. She reached for her wine and in a single gulp downed a glass of three-hundred-dollar Pinot Noir without tasting it. Then she stood and untied her belt. “I have stretch marks,” she said. “My price for three children.”

  “Is that what you’re hiding under that coat?”

  The amusement in his voice gave her courage.

  She unbuttoned the top button. “I’m five years older than you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  He nodded. “Under the circumstances, it’s allowed.”

  The middle button was next. “I haven’t done this in a long time.”

  “Actually, I’m relieved to hear it. I don’t do well with competition.”

  The last button slid out of its hole. “I’m scared to death.”

  The coat dropped to the floor. She stepped away from it. With the exception of a pair of knee-high boots, she was naked.

  His eyes widened. “You are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  She lifted her chin. “Good ones, I hope.”

  He set his wineglass on the mantel and walked toward her. “Very good ones.”

  She met him halfway. Her arms locked behind his neck. “Shall I keep the boots?”

  “Definitely keep the boots.” His voice thickened. “Christ, you’re lovely.” He traced the silvery marks spidering across h
er stomach. “Stretch marks and all.”

  He bent his head to her mouth. She wrapped one leg around his and slid her hands under his shirt, pulling it up and away from his skin. Then she pressed herself against his chest, gratified to hear his sudden intake of breath. Without taking his mouth away, he muttered something she couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter.

  Julianne felt her other foot leave the floor as he lifted her into his arms for the brief moment it took to move her to the couch. Somehow, his clothes disappeared and his body, warm arms and long legs and hair-rough chest, settled over her. “What about Sarah and Drew?” she whispered.

  “Don’t worry. Teenagers sleep like the dead.”

  He touched her in places she’d forgotten could feel. He touched her until she was dizzy and trembling and weak. He kissed her lips and her throat and her shoulders and her breasts, and when her back arched and her head fell backward and her eyes closed, he moved over and into her, in and out, again and again until the firelight and the shadows and the heat coursing through her peaked. She bit into his shoulder and scored his back with her nails and murmured his name against the bulge of his arm, repeating it until it rang like a drum in her mind, and this moment, this memory, lodged in her brain never to be diminished, lost or forgotten.

  He said the words, low and muffled against her throat. “I love you, Julianne Harris.”

  She pushed against his shoulders, but he was too heavy for her to move. “Please, look at me. Look at me when you say that.”

  He braced himself on both arms and smiled down at her. “I’m looking and I’m saying it again. I love you, Julianne. I’d ask you to marry me but I’m unemployed.”

  She laughed. Tears of relief brimmed. “Six months is a bit soon to ask someone to marry you.”

  He shook his head. “Not when we’re as advanced in years as we are.”

  “Speak for yourself. I’ve never been younger.”

  “Will you consider it?”

  “I’ll do more than that. I’ll consider myself promised.”

  His eyes darkened. “I won’t let you down, Julianne. You won’t be sorry.”

  “Will Sarah and Drew be pleased?”

  “They’ll be thrilled. Their biggest concern was that this election would turn you against me.”

  “It wasn’t the election I was worried about.”

  Mitch kissed her nose and then her mouth. “Lisa was never in the picture, not for a minute, certainly not for me.” He sat up and pulled her with him. “What about your children?”

  Julianne hedged. “What about them?” She reached for her coat, sliding her arms into the sleeves.

  “Will they be happy for us?”

  “The girls will be excited. They thought I was buried alive.”

  “And Jake?”

  “Jake will be a harder sell. It’s nothing personal.” Julianne said quickly. “It’s just that he was very close to his father and he’s never considered the possibility of me with anyone else. It’s my fault, really. I didn’t do anything to make him think differently.”

  “What about Francesca?”

  Julianne bit her lip. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether she allows Jake back into her life. She won’t need me anymore if she does.”

  “Have you come to terms with her mother?”

  Julianne lifted her chin. “I’ve allowed Lisa far too much power in my life. That’s over now. She can go or stay. I’d rather she go, but that’s not up to me. Although, I have a feeling she won’t be staying for long. She’s not a woman who needs roots.”

  “Good for you. It sounds as if the only obstacles in our path are Jake and Francesca.”

  “Which is why it’s better to wait a bit before we talk about marriage.”

  He drew her back into his arms and settled her head against his shoulder. “You’re a smart woman, Julianne Harris. I can learn from you.”

  Francesca walked the last row of Chardonnay vines inspecting their dormant trunks. She loved this time of year when the sun was pale, the air chilled, and barren stalks stood in rhythmic rows of dark relief against butter-gold hills. Sage, mint, lavender, horses, dried grass and gravid earth, valley scents, were swept into fragrant flumes by a soft but persistent wind blowing in from the west. The sun draped the hills like a blanket of melted copper, and a pair of red-tailed hawks soared in perfect harmony over the horizon.

