The rest of the day was pretty much flawless—we ate the picnic, although I had forgotten a knife to cut the cheese and bread with, so we had to rip everything apart like cavemen. I almost started crying when I realized that I had forgotten such an important part of the meal, flashing back to Ethan—he would have scolded me and ruined the picnic—but William barely noticed. He smiled as he picked the cheese apart and said he liked eating with his hands and that it made the dog happier. After we gave Tannin little bits of cheese, we threw a squeaky ball for him. We held hands while he retrieved it. I took a mental picture of the scene. It was perfect. I cemented it by closing my eyes, burning the photo onto the inside of my eyelids.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “I just do this weird thing . . .”
“What is it?”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” he said.
“Okay, well, I take these mental pictures to remember good things. Beautiful things. And I want to remember this,” I said.
“That’s not weird,” he said. “It’s sweet.”
“I’ve never told anyone that I do it,” I said.
“Take one of me,” he said.
I looked into his eyes, at his spiky hair made spikier by the salty air. I closed my eyes. “It came out well,” I said. “Do you ever think you’ll come back here?” I asked as I reclined back against him, the dog snuggled up next to us. We were savoring the last moments of sunlight after an epic sunset.
“To Dillon Beach?”
“To Bellosguardo. To Sonoma.”
“I hadn’t thought so,” he said. “But with everything . . . I’m thinking maybe.”
“Really?” I asked. A well of hope sprung up within my chest and I almost sat up taller.
“It’s what my parents want. And when they get sick . . .”
“I know,” I said. “It changes things.”
“It made me think . . . the past few weeks have made me think that maybe it’s possible.”
“What is?” I asked.
“To do things differently. Not their way. To have joy in it.”
“They don’t have joy?”
“With them it’s always a struggle,” he said. “But look at what you’ve accomplished since you’ve been here and it’s only been a few weeks. Sometimes when you stay in the same place your whole life, you forget that change is possible. Even within that place. You reminded me that it is possible.” He kissed the top of my head. I took another mental picture of the moment. It was one I never wanted to forget.
* * *
—
We arrived back at Bellosguardo when it was already dark. We parked the car in front of the castle and ran inside holding hands. We were in the kitchen making sandwiches and kissing (maybe more kissing than making sandwiches) when I heard “Oh God.”
Linda had walked in. We separated—almost ran to opposite sides of the room, really. I couldn’t stop staring at her; my mouth must have been agape. She was pale, hair almost matted from lack of washing and brushing. She was wearing sweatpants and one of Everett’s T-shirts. She looked mildly insane, or like she had been living on the streets, not in a hospital room. She was crying.
“Mom,” William said.
“Honey,” she said. She swiped at her face as if the crying could be erased.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Dad came home this afternoon. He’s upstairs, in Grandma’s room. There are machines and a hospital bed and a nurse. I don’t know what to do.”
“You should go to sleep,” he said, putting his arms around her.
“I can’t sleep,” she said.
She looked around the room like she didn’t know what to say. What to do. I felt uncomfortable and I was sure she felt more so. I looked at William, tried to telegraph to him that I didn’t know what to do. He gave me a mournful look.
“You’re here for him and that’s what matters,” I said.
“You’re nice,” she said.
That made me start to cry, and I didn’t want William to see me crying. I nodded at him and backed toward the door. I left the kitchen via the door we’d used after our pasta primavera meal on the first night I had been at the castle. That had been a day of hope. I had thought today would be too. I had forgotten about the sadness that came with it, but I was finally starting to see that it’s possible to feel joy and sadness at the same time.
CHAPTER 17
I spent the night alone, but the next morning, I went back up to the castle. Mostly because I was hungry and I knew how much food was in their refrigerator versus mine, which had only wine and some quince jam. As much as I liked quince jam and English muffins, I liked eggs and bacon better. I was relieved to find the kitchen empty, so I set to the task of finding the coffee and the filters, toasting some bread, scrambling some eggs. I was sitting down in the pizza booth to eat when a nurse entered the room with Tannin trotting behind her.
“Good morning,” I said.
She smiled at me and opened the pantry. Tannin sat earnestly next to the door and she took out a big orange bag of dehydrated raw dog food—rabbit flavored—called Stella & Chewy’s. “Mr. Everett says two patties,” she said to me. “But is that enough?”
“I’m sure he knows,” I said. “He really loves the dog.”
“The dog loves him,” she said. “He is nice.”
“He is,” I said. “How’s he doing? Everett, I mean.”
“He is very hurt. Bruised from the fall and also many stitches. But the doctor thinks it will get better. We are doing exercises, bending legs, things like that. You should go visit him. He can talk; he just shouldn’t laugh.” She was short and couldn’t quite reach the plates in the cabinet, so I helped her. She wore pale pink scrubs and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her skin was olive and her eyes almond-shaped. There was a lilt to her accent that was very calming.
