The Memory of You Page 2

  Natalie laced her fingers together to keep her hands from trembling. “I don’t think I can.”

  Her mother gave a wisp of a sigh and placed a hand on Natalie’s arm. “Well, then. Bill . . .”

  “Jane. Enough.” Dad pushed a worn looking leather photo album toward her. “I hadn’t looked at these in years.” He sat back and massaged his jaw. “I’m well aware how difficult this is, Natalie, but I’d like you to consider it.”

  “You always said that was your favorite part of summer, going to California.” Mom leaned in to look at the pictures.

  “Yes, for some reason, you loved Maoilios.” Dad’s mouth puckered, as though the name of her grandfather’s winery was bitter on his tongue, like a sour grape.

  “I did love it.” Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. And it would certainly provide the opportunity to get over this latest setback alone, without their interference.

  “Such an odd name for a winery.” Her mother peered at a tattered photograph. “Oh, Nat. You were a little pudgy back then, darling.”

  Natalie reached for the album and stared at the image.

  The memory sprang to life. She was maybe six or seven, stuffed into an old tire swing, her sister Nicole pushing her.

  “Pudgy” was being kind.

  Natalie studied another photo. Two little girls looked up at the photographer with identical grins. Both with curly brown hair tied in pigtails, sporting red ribbons. Nicole had a dimple in her right cheek. Natalie didn’t. Fraternal twins. As they got older it was easier to tell them apart. Nicole possessed a natural beauty, a sparkle that seemed to draw people to her. Natalie simply stood in her sister’s shadow.

  She put down the photo and picked up another. Scrunched her nose and stared at the castle-like structure.

  Maoilios—a place she’d once loved more than anything.

  The magic of it made her free. Free to do what she wanted, free to be herself. Free from overbearing parents who would often go off on side trips of their own, leaving the girls in the care of their grandparents.

  Natalie enjoyed those times most.

  And then, the year they turned thirteen, on a perfect starlit August night, in one screeching, skidding, sickening moment, everything changed.

  She sat back again and shook her head. “Why are we doing this?”

  The unanswered question joined the silent choir of things her parents refused to discuss. “Why now?” She searched her father’s face. “I haven’t been there since the accident. We haven’t seen Grandpa Hal more than a couple of times since Grandma died.”

  Dad suddenly looked uncomfortable. “We probably should have told you earlier, but your mother didn’t want to upset you.” Deep grooves privy to untold secrets furrowed his brow.

  “Told me what?”

  “Your grandfather had a heart attack, Natalie.”

  “A heart attack?” The words squeaked out. “When?”

  “Last week.”

  “What? How could you not tell me? Mom, come on . . .” Natalie watched her mother fiddle with the large rings on her fingers and knew she was on her own.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Dad growled. “We’re telling you now.”

  Natalie stifled the argument, still treading water, trying to keep from going under. “Why didn’t you go to see him?”

  “He told me not to bother.” His jaw tightened and he nailed her with his classic don’t-dare-defy-me look. “So. I would like you to go. See how he’s doing.” The space between his eyes got smaller. “And actually, he’s asked for you.”

  “For me?” She tapped her worn deck shoes together and watched a few grains of sand fall onto the rug. “I don’t want to go back there.” She could only whisper the words.

  But part of her longed to.

  Longed to return to the place she’d once loved so much, to see her grandfather again, to hear his laugh and bask in the smile that always made her feel like the luckiest girl in the world. With Grandpa, there was no competing. No trying to pretend. He loved her for who she was.

  Dad took another swallow of Scotch. “I understand your reasons, God knows. But you can’t hold on to those memories forever. Maybe if you go back and face it, you’ll let it go.”

  Let it go.

  Natalie startled as the fire cracked and hissed along with the pointed words.

  Somehow he’d known. Seen right through her with hardly any effort at all.

  “My sister died there, Dad. I could have—” She made fists and shut her eyes against the scene.

  “I know.” He cleared his throat and sat in silence for a long, painful moment. “But I think you need to go, Natalie.” He was as unrelenting as the wind that now battered the trees outside.

  You have to go away to school, Natalie. You’re failing every class. It’s time you learned to buckle down and stand on your own two feet.

  “Natalie.” Her mother’s flawless face seemed strangely lined and pinched. “Your father and I really would like you to go.” They were a team again. It worked when it suited them.

  Natalie picked at stray threads on the quilt and watched a section of stitching unravel. “Is Grandpa in the hospital?”

