She’d seen the alert last month, had followed the instructions but had never gotten her period. That happened from time to time, when she was stressed. But she’d never gone two months in a row without her period. And the alert had first appeared three days ago. She was three days late.
No. She was one month and three days late, a fact that wouldn’t have concerned her if she and Rhys hadn’t had sex about six weeks ago. Unprotected sex.
She closed her eyes and told herself it wasn’t possible. It was just one time. No one got pregnant after just one time, did they?
She covered her face with her hands and told herself to breathe. There had to be another explanation. There was no way she was pregnant. She couldn’t be. She was in the process of getting a divorce. She’d just signed a partnership agreement with Bruno, and they were buying a winery. Having a baby right now would be a big, fat mess.
She wasn’t pregnant, she told herself. She was stressed. Her hormones were out of whack. Plus, she was thirty-eight. Maybe it was early menopause.
Unable to continue to worry without actually knowing, she left the office. At least Bruno was out of town for a couple of days. She didn’t have to face him while she sweated this unexpected crisis.
She drove to the Walmart and bought three different pregnancy kits, using the self-checkout so she didn’t have to talk to anyone. The whole way back to the office, she told herself she was fine. She wasn’t pregnant—she wasn’t. It was impossible.
Three bottles of water and a bunch of peeing later, the truth stared up at her. The information, while delivered in different forms, depending on the kit, was very clear. She was going to have a baby.
Mackenzie sat in her chair and tried to decide what to do now. Obviously she had to call her doctor and make an appointment, but that was the easy part. What about telling Rhys? And Bruno? What about the fact that being pregnant changed everything in her life?
A baby. She had no idea how she felt about that. The concept didn’t make any sense. Children? Now? When they’d first been married, she and Rhys had assumed they were going to have children, but somehow it had never happened. Neither of them had pushed for it and eventually she’d decided she was okay with that. She had her nieces and nephews and they were enough. Plus, she had her work and she’d always secretly thought kids would take away from that.
Now it was even worse. A child would tie her to Rhys forever. A child meant they would be in each other’s lives, despite the divorce. Worse, she didn’t know how he was going to react to the news. While he’d been easy to deal with on the divorce front, he’d made it obvious he was ready to be done with her. A kid would get in the way of that. A kid would—
“Shit. Barbara’s going to be my kid’s grandmother.”
She leaned back in her chair, not sure if she should laugh, cry or simply crawl under the desk and wish it all away. She was pregnant with her almost ex-husband’s baby. She had to tell him and her new business partner, then she was going to have to decide how much this changed anything. Could she start a new business and be pregnant? What about after the baby was born? What about—
Mackenzie rose to her feet. “This is Barbara’s grandchild,” she said aloud. “It’s a blood relation.” She let the irony of the moment wash over her. “He or she is going to inherit a part of Bel Après.”
And then she started to laugh.
* * *
“I don’t know,” Barbara said, with a sigh. “A DJ seems so tacky.”
“We can have a live band,” Stephanie murmured, trying to hang on to her patience as they entered hour two of wedding planning that afternoon. “It’s up to you. However, they take up a lot more floor space and you don’t have as much control over what they play or how they sound. It’s your call, Mom.”
Stephanie hadn’t been sure her mother would want her to handle the event after their most recent encounter, but Barbara had sent her an email suggesting a date and time for them to “move things forward” regarding the wedding, so here she was, sitting in her mother’s dining room, notebook in hand.
They’d agreed on the Saturday before Christmas as the date for the event and her mother had decided on the tasting room as the venue.
“Can I hear the bands play? Live?” Barbara asked.
“Live is more of a problem. We’ll have to find out where they’re going to be, then get permission to attend the event. It’s going to take time. I know it seems like we have weeks and weeks, but bands book up early and the holidays are a popular party time.”
Her mother glared at her. “Are you being deliberately difficult?”
“How am I being difficult? I’m doing my best to make sure you get exactly what you want. We can arrange to go listen to two or three bands if that’s important to you, but I’m simply letting you know that by the time you decide, they will probably be booked, if they’re not already.”
“Surely they could change their plans.”
“You mean blow off their other client for you?”
Barbara frowned. “That’s very crude.”
“But accurate.”
They stared at each other. Barbara surprised her by looking away first.
“Fine. Get me the website links for samples and I’ll make a decision in the next few days.” She tapped the menus Stephanie had suggested. “These are awful. How would you even serve soup three ways? It’s ridiculous.”
Stephanie drew in a deep, slow breath, telling herself that she was proud of her menu suggestions, and if her mother didn’t like them, she was a big old doo-doo head.
“The caterer uses small mugs that hold about four ounces each. Obviously they’re not filled to the top, so each serving is between two and three ounces. The presentation is elegant, and the trio makes guests think they’re being treated to something special without it being expensive.”