  She penciled in the last of her notes in the margin of the legal pad she carried with her and started back toward the house. Lisa, dressed in a flowing kimono with white hibiscus flowers splashed randomly across a red background, met her on the porch.

  “Can we talk alone for a minute, Francesca?”

  Francesca experienced a rush of pleasure. “Of course.”

  Lisa crossed her arms against her chest. “I’m leaving,” she said bluntly.

  Francesca felt light-headed. She sat down on the step. “When?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You haven’t been here very long.”

  “Long enough, I think.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Lisa sighed and sat down beside her daughter. “I don’t belong. That should be obvious to you. I’m useless here. I always was.”

  “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  Lisa shook her head! “It wouldn’t work.”

  “You could stay a little longer,” Francesca said stubbornly. “Nick doesn’t even know you.”

  “You don’t get it, do you?” Her laugh was brittle. “I’m not interested in all this.” She waved her arm to encompass the vineyard. “Nick will get along fine without me. He has you and Jake and Julianne.”

  “I’d like him to have you, too.”

  “No, thank you.” Lisa laughed shortly. “I’m not very good with children, not even my own.”

  “Don’t say that.” Francesca’s lip was trembling. She felt like a little girl again, a little girl whose mother didn’t want her.

  “It’s true, darling. There’s no point in crying. I’m not the motherly type and I definitely am not ready to be a grandmother.”

  “Whether you’re ready or not doesn’t matter. You are a grandmother. I want you to stay.”

  Lisa stood. “I can’t. A friend is coming for me tomorrow.”

  “A friend?”

  “Someone I’ve known over the years. He’s in between things right now. We’re going to see if it works out.”

  “Congratulations,” Francesca said woodenly.

  “Don’t look like that, sweetie,” her mother coaxed. “Be happy for me.”

  Francesca lifted her chin. “This time you don’t get it. I’ve waited my whole life for you to come back.” Her voice choked. “And now you’re leaving again. Doesn’t any of it matter to you? How can a mother disappear for a lifetime?”

  “It is odd, isn’t it?” said Lisa, as if they were discussing the outcome of a recipe that didn’t turn out the way it was supposed to in the picture. “I’m sorry.”

  Francesca stared straight ahead. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I really am. I’m sorry I’m not the person you would like me to be. I’m sorry I wasn’t the wife Frank wanted or the mother you and Chris deserved. Especially you, Francesca. You’ve turned out remarkably well, considering your parents. It’s probably due to Julianne.”

  “Why do you hate Julianne?”

  “I don’t hate anyone. It’s the other way around. Julianne hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’d rather not say. She wouldn’t appreciate it.”

  “She said to ask you.”

  Lisa’s mouth twisted and for the first time, Francesca did not think she was beautiful.

  “All right. Carl Harris and I were involved.”

  “How involved?”

  Lisa’s hands clenched. “We had an affair,” she said defiantly. “It lasted for quite some time. He was the reason I left.”

  Francesca shook her head. “I don’t understand.”


  “When Julianne found out, she was going to leave Santa Ynez. Frank suggested that I go instead.” She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug and looked away.

  Francesa sat for a minute, allowing the information to sink in. She waited for the rise of a recognizable emotion, compassion, pity, even contempt. There was nothing except a small, secret kernel of gratitude for her father’s wisdom.

  She stood and dusted off the seat of her pants. “Good luck, Mother. I hope everything works out for you. Don’t be such a stranger. Stop in and visit now and then. There might be a time when flesh and blood is more important to you.”

  “Ouch.” Lisa grimaced. “My goodness. You can scratch.”

  “I can bite, too, but I’d rather not. You’re my mother.”

  “I’m not a very good one,” Lisa confessed. “I wish I was different.”

  “I do, too.” Francesca sighed. “But I guess we’ll have to make the best of it. Do you want me to see you off tomorrow?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I know you have to be up early.”

  Francesca nodded. “Send me an address when you’re settled.”

  “Of course, darling.”

  Thirty-One

  Francesca sat in the idling Jeep in front of Ralph’s supermarket and pressed the phone-book button on her cell phone, scrolling through the numbers. Where could Jake be? She’d tried the winery, the office, the private line at home and his cell phone, only to hear her own recorded voice and then his, telling her to leave her name and number. She didn’t bother. Francesca wanted a real person, someone to answer back, to respond, to tell her why her long-lost mother found it too boring and inconvenient to stay long enough to establish a relationship with her daughter and grandson.

  Julianne would listen. She always listened. But this wasn’t the time to involve her mother-in-law. She had her own reasons for wanting Lisa DeAngelo out of the way. Francesca pulled out of the parking lot and drove down the highway toward home. At the intersection of Refugio and Edison, she waited for the light. Glancing into the rearview mirror she spotted Jake’s car parked in front of the Red Lyon Inn. Quickly, she turned right, drove around the block and pulled into the hotel parking lot.