Right All Along

by Heather Heyford

  “Tell him anything you want. They can have their chalet. I’m looking for the best woman to raise my daughters. Period.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short. My mother always said, ‘It’s as easy to fall in love with a rich woman as a poor one.’”

  “You know as well as I do that I could sell everything and I’d never have to work again.”

  “But the idea isn’t to settle. The idea is to build on what we have.”

  “I’m open to your suggestions, but I’m the one who has to marry this person, not you.”

  Mother sighed. “I’ll take another look at the club membership roster to see what else I can come up with.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  In keeping with long tradition, when the crush was over, Alfred and Jack walked through the vineyards, examining the lot of grapes intentionally left unpicked.

  From the time Jack could walk, he’d tailed his dad everywhere on the estate, from the vineyards to the winery and the tasting rooms. When Dad died, Alfred became his natural, if unofficial, successor.

  “This all started the year your father went back during daylight and found an entire row of grapes that had been completely bypassed by the pickers. Anyone else would’ve wasted no time picking them. Instead, your dad decided to let them continue to ripen, to intensify the sugars and the flavors. That’s how Bella was born. And every year after that, Don held back a lot of his total bottling to experiment with. Everyone said he was a fool, wasting good juice. What he was, was an original thinker. A risk-taker, open to new ideas. To this day, Bella’s still our most famous bottling.”

  Alfred never tired of telling Jack that story.

  And Jack never got tired of hearing it.

  “You didn’t have to let me follow you around all those years after Dad died. I must’ve been a royal pain in the ass at times.”

  “No doubt about it.” Alfred chuckled, turning away, suddenly noticing a rotten grape that needed discarding.

  The ground sloped gradually upward until Alfred’s breathing became audible. At the top of the vineyard, Jack stopped and propped his hands on his waist, pretending it was he who was out of breath.

  “Should be a banner year,” Alfred panted. Above them sat the Victorian, dominating the skyline. Alfred squinted toward it. “That looks like our new neighbor.”

  Shielding his eyes from the sun, Jack followed Alfred’s line of vision to where a figure on a stepladder worked a long-handled tool back and forth. His heart beat faster. And it wasn’t from the climb.

  “Don’t know why she didn’t hire someone to paint the porch ceiling,” said Alfred. “No job for a woman. If she fell, could be days before she was found.”

  “Better not say that too loud.” Jack chuckled. “Haven’t you heard? A woman can do anything a man can do, and better.”

  “No one, man or woman, ought to be up on a ladder by himself.” Alfred started toward the house.

  “Where are you going?” Jack’s heart raced harder. Harley did something to his insides. Something he still didn’t know how to deal with.

  “Can’t just pretend we didn’t see her. That wouldn’t be very neighborly, now would it?”

  Jack hesitated as he watched Alfred stride through the high grass. But his feet seemed to have a mind of their own. They struck out after him.

  * * *

  Harley’s move out of her Seattle apartment was simple and straightforward. After she got rid of her secondhand furniture, most of what was left was clothing and art supplies and her precious fiddle-leaf fig that was the closest thing she had to a pet. She and her mom and dad had made it to Newberry in one trip with a U-Haul.

  When they got to the Victorian, all three of them unloaded the boxes into the rooms marked on them. Mom helped her put the sheets on her bed and hang her clothes in the closet, while Dad went through the house, opening and closing windows and jiggling pipes under the sinks.

  Over the next few days, Dad dug holes and put fence posts in, and she and Mom strung an electric wire along the top to keep the goats in and the coyotes out.

  “They’ll need something to climb on,” said Mom. “That’s what the pallets are for. We’ll set them sideways for the walls and lay some across the top and cover it with plywood. Your kids’ll be happy as clams in there.”

  But sometimes, as Harley continued to unpack, she found herself turning objects over in her hands, forgetting what she was going to do with them.

  Now, the pickers had moved on to other estates. The vineyards on Ribbon Ridge were quiet again, the leaves beginning to yellow and crisp as summer ebbed.

  Harley lowered her paint roller, wiped her brow on her arm, and squinted at the two figures coming up the hill. So far, the only people who had driven up Ribbon Ridge Road were its handful of residents, wineaux in search of a tasting, or lost tourists. The Victorian was a point of destination. Nobody simply showed up there.

  She saw the silhouette of a driver’s cap. That would have to be Alfred. And that was Jack’s unmistakable long stride.

  Hurriedly, she tucked in her shirt and brushed her hair back off her face.

  “Howdy,” she said when they got within speaking range. “Except for my parents, you’re my very first visitors.”

  Alfred peered up at the porch ceiling. “How’s it going up there?”

  “Last coat. The Grimskys took good care of the place. Not much needs doing except this ceiling and some minor touch-up work inside.”

  She looked down from her perch on the ladder, where Jack stood stiffly. She could almost feel the tension in his body, sense his hesitancy.

  “Do you guys want to come in?”

  “No—” Jack said.

  “Always wondered what the grand old lady looked like inside,” said Alfred, wasting no time mounting the porch steps.