Her mother pressed her lips together. “Well, I suppose that isn’t a terrible idea.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Her mother’s head snapped up. “Is that sarcasm? Don’t try to sell me on one of your harebrained ideas. Just stick to what’s traditional and we’ll be fine.”
“Harebrained ideas? What are you talking about?”
Her mother waved her hand. “You’re forever coming up with ridiculous plans for the retail space. The café is a classic example. Why would we bother? Just do your job and don’t try to be special.”
Stephanie put down her pad of paper and stared at her mother. “Is that really how you see me?” she asked quietly. “When I took over the retail space, sales were stagnant. Now they’re up over twenty percent every year.”
“Of course they are. The wines are selling better and better. People come to taste them and buy whatever is in there.” Her mother raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t think you were making it happen, did you?” She smiled. “Oh, Stephanie. Really? It’s not you. It has nothing to do with you.”
The sentiment shouldn’t have been a surprise or an emotional slap and yet it was both those things.
Barbara sighed heavily. “So now what? You’re going to pout? I don’t understand why you don’t comprehend what’s important. We are a winery. Everything else is simply there to support that. Why can’t you learn that?”
“Just the wine, not the people?”
Her mother stared, her irritation obvious. “Oh, please, can we get emotional, because you know how I love that. Fine. Make me the bad guy in all this. After your divorce, was I too supportive? Poor you. Your evil mother had a house built for you and created a job for you. How do you stand the pain?” She patted the stack of magazines on the dining room table. “If you’re done being ridiculous, can we please talk about the flowers?”
Stephanie felt as if she were observing herself from a distance. Her body was in the room, but the rest of her wasn’t. She could see herself sitting there, hurt and sadness visible in her eyes.
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She looked small, she thought in surprise. She looked small and weak and a little bit like a person who had never been brave. Perhaps because she hadn’t been. Not once.
She’d left her husband, but instead of going out on her own, she’d run back to her mother, where, yes, a house had been built and a job arranged. Ten years later, she hadn’t done anything to improve her skills, and her efforts to find a different job had been lackluster at best.
She complained plenty but did nothing. What kind of example was that for her children, and what did it say about how she respected—or didn’t respect—herself?
“You’re right, Mom,” she said, looking at her mother. “It’s not about me at all, is it? The work I do doesn’t matter. The retail is just there to make the wine customers happy. The wine is what’s important. You don’t need me.”
“Darling, I don’t need any of my children. Don’t take it personally.”
If Stephanie had to guess, she would assume that her mother meant the words kindly. At least in her own way of being kind, which wasn’t anyone else’s definition of it.
She began collecting her notes. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry. We’ll have to reschedule.”
“No, we won’t. I want to get through this today. Don’t you dare leave.”
“Or what? I’m thirty-eight years old, Mom. What are you going to do? Tell me I can’t go to a party?”
“Don’t push me. I have too much going on right now to deal with one of your tantrums. Sit down and plan the damn wedding.”
Stephanie could see the crossroads in front of her. She could stay where she’d been for too long, working a job she didn’t like, feeling trapped and helpless. Or she could get off her butt and demand a little something of herself. She could, just this once, be brave.
“I quit.”
She hadn’t meant to say the words, but as soon as she did, she felt stronger, happier and empowered. Also frightened, but somehow that was okay.
“I quit,” she repeated.
Her mother stared at her. “What are you talking about? You can’t quit.”
“I can. I just did.” She picked up her papers and schedule. “Mom, if you want me to plan the wedding, I’m happy to help. Just not today. As for working for Bel Après, I’m done. It’s only the retail section that doesn’t really matter, so you shouldn’t miss me at all.”
“You sit back down right now. If you walk out of this house, you’ll regret it. You don’t want to cross me.”
Stephanie shoved her things into her tote bag and started out of the house. Her mother was still screaming when she closed the door behind her.
Once outside, she was surprised that it was still sunny, still warm and beautiful. There weren’t any dark clouds, no threatening storm. The world went on.
“I quit,” she whispered to herself, proud and terrified in equal measures. She knew she’d done the right thing. Her method might not have been the most mature, but the results were excellent. Or they would be once she figured out what on earth she was going to do next.
nineteen
Barbara’s very bad week improved slightly as she read the list of potential winemakers Rhys had brought her. While none of them were Mackenzie, they all had possibility.
At least something was going right, she thought grimly, refusing to waste even a second of her workday thinking about her daughter’s defection. What did she care if Stephanie didn’t work for her anymore? A monkey could be trained to do her job.
Which might be true, but didn’t take away the odd sense of loss she’d been feeling for the past few days. A ridiculous emptiness she couldn’t explain and didn’t like at all.
She glanced at Rhys over her reading glasses. “This is good,” she said, waving the names of people he’d suggested they approach about a job at Bel Après. “You’ve been thorough.”
“Just doing my job. We’re going to find someone, Mom.”
