Will rebounded the shot, refusing to be envious of Slade’s skill. “If it bothers you that much, you can sleep on the top bunk at my house. My dad wants to keep the bunk bed for his grandchildren.” Not that he had any grandchildren on the horizon.
“I’ll survive.”
And that was the problem with Slade. He was all about survival. It would have creeped Will out to sleep down the hall from the room where his father committed suicide. Not that he would have chosen the bunk bed, either. A man had to have some pride. Will dribbled toward the basket, intending to try for another layup.
Slade intercepted him, blocking his path, forcing Will to transition to a pull-up jump shot that Slade easily swatted away.
“Denied!” Slade ran down the ball. “If you would’ve spent more time when you lived here shooting hoops than on your computer—”
“We wouldn’t be rich.”
“I hate it when you’re right.” Slade put up another fifteen footer, which would have swished if the hoop had a net.
Will bit back a curse. He’d always been the last kid picked on a team—he loved sports, but he sucked at them. He let the ball bounce to the grass on the side of the driveway. “Come on. We need to meet up with Flynn at El Rosal. Wouldn’t want to miss drinks with Mayor Larry.”
When they reached the town square, Flynn paced beneath the oak tree, settling and resettling his Giants cap on his head.
“I don’t know how your visits went, but I was accused of being a little upstart, a disgrace to Harmony Valley and an unprincipled child.” Flynn ticked off his negative attributes on his fingers. “I feel like I should be twisting my villainous mustache.”
Slade patted Flynn on the back. “I’m no better than Donald Trump.”
“I don’t respect the free will of others and I can’t see the heart in this town,” Will added. “People think I’m a control freak.”
“Sorry, dude.” Slade couldn’t quite contain a grin. “That last one I can’t argue with.”
“Me, either.” Flynn’s grin didn’t sting like Emma’s had. “But let me tell you. When I’m old, I’m coming up with more colorful put-downs.” He opened the door to El Rosal. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Grandpa Ed talked a television reporter into coming by this week to interview you.” Flynn pointed at Will.
“Me? Why not you or Slade?”
“He said you’re the most photogenic. Pretty boy.” Flynn grinned.
They entered El Rosal. The small Mexican restaurant was the only sit-down option in town, the only takeout option in town and the only bar in town. The chairs and tables were painted bright primary colors. Mexican pop poured out of the speakers, while baseball played on a television screen over the bar. About fifteen residents had come in for dinner, a drink or company.
Larry sat at the corner of the bar, where he could see and talk to anyone in the restaurant—the tie-dye king lording over his subjects. In his sixties, Larry was among the younger residents of Harmony Valley, tall with a lanky body kept toned by his vegetarianism and love of yoga. But the lack of body fat gave away every emotion in his bony face.
Flynn paused on the threshold. “Ten bucks says Mayor Larry started a tab for us.”
Slade ran a hand through his hair. “You’re beginning to sound like me.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Will said.
Mayor Larry was well-off, having married into wealth the second time around. He could afford to pay for a round of drinks.
Larry caught sight of them and waved. “Well, hullo, boys! Juan, get these boys a beer.” The mayor slapped Flynn on the back when he took the stool next to him. “I started a tab for you. Hope you don’t mind.”
Flynn held out his hand toward Will.
Who dug in his wallet for a ten.
Will’s dad sat at a table in the corner alone. His faded blue-flannel shirt made his thin blond hair look nearly gray. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he called to Will.
“Can it wait? We have a meeting.”
“It can’t wait. Sit.” Ben pulled out the royal blue chair next to him. He was nursing a bottle of beer and working his way through a basket of tortilla chips. “I saw you with Emma today. It looked like you were arguing.”
It could have been worse. He could have been caught kissing Emma. If that were the case, he imagined his father would be prepping an entirely different conversation.
“For Tracy’s sake, you’ve got to work things out with Emma.” His dad tapped the table with a forefinger. “Accidents happen, usually because of a combination of coincidence and bad luck, topped with a dose of poor judgment. The important thing to remember is that the crash was an accident. If you don’t move on from it, it can control your life.”
“Do you know how hard it is to stay strong for Tracy? Blaming Emma...” Will looked away, toward the ball game. “Blaming Emma gives me strength.” What would happen to that strength if he forgave Emma? If he kissed her? If he—
“Your sister is home now. She’s doing well. Let this thing with Emma go.”
How could he forgive Emma? “Did you forgive Harmony Valley Grain after Mom’s death? Would you have been able to sell them your corn if they hadn’t closed down?”
“Thankfully, I didn’t have to make that decision,” Ben said, staring out the window toward the old grain silo. “Forgiveness takes more energy than anger ever could. Someday the anger’s going to go away and you’ll be left with nothing. And then you’ll be wondering where the time went. I hope you realize that before it’s too late.” And then he stood up and left.
Will sat very still. The clank of dishes, the jumbled chorus of voices, the roar of the televised crowd at the baseball game after a hit all closed in around him, shrouding him in an uneasy bitterness he didn’t want to let go of.