  “No. He’s home now. He sounds well enough, insists he’s fine, but who knows.” Uncharacteristic worry laced her father’s tone. “But he’s going to drive himself into an early grave with that confounded vineyard. Another reason I want you to go, see what’s going on. Perhaps it’s time to shut the place down.”

  “Shut it down?” Surely things weren’t that bad.

  “Should have been done years ago,” Dad started in again. “Regardless, it will do you good to get away, clear your head. Your flight is booked. You’ll arrive early Friday morning.”

  So she didn’t have a choice. Typical. “I can’t just leave. I can’t . . .” Her final attempt to find a way out fell flat. He was right. She was more of a hindrance at the office and they would survive without her. And if Grandpa Hal wanted her . . .

  “Natalie? Are we in agreement?”

  What if, in some way, this was just the reprieve she needed?

  “All right. I’ll go.”

  “Good.” He rubbed his eyes, looking tired. “So, you’re really okay? Because if you need to see another doctor or—”

  Natalie’s mother lifted her head. “Bill, really, she said she’s fine. I don’t think that’s—”

  “Jane.” Dad held up a hand and shut her down.

  Her mother sighed and began to twist her rings again.

  Natalie never knew what her mother was thinking, never knew how she felt. And couldn’t imagine what it must be like to live a life marked in half-finished sentences.

  “Well.” Mom stood, smoothed her hair, and gave a tight smile. “I’m going up. Good-night, dear. Good-night, Bill.” She stalked across the carpet, closed the door quietly behind her with a definitive click. Jane Florence Harris Mitchell never slammed a door.

  Natalie wrestled with relief, watched sheets of rain wash the windows, and willed her stomach to quit heaving. She could go out to California, deal with this latest emotional setback there and they’d never be the wiser. “How bad are things with the vineyard?”

  “Now you’re talking.” Her father put aside the images of the past and pushed a folder her way. “Take a look at these numbers.”

  Natalie opened the file, curiosity overriding stubbornness, and studied the latest financials for Maoilios. “They bottomed out the year after Grandma died.”

  “Yes.” Her father leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I thought perhaps, since your grandmother foolishly left you her 50 percent of the place, that might concern you just a tad.”

  Natalie hadn’t given much thought to her share in the winery over the last few years.

  “Does Uncle Jeffrey know about this?” A grin caught her unaware. “Where is he these days?”

  Dad’s eyes narrowed. “Haven’t heard from him since your grandmother’s funeral. And he washed his hands of Maoilios years a
go.”

  “How has Grandpa been managing?”

  “I don’t know. He’s got some boy not much older than you running the place. I’ve no idea how he ended up in charge, but your grandfather seems to think he’s Jesus.”

  Natalie laughed. “Well, if you want out, sell your shares to him, whoever he is. If he really is Jesus, you stand to make quite a profit.” She turned the file toward him and pointed out a few dates. “This isn’t a total loss. Just the past few years, and even then they had some good months. Perhaps a new business model, fresh marketing.” Natalie wished the numbers weren’t quite so blurry. The new meds she’d started were already wreaking havoc with her system. “Are you sure shutting the place down is the solution?”

  Her father sighed. “My instincts say it’s time to fold. Hal won’t listen. If anybody can convince your grandfather to get rid of that winery, Natalie, it’s you.”

  “Assuming I want to get rid of it.” Where had that come from?

  “And what would you do with a winery?”

  “What would Grandpa do without Maoilios?”

  “He would still own the house, the land. We’re only talking about getting rid of the winery, the vineyards, and the label.”

  “So just getting rid of Grandpa’s whole world then?”

  “Natalie.” Her father rolled his eyes.

  “And what if the business is salvageable?” Did she really want to take this on?

  “Are you going to argue about this? I want the place closed, and that’s that.”

  “What if I can prove you wrong?” A sense of purpose and determination she hadn’t felt in months blindsided her. Almost made her smile.

  Dad shook his head, his mouth drawn. “You won’t.”

  And there it was.

  Because no matter how hard she worked, how well she did, her father would always find a flaw.

  Even her best was never good enough.

  Two

  THE FLIGHT FROM JFK TO SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL was smooth for the most part, and Natalie even managed to get some sleep.

  Finally seated in her rental car, a shiny silver Jaguar convertible her father had arranged, she dialed her mother’s cell, not surprised when it went straight to voice mail.

  “Hey, Mom. Just letting you guys know I’m here. I’ll call you later from Grandpa’s.”