“Make sure they sign something saying they can’t talk about what’s happening here. I don’t want word getting out.”
“An NDA,” he said with a smile. “Nondisclosure agreement.”
There was something in his look, she thought. Some inside joke she didn’t get, not that she cared.
“I’m still angry about the money you’re giving Mackenzie.”
“I’m not happy about it, either, but it’s done. You have to let it go.”
“Do I?” She tossed the papers onto her desk. “Her leaving is going to ruin us.”
“It’s not. Depending on the wine, we have anywhere from two to four years in the cellar. That buys us time. Most consumers don’t know who the winemaker is for any given label. We’ll get someone good and we’ll get a backup person. We’re going to get through this.”
“You’re thinking it’s my fault we don’t have someone to step into Mackenzie’s job.”
“You’re the one who resisted adding the extra staff. She brought it up several times, Mom, and so did I.”
He was right, which annoyed her. “I didn’t think that tramp you married would do this to us.”
“Mom.” His tone warned her. “Don’t bad-mouth her. She wasn’t a tramp.”
“You don’t know that. She could have had lovers all over the valley.”
“Stop it.”
“You’re getting a divorce. Why do you care if I say something bad about her?”
“Because it’s not right. We’re still friends.”
How like him to disappoint her with that, as well. Friends. “Reasonable people dislike each other when they get a divorce.”
“I’ve heard that.” He nodded at the papers on her desk. “Once you approve the names, I’ll get in touch with them individually. Set up a casual meeting without telling them why. I know most of them, so hearing from me won’t raise any alarms.”
“That makes sense.”
She would rather do it herself, but she wasn’t a casual-meeting kind of person, and while she knew most of the people on the list, they would be shocked if she called and suggested they get together to talk. Except for Lori, all her children were much more outgoing than she had ever been. Not that it—
Her office door burst open. Lori stared wide-eyed. “There’s been an accident in the warehouse.”
As one, they headed out the door and down the stairs. In the main building they raced toward the cellaring rooms. The smell of wine reached them long before they saw the disaster.
Barbara glanced around and saw that a pallet of cases of wine had somehow fallen. Hundreds of bottles lay smashed. Glass and ripped cardboard were everywhere and red wine pooled on the floor.
One of the warehouse guys stepped forward, his eyes wide, his hands twisting together. “I’m sorry. I was making a turn and one side of the pallet snapped and they went falling.”
Barbara saw the broken pallet and knew he was probably telling the truth. Space was tight in here, so the pallets were moved high above the tops of the shelves, something Rhys had told her was a mistake.
“How much?” she asked.
“About a hundred and fifty cases.”
Rhys picked up a broken bottle, showing her the label. “Not our most expensive, but pricey enough. Twelve bottles a case, at maybe forty dollars a bottle.”
“We have insurance,” Lori said quickly. “This will be covered.”
Financially they would be, Barbara thought, feeling hollow and depressed at the sight. But the wine was gone forever.
She was aware of them all monitoring her, as if waiting for her to explode, despite the fact that it was an obvious accident. She watched the wine make its way toward the drain in the center of the warehouse. As the liquid swirled away, she knew that was how she felt. As if everything she’d worked for was slowly being sucked out of her.
“Handle it,” she told Rhys and started back to her office. The
symbolism, while not the least bit subtle, was painfully accurate. She could feel herself losing control and she had no idea how to get it back.
* * *
The land on Red Mountain was the most expensive in the state—for wine, that was. Mackenzie was sure a few blocks in downtown Seattle would go for a lot more—but on the agriculture front, this was Park Avenue, the Left Bank in Paris and the best part of pick-your-city pricey.
There were reasons. The soil, the sun, the wind, all of which combined to create perfect growing conditions for the fruity, full-bodied red wines the state was known for.
Once the deal went through for them to buy Painted Moon, this land would be hers, or at least half hers, which was plenty. She should be excited and giddy and overflowing with ideas. Her head was spinning but not from possibilities. All she could think about was the fact that she was pregnant.
She wanted to ask how it had happened, but she already knew the answer to that. A single night, a single event, had changed everything.
She glanced at Bruno, who was walking beside her. He’d traded in a suit and a white button-down dress shirt for jeans and a dark green polo shirt. He looked good. Tall, with broad shoulders. He was fit and had that air of easy confidence. Maybe he was one of those people who was comfortable anywhere. She wasn’t like that. This was the one place where she felt at home, only she didn’t today. She felt awkward and uncomfortable and scared and confused.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, turning to look at her. “There’s something on your mind. Usually when we walk a vineyard, you’re studying every plant, hovering over them, practically communing with them.”
His tone was light, but she saw the concern in his eyes. She had to tell him the truth—she knew that. What she didn’t know was how he would react. Was the dream she’d barely allowed herself to believe could happen going to come to an end before it had begun?
The Vineyard at Painted Moon Page 20