“Oh,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to bother him.”
“She is not being so helpful; she seems a little scared. He needs company.”
“She?”
“Mrs. Everett.”
I nodded. That wasn’t really surprising since she had been running away at the time of his accident. Not that anybody knew that.
“Okay,” I said. “Although he doesn’t really like me.”
“He needs some company. Come with me.” After feeding the dog, she had put a piece of toast on a tray with raspberry jam and butter on the side. She had put the butter in the microwave for seven seconds and it looked like it was just exactly the right consistency.
I put my dish in the dishwasher and followed her through the house. I hadn’t really been paying attention on the night I had spent there with William, but I did notice that when William and I got to the top of the stairs, we had walked right, and today, I walked left. I followed the nurse into the third door on the hallway and found myself in a huge sitting room with a large red brocade couch with matching chair, red oriental rugs, and heavy velvet drapes. There was a large television and a glass-fronted bookcase filled with leather-bound volumes.
The nurse, whose name I realized I hadn’t asked, had set up a little medical station on top of a low bookshelf. I saw bandages and tape and towels.
“He is through here,” she said, opening an inner door to a bedroom. I followed her in. The room was dark, the drapes pulled, but a bedside light was on. The room was dominated by a huge wooden four-poster bed surrounded by red velvet drapes. But a hospital bed had been set up next to it. “Mr. Everett, you have a visitor. It is . . .”
“Hannah,” I said, not sure if the nurse remembered me.
“Hannah,” he said.
“Your nurse found me downstairs making breakfast and said you could use some company. How are you feeling?” I approached his bed. It was dark, s
o it was hard to see, but his head was bandaged, I assume where he had fallen. His arm was in a sling and I could see the evidence of stitches peeking out from above his pajama top collar.
“Like shit,” he said, “to be completely honest. But what am I supposed to do? The doctor says I actually have to get up and walk around. Isn’t that insane? Does he know what kind of pain I’m in? From the fall alone. No less having my chest cracked open and my leg invaded for a vein.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Thanks for coming to talk to me.” He gestured weakly toward the chair next to him. Tannin had been trotting behind me the entire time. He jumped up on the chair before I had a chance to sit in it. “Lift that dog up here. Nurse Selma doesn’t like it, but he makes me feel better.”
I lifted Tannin up to Everett and the dog snuggled quietly beside him, like he knew not to make too much of a fuss, that it was time to be calm. I gave Everett a smile and patted the dog on the head.
“We’ve always had dogs,” he said. “They’re better companions than humans. Loyal. Loving. Do you see my wife around here? She’s the one who’s supposed to love me. But the dog, he’s faithful.”
“She does love you,” I said.
“She does,” he said. “In her way. But I know she’s miserable. I told her she should leave. But of course now she feels bad. And really, I do need her out there running things with me in here. Felipe can do the wine; he’s probably glad I’m laid up. He’s so much better at it than me. Probably you’re better at business than Linda. We should just let the kids take over.”
“But you know so much,” I said. “From all your years of experience. From growing up here. I’ve been dying to hear what your father was like.”
He took a deep breath, and it rattled a bit on the way out. “It was different back then. The wine was really a hobby more than anything. He sold fruit and vegetables locally. Learned about wine from some books and the neighbors. But it turned out he had a knack for it and the old vines that the count planted back in the 1800s just kind of grew without too much care. And by the time I was around ten years old, he was making more money from the wine than from the produce—selling it to a few local restaurants and the wine shop in town. He’d take it to county fairs, where it would win prizes. I used to go with him.” He stopped to cough. “It was fun, like our bonding time. And when I got a little older, he took me down in the cellar, showed me the press, the barrels; he gave me tastes of the wine in different stages of fermentation so I would know how it developed. I loved it because it was like science. But I really loved it because it was with my dad. William never really felt the same way, though . . .” He sighed. “Did you do things with your father?”
“He worked for a company called Advance, which was a trucking company. Mostly he drove the long-haul routes,” I said. “So, I didn’t see much of him. And then he passed away when I was eleven.”
“That’s hard,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“It was,” I said.
“You’ve come a long way.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“Or you escaped?”
“Right,” I said. “I kind of always felt the latter. My brother stayed.”
“He drives trucks?”
“No, he’s a school principal. He’s a good person.”
Everett coughed, winced, and relaxed back into his pillows. I wasn’t sure if that was a sign that I should leave or not.
“I should go,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re distracting me.”
I tried to think of something else to talk to him about. “Your house is really amazing,” I said.
“It’s too big,” he said. “We barely use it.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s a shame. William was telling me about his names for all the portraits downstairs.”
“Did he tell you about the one he called Ferret Head?” He laughed a little and then winced because laughing was painful.
“He did not,” I said. “But now you have to tell me which one that is.”