Will felt small and petty, like a boy holding on to a grudge for a school-yard slight. Causing his sister injuries that could last a lifetime wasn’t inconsequential. Emma was to blame. She’d admitted it.
Why did he have to forgive her?
How could he ever forgive her?
* * *
EMMA WAS STILL doodling in the coloring book when Agnes’s faded green Buick pulled into the drive.
The three councilwomen got out of the car with the slow deliberation of the elderly. Emma could remember a time when they had practically danced out of the vehicle and up the stairs, ribbing each other good-naturedly and singing snatches of show tunes.
“How was the botanical garden?” Emma hurried down to help Mildred.
Granny Rose popped her head up from the backseat. “We saw the most beautiful Rhododendron occidentale. It was pink with darker pink striations that you would have loved. So delicate. So vibrant. I wish you’d stretch yourself and paint flowers.”
At this point, Emma would be happy to complete a paint-by-number project.
“Took us forever to see everything. What’s that old saying?” Mildred’s usual round, warm smile was noticeably absent. She looked worn-out as she hefted her briefcase-size purse onto her shoulder. “You’re only as fast as your slowest team member? I’m always holding up the show.”
“You’re not.” Agnes, who stood five feet tall on a good day, wrestled Mildred’s candy-apple-red walker out of the trunk, snapped it out and wheeled it over to her friend.
“We brought home a bucket of chicken, mashed potatoes and biscuits. None of us felt like cooking.” Granny Rose walked by, arms full of food containers. “I had the most marvelous nap in the car. I never nap, but I do feel gloriously refreshed.” She paused at the front door, taking in the porch swing and the coloring book on the cushion. She turned to Emma with a look that questioned.
Emma shrugged, too self-conscious and unsure of what her crayon doodles of her grandmother’s face meant to say anything.
Granny Rose grinned and w
ent inside.
“I miss driving,” Mildred said. “Sometimes I feel like I should ride in the trunk with my walker.”
“You’re not baggage,” Agnes scolded, and then for Emma’s benefit added, “She’s been feeling sorry for herself since her daughter and grandkids moved down to Healdsburg. She can’t drive anymore and they can’t come see her every weekend.”
“I can too drive.” Mildred lumbered over to the steps. She set the walker aside and gripped the handrail.
“You can’t see the road. For the safety of others, you’ve chosen not to drive.” Agnes gestured for Emma to carry the walker up while she climbed behind Mildred, her hand at her back to steady her if needed.
“Well, I can choose to drive again, can’t I? I still have my license.”
“It expires in three months. That’s one less thing you need to tote around in that luggage-size purse of yours. You’ve got everything but the kitchen sink in there.”
“I like to be prepared,” Mildred grumbled.
“Oh, you are. I went searching in her bag for breath mints today,” Agnes told Emma. “Do you know what I found?”
Emma shook her head.
Mildred stopped climbing. “Not this again.”
“A wrench!” Agnes crowed.
Mildred’s round cheeks brightened with color. “You never know when you’ll need to tighten a loose bolt.”
“That’s for sure.” Agnes winked at Emma.
Once they’d helped Mildred up the steps, she wheeled herself into the dining room with all the agility of the race-car driver she’d once been.
Emma went to the kitchen to help Granny Rose, sparing a moment between gathering napkins and utensils to look out the back window. She stopped digging in the silverware drawer for forks. “Granny, did you bring in the canvas I was working on?” She’d die of embarrassment if she had.
“No, dear. I thought it was odd that you’d left your easel and paints out there. But sometimes you get distracted and scatter your things around.”
“I’m not thirteen. And a twenty-by-twenty-four-inch canvas is missing. It’s too heavy to have been blown away in the wind.”
“You can look for it after dinner. Come sit down.”
“Yes, let’s eat.” Mildred had taken a seat at the table. “I’ve got bingo tonight with Will. He’s been driving me ever since he came back to town. Poor boy has no luck.”
“Really?” Canvas forgotten, Emma set the table with knives, forks and napkins. “Do you think he’ll bring Tracy?”
“I don’t know,” Mildred said. “Do you want me to call and ask?”
“No, thanks.” Emma tried to keep the excitement out of her voice. “I’ll call later.”
Granny Rose met Emma’s questioning glance with a nod of agreement. It looked like they were going to play bingo tonight.
After they’d all dished out plates and started to eat, Emma asked, “When was Harmony Valley’s economy based on marijuana?”
The grandfather clock ticked several long seconds in the silence.
The elderly trio passed around indecipherable glances that had Emma’s heart sinking. They put their chicken back on their plates and meticulously wiped their fingers.
“Emma,” Agnes began, ever the group’s spokesperson. “It’s not what you think.”
“How do you know what I think?”
“Because we can see the condemnation in your eyes,” Granny Rose said gently.
“I’ll reserve judgment if you tell me the truth.” Uncertainty fluttered restlessly in her stomach. How would Emma know if they told her the truth? She only knew what she wanted to hear—that Will was wrong.
“It happened in 1970,” Mildred said softly. “Long before you were born.”