  Jack paused, reluctant to follow him. Only when Harley started down the ladder did he come up and steady it as her feet descended the rungs. “I’ve been trick-or-treating up here with the girls, but only just inside the front door.”

  Alfred stomped on the porch a couple of times. “No sign of rot.”

  “You sound like my dad,” said Harley. “He’s a mechanic, and amazing at using his hands. There’s nothing he can’t fix.”

  “Alfred’s the same way,” said Jack.

  “Given you live so close to one another, it’s a wonder you two don’t know each other better.”

  “Does your dad like wine?” asked Alfred.

  “Not particularly.”

  “I never had a thing for motorcycles either.”

  “And probably while you’re up here, Dad’s at his shop.”

  Inside was a mountain of still-unpacked moving boxes and cleaning supplies and packages containing the new guest towels and sheets she’d ordered.

  Jack eyeballed the sideboard. “They leave this?”

  She nodded. “They left quite a few nice pieces. There are just a few holes that I need to fill in.”

  Alfred promptly disappeared to investigate, leaving her alone with Jack, standing awkwardly in the center of the foyer with his hands in his pockets.

  “So, you say you’ve never been in here?”

  He shook his head. “We ran into the Grimskys at the club and downtown from time to time, but it’s like Alfred said. They pretty much kept to themselves.”

  “Follow me,” she said.

  She showed him the living room, the parlor, the kitchen and the dining room.

  When they circled back to the foyer, he said, “Wonder where Alfred got to.”

  “He has to show up eventually.”

  Jack peered up the staircase.

  It was natural that he would want to go up there. But what about the nursery? It had never occurred to her that Jack would ever set foot in her house. She didn’t relish the thought of standing in that empty nursery with him.

  Jack put a foot on the first step. “Okay if I—?”

  She could hardly tell him no. She squeezed past him in the stairwell and
jogged up the steps. Flying into the master bedroom ahead of him, she yanked up the covers over the pillows. When she turned around, she found him standing in the doorway, staring at the pile of disheveled sheets and blankets that looked like she had just crawled out from under. She felt exposed, as if he could see her plain as day, naked in that bed, arms and legs askew, her hair in a tangle.

  “Here’re the other rooms,” she said, slipping by him again and leading him back into the hallway.

  She gave him a quick tour of the other bedrooms, carefully avoiding the nursery. Finally they came to her studio.

  “So. This is what you do,” said Jack, gaze traveling over her desk littered with notes, sketches, and watercolors in various stages of completion. There were also a half-dozen mismatched mugs containing pens, drawing pencils and paintbrushes.

  She spread her hands. “This is where the magic happens.”

  He picked up one of her most recent drawings. “You’ve gotten better.”

  She huffed a little laugh. “I hope so.”

  “No. I mean, these are really good.” Her drawing still in his hand, he turned to her.

  She felt her cheeks warm with pride at his compliment. “The best ones are hanging on the corkboard.”

  On his way to the wall to look at them, he stooped to pick up one of the many government forms for operating a business that had fallen onto the floor.

  “Just lay that on the pile. Turns out, opening a B and B is a tad more complicated than I thought. Seems like every day I get another licensing regulation or insurance form or whatever. You practically have to have a law degree to fill them out.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Of course Jack would know. He had a business, too.

  She’d shown him every bedroom except the nursery. She should have thought ahead and shut the door. She could have passed it off as a closet. “Well. Should we find Alfred?” She headed back toward the top of the stairs.

  But Jack had stopped outside the nursery and was craning his neck around the doorframe. “What’s this?” He questioned her with his eyes. “I thought the Grimskys didn’t have any kids.”

  She drifted over to him, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “They had always hoped to. It just didn’t happen for them.”

  “Seems like it’d be more practical to turn this into another guest room.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “I wonder where Alfred got to?” she repeated. Much to her relief, she heard the sound of boots on the floor below.

  “Up here,” she called.

  Alfred ascended the steps and stood on the landing, squinting up at the ceilings. “You were right about the place being well-maintained. No flaky plaster or water stains.” Thankfully, he was more interested in the house’s bones than its trimmings. He gave the bedrooms a cursory glance without mentioning a thing about the crib and pale blue walls in the one bedroom.

  “How’s the basement?” Alfred asked Harley, as the three trooped back downstairs. “Any strange puddles? Clogged drains?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Harley.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll just run down and have a look.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Again, Harley and Jack were left alone, this time in the kitchen. Jack strolled to the window, held back the curtain, and peered out at the view.

  “Jeez,” chuckled Harley, to fill the awkwardness. “You would think Alfred was buying the house himself.”

  “That’s Alfred for you,” said Jack. He dropped the curtain and turned to her. “I can’t believe we’re both back here on the ridge. Remember when we used to play pirates in the hedgerow?”

  She smiled. “How could I forget?”

  “Remember ninth grade? My first day at public school. I didn’t know where to go for history, so you walked me there. As soon as I walked in, the bell rang. In helping me, you made yourself late.”