“It’s the one of the woman with the huge pile of hair on top of her head. He had seen something about ferrets on TV and immediately started pointing and yelling, ‘Ferret Head, Ferret Head.’ I didn’t know what he meant until he showed me the painting in the main hall. And then I just thought he was a comic genius.”
“He did have some funny observations about those paintings,” I said. “Hey, have you ever watched Downton Abbey?”
“I’ve heard of it,” he said. “Not really my thing.”
“I get it,” I said. “But your house just reminds me . . . There’s this documentary about the ‘real’ Downton Abbey, which is a castle called Highclere. And one of the things they did back in the day when the family wanted to keep the estate but was having some cash-flow problems was that they started renting out rooms in the mansion. And that eventually led to them filming Downton Abbey there. I’m not saying you should have a television show filmed in your house, but it’s so big and beautiful and historic, I bet people would love to stay here. Like a bed-and-breakfast. You could sell them wine for their rooms. Linda could cook.”
“Would we stay in our rooms?”
“You could, or you could live in the cottage. I know you both love it there.”
“Linda loves the cottage. I grew up in this house . . . But it’s not a bad idea . . .”
“You’d need a little bit of staff, but not so much. Someone to clean and change beds, but I bet that’s not too hard to find. And then someone to cook. Linda, or someone else. I have this woman named Annie who is catering the party . . . She seems nice . . .”
“It’s something to think about,” he said. “Let me talk about it with Linda.”
“Okay,” I said. “Wait. The party. What am I thinking?! We should cancel it. You should be there! We’ll move it until you’re well.”
“Oh,” he said. “Please don’t. You don’t need me at a party. To be honest, I wouldn’t have gone anyway. It’s for the winery. You don’t need me. Please. Have the party. Do it for me.” He kind of slumped back on his pillows.
“Have I exhausted you?”
“No,” he said as he slowly petted the dog. “I enjoyed talking to you. Will you come back tomorrow?”
“Sure,” I said.
I nodded at Selma and left the room. She smiled at me and mouthed the words “Thank you.”
CHAPTER 18
I left Everett’s room thinking about the inn idea. It wouldn’t be hard. The place was stunning. And it was huge—I couldn’t even tell how big. So, instead of going straight back to my cottage and then the office, I wandered the halls a bit, counting doors. I couldn’t tell how big the rooms were inside. I didn’t want to walk in on someone—Linda and William were both around somewhere—but I counted ten doors on the second floor. The room that I had been in with Everett had a kind of sitting room and bedroom, which made it a suite. I wondered how many of those there were. William had had one as well, now that I thought about it. His room had been redone in a more modern, male way. We’d have to spin that on the website. Or find out if the original brocade-covered furnishings were somewhere else in the house. At the end of the wing that housed William’s room, there was also a spiral staircase that went up. Assuming that Linda’s room was likely back near where Everett was staying, I figured this was an abandoned place. I followed the stairs up to two doors. I knocked quietly, listened, and opened the door on the right. What I found was a beautiful sunny room that overlooked the hills surrounding the vineyard. Rows and rows of vines, as well as the other hilltop chateaus, were visible. The room was decorated like a nursery: a small white crib, yellow decorations, framed drawings of vintage Winnie-the-Pooh and Beatrix Potter’s blue-jacketed Peter Rabbit. There was a window seat surrounded by books, all vintage books for children, from Goodnight Moon to Mary Poppins.
I settled myself on the window seat and opened Mary Poppins, remembering my favorite scene from childhood—the one where the babies are leaning against the window chattering with the birds and it is revealed that young children, before they can speak English, can communicate completely with animals.
I looked out the window and wondered about the room. Why would there be a baby nursery tucked away in the middle of this giant house? William was thirty years old and the room felt like it was a snapshot in time, but a well-cared-for one. There was no dust, and none of the furniture was covered in drop cloths like the entire downstairs. Someone maintained this room with loving care. I wondered why.
My mind wandered to the logistics of an inn. We’d put a little welcome table in the front hall, at the door that the family never used. So, we’d need a greeter, someone to check guests in, and someone to help them to their rooms. William could do that. I could be the greeter. We’d need someone to clean. It was a big house, so maybe two people. We’d offer afternoon wine and cheese in the big living room that had a piano. The one that was currently covered in white sheets. And there would be breakfast in the dining room. There would also be the option to eat outside at the picnic table. I couldn’t rely on Linda because I had a feeling that once Everett was better, she would leave again, so we would need a chef.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket because I needed to call Annie anyway. The party was in two days and I hadn’t properly checked in with her. She would need to start prepping in the morning.
“Annie?” I asked when she answered.
“Hannah,” she said, sounding dour. But she always sounded dour when I first called her.
“Are you excited for Friday?” I asked.
“Did you do the shopping yet?” she asked.
“I think Celeste is handling it.”
“Okay,” she said. “The menus are finished. I sent you both the list.”
“Sorry, things have been crazy. You’ll start prepping tomorrow?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said.
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