“We were protesting the war.” Agnes took up the story. “People of all ages came from various states to join the student protests in San Francisco. When it was over, a lot of people didn’t have the means to return home.”
“And a couple were on the lam,” Mildred cut in.
Rose and Agnes shushed her.
Agnes cleared her throat. “Civil disobedience is a trivial charge. Anyway, we brought some people home with us. After all, Harmony Valley has always been a place that gives shelter to the world-weary. And our weary camped out on Parish Hill.”
The fluttering in Emma’s stomach eased. Their story sounded plausible. “Larry was with them?” Mayor Larry was the town’s most ardent love child.
“Yes. The town loved Larry and his friends. They brought a young, refreshing culture.” Granny Rose’s face glowed with pride, as if she was responsible for expanding the valley’s cultural base. “Larry and Delilah knit sweaters and tie-dyed T-shirts. Others sang and played music in the town square.”
“They baked the most delicious brownies,” Mildred added sweetly.
Agnes and Rose exchanged glances.
If Emma hadn’t been horrified, she might have laughed.
“How were we to know a few of them were growing marijuana up there?” Granny Rose poked her mashed potatoes with her fork. “They didn’t cause any trouble. I don’t think anyone here would have found out about their side business except someone—who is no longer a resident here—tried to sell several pounds of their crop to an undercover policeman in Santa Rosa.”
“But what about Larry? How did he get elected if he broke the law?”
Agnes spun her wineglass slowly on the table. “Larry denied any involvement and we believed him. After all, he and Delilah were busy making a lot of sweaters.”
“But—”
“Emma, it was the seventies,” Granny Rose argued gently. “And you know what Larry’s like. He’s so interested in inner peace he can’t remember to water his lawn. How could he grow anything?”
Will had implied something entirely different than the story her grandmother and friends recounted. Emma sighed, grateful he’d had it wrong. “So you three weren’t growing marijuana? Or smoking doobies?”
Indignant protests erupted like the fits and starts of Yellowstone’s Old Faithful.
When the trio was done claiming they’d never so much as inhaled, Emma sank back into her chair. “And it was only that one year?”
They all fervently assured her that it had been.
“Who told you this? It’s not a part of our history we’re proud of.” Granny Rose leaned forward, a frown wrinkling her delicate brow. “I don’t need to ask. It was Will, wasn’t it?”
Mildred and Agnes exchanged glances that indicated this wasn’t the first time today Rose had spoken Will’s name in the same way she’d curse invading gophers in her vegetable garden.
“Is that who you want to put your faith in?” Granny Rose demanded of her friends. “A man who’s willing to besmirch our town’s good name? A man who would imply to my granddaughter that we grew cannabis?”
“But what about the good things Will and his friends want to do?” Mildred put forth timidly. “They want to reopen the medical clinic and the volunteer fire station.”
“That man has filled everyone’s head with nonsense.” Granny picked up a chicken leg and shook it at them collectively. “Do you know how many small towns in America thrive even though they’re located more than twenty minutes from the nearest emergency services?”
Emma took in the two other women’s blank faces and answered for them all. “No.”
“Me, either. But it’s a lot, trust me. I’m sure there are towns in a similar situation as Harmony Valley.” Rose moved the chicken leg closer as if readying to take a bite, and then lowered it again. “It’s a choice we make. If you choose a home off the beaten path, you won’t have all the services you would in the city.”
Agnes frowned, her petite features moving uncharacteristically downward. “We’re getting to an age, Rose, w
here we need those services.”
Granny Rose shook her head. “We’re getting to an age, Agnes, when we’ll die. I’d rather turn up my toes here at home. But if you prefer, follow your daughter to the city.”
“If this winery initiative doesn’t pass, I will,” Agnes retorted.
Emma wanted to side with her grandmother, but for the good of the residents she held dear, it was increasingly clear that elements of Will’s proposal made sense.
Which was a shame, since nothing else she felt about him did.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I FEEL LUCKY,” Mildred said to Will and Tracy as she wheeled her walker into the church’s multipurpose room in Cloverdale. Mildred scoped out a table and settled her short, plump frame into a folding chair, releasing her walker to one side. “Let’s boogie.”
“Let’s boogie,” Tracy repeated. Then she laughed.
The smile on Will’s face probably looked goofy. He didn’t care. He couldn’t believe the change in Tracy after only two days in Harmony Valley. She’d chattered with Mildred the entire ride. Her smile hadn’t faded since she’d climbed into his truck. Not once. She had to stay and work at the winery.
Sure, she wasn’t stringing together complex sentences, but her speech was smoother and she was laughing more. It was a gift. One Will wasn’t going to question after the day he’d had. The frustrations of getting the winery off the ground, Emma’s meddling, his father’s unsolicited advice—none of it mattered if Tracy’s condition improved. He needed to broach the topic of working for him again before Emma spoke to her.
Tracy helped Mildred scoot her chair closer to the table. “Next time. I’ll drive. To bingo.”
Will’s smile dimmed, but only a little. “When the doctor clears you.”
His comment earned him a scowl from Tracy.
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