  Natalie adjusted the air-conditioning, set the satellite radio to classic oldies, and set her course for Sonoma. As she was about to pull out, her cell phone rang.

  Not her mother though. Laura.

  Of course.

  Laura Johnson, her best friend since high school, was the only person Natalie hadn’t managed to completely alienate in recent weeks.

  “Hey, Lars. I just landed.”

  “I figured. Just wanted to make sure you got there safe and sound.”

  “Safe. Not sure about sound.”

  “Nat.” Laura giggled. “How are you feeling, being there?”

  “I’m not there yet.” During the flight, Natalie pulled snippets from her memory of times in California. Barbecues out on the deck. Trees and landmarks, and journeys north along a winding coastal road that led to the beach.

  “Um, I saw Peter yesterday. Gave him his ring back.” Natalie turned the AC higher.

  “How was that?”

  “Okay. He wasn’t surprised, of course. I didn’t stay long.”

  “Good. I’m glad it’s over.”

  “Like you didn’t see it coming.” It was impossible not to smile at her friend’s insight. “But, better to know what kind of man he is now, right?”

  “You’ll find someone else, Nat. Someone who will love you the way you deserve.”

  Natalie scrunched her nose. “I won’t be looking for love in Sonoma.”

  “You know what they say, sometimes when you least expect it—”

  “Hey, Lars, I gotta go.”

  “Okay, hon.” Laura’s wistful sigh filled her ear. “Take care.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you later.” Natalie hung up, took a few deep breaths, and eased the car out of the parking bay.

  As she crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, bright shards of light split the clouds and the California sun began to warm the car’s interior.

  Her smile broadened as the scenery changed.

  Rolling brown hills ran into rows upon rows of lush vines that hid clusters of purple and gold treasures under green foliage. The sight unwrapped feelings she thought she’d long put aside. The sweet smell of grapes permeated her senses, and the joy found in simply being here surprised her.

  As she navigated the highway and sang along with The Beach Boys, memories trickled back like a slow-moving stream. Once the small town of Sonoma came into view, she didn’t need the GPS anymore. Somehow she remembered the right turn that led her through the open metal gates and over a gravel road lined with tall Italian cypress trees. She couldn’t recall the acreage of Maoilios, but what she saw impressed her. Vineyards spread out on either side of the road as far as the eye could see. As she made the last turn, she spied her grandfather’s house.

  The place resembled a French château, like something out of a travel magazine. Sunshine bounced off sparkling glass windows. Apricot-colored walls covered with ivy, a terra-cotta-tiled roof, and green wooden shutters complemented the layout, adding to the impression that she might indeed be in another country entirely.

  Smooth lawns snaked around the property and stretched down to the vineyards. A large stream ran between the garden and the grapes. Somewhere along the way she knew there was a bridge. Nicole used to jump across the two-or three-foot wide expanse of rushing water, but Natalie always used the bridge.

  Her gaze shifted back to the house and landed on the rounded structure to the left. The turret. A rebellious grin tickled the corners of her mouth. Sometimes she and Nic would sneak up there with their dolls and pretend to be princesses. Other days the neighborhood boys they’d become friends with hijacked it and threatened to dangle the girls from the window by their hair if they didn’t retreat. Nicole always stood up to the boys.

  The house now soothed and scared her. Bade her welcome like an old friend, but held a warning like a long-forgotten journal, tattered pages filled with too much pain.

  She gathered up her thoughts and memories and drove around the fountain, parked, and stepped out onto the gravel drive. The thought of her sick grandfather living in this big house all on his own was not comforting.

  She walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell. Somewhere off in the distance, dogs barked. Something that sounded like an intercom crackled and beeped.

  “Yeah, come on down to the end of the road. Park the truck off to the side and we’ll unload her there.” A male voice competed with several loud pops and crackles. Natalie searched the wall, parted a few leaves to reveal a small speaker, and pressed the button.

  “I . . . um.” She glanced at her rental car and shrugged. “I don’t have a truck. I’m here to see Hal Mitchell.”

  “What?” Whoever was on the other end sounded a million miles away.

  Natalie pressed the button again. “HAL MITCHELL. I’m his granddaughter.” She bit her lip and waited.

  Nothing. Not even a tiny crackle. Just white noise that faded into ominous silence.

  “Fine, then.” She marched down the steps and scanned the area. A dirt road wound downward to the right of the house and she spied several buildings at the bottom of it. She remembered her mother telling them never to go down there.

  Too many trucks.