  “No big deal. It was English, and I was pulling an A. How about all those times, after school?” At first, Jack stayed after with student council, while she hung out in the art room. But as they grew closer, Jack often skipped his club and they went riding around on the back roads in his truck, windows down, music cranked up.

  He pictured Harley in the passenger seat, his ball cap turned around on her head, pink toes on the dash, bopping to the Backstreet Boys. Sometimes he parked, and Harley surprised him by entwining her arms around his neck and kissing him like it was as natural as the sun coming up in the morning. As that rainy winter revolved into spring, their curiosity turned to desire and then a pulsing need. They grew ever more brazen. Especially Harley. But his father’s death and later, the float wreck was proof of his mother’s constant warnings that disaster lurked around every corner. At the last second, Jack always slammed on the brakes.

  He ventured a step in her direction. “There’s something I want you to know.”

  She watched him suspiciously, standing with her back against the sink as he closed in on her.

  “Don’t think I don’t have regrets. I had to go to work, learn how to be a dad while I was growing up myself. I was a faithful husband to Emily. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about us a million times, and wonder how it could have been.”

  “We all make choices. Then we have to live with them.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, lost hopes and dreams swirling thickly between them.

  “What I’m trying to say is, don’t think I don’t think about where we’d be if I’d never . . . if you’d never . . .” Jack continued toward her cautiously, as if she might spook any moment and take off again in a blaze of taillights. His eyes burned into her, his chest rising and falling.

  She swallowed.

  Jack could see her pulse throbbing in the small hollow at the base of her throat. Inch by inch, the space between them dissolved until he could feel the warm aura surrounding her body.

  Their heads moved closer . . . closer, until they were breathing the same air, the space between their lips too small to measure. His hand rose toward the lock of hair curling around her shoulder.

  “Ahem. Tight as a drum.”

  At the sound of Alfred’s voice, Harley whirled around as Jack’s hand fell to his side.

  “Oh,” said Harley. “What is?”

  “Hot-water heater.” He looked at Jack. “You about ready?”

  With a nod, Jack followed Alfred to the foyer, Harley bringing up the rear.

  Out on the porch, Jack took a last look at the house and said, “It’s a lot for one person to take on, but once word gets out, you’re going to be beating them off with a stick.”

  She grinned. “Especially when they find out I’m offering goat yoga.”

  “Is that what that new pen’s for by the little barn?” asked Alfred.

  She nodded.

  “You going to be okay finishing your painting?” asked Jack.

  “Like I said, this is the second coat. It’s all but done.”

  They had seen all there was to see. It made sense for them to leave. But Jack wasn’t budging. His feet seemed glued to the floor of the porch.

  Alfred descended the steps first. “See you around, neighbor,” he with a wave. “Need anything, holler.”

  Jack seemed to come to his senses. He followed behind Alfred.

  She watched them trudge down the steep hill, growing shorter and shorter until they disappeared altogether, then went back to her painting.

  So. Jack had regrets, did he?

  But if his regrets were that deep, it was interesting that Alfred had been the one to offer help should she need it, and not he.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Harley donned her waitress uniform and studied her reflection in the mirror with a feeling of déjà vu. The year her dishes took off, she’d thought her waitressing days were over. But with her first mortgage payment soon coming due, she’d wasted no time in applying for her old server’s job at the country club. Her previous manager was long gone, but one of the older
career waiters had vouched for her. The crush was the start of the busy time of year for eating out, followed closely by the holidays. The club needed experienced help, and they hired her on the spot.

  * * *

  An hour later, she was hefting a tray full of salads out from the kitchen when behind her, the hostess escorted a customer into the dining room.

  She set down her tray and glanced discreetly out of the corner of her eye and a feeling of dread washed over her. She’d known when she took the job that there was a chance of running into Jack’s mother, but it couldn’t be helped. The club was only a couple of miles from the Victorian, the pay was decent compared with other restaurants, and they had taken her back instantly.

  Yet of all the tables in all the dining rooms of the club, why did Melinda have to be at one of Harley’s? And why today, of all days, her first day back?

  Harley served the salads, dressing on the side, to the foursome in lime and pink golf togs who had just come in off the course. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and turned to wait on her former nemesis.

  The sight of Melinda’s stiff blond helmet of hair brought back another time when she had waited on Jack’s family, soon after Dad caught her and Jack kissing. In fact, Melinda had gotten her the job here, ostensibly as a favor. But Harley knew the real reason was to keep her busy and away from Jack.

  It was Harley’s very first job. Melinda knew it, and yet she kept her hopping. Her drink was made wrong. Her order was mixed up. Everything she could find to complain about, she did.

  When Jack spoke to her like the old friends they were, his mother told him in Harley’s hearing that it was bad form for members to get too familiar with the wait staff.

  Seeing Harley stutter and flush, Jack later excused himself to use the men’s room and caught her arm in the hallway. He whispered to her that he’d pick her up at midnight, after her shift. Then they’d gone parking up along Ribbon Ridge.

  Meanwhile, Melinda complained to the manager about Harley’s mistakes, resulting in a reprimand the next time she worked.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Friestatt. May I get you something to drink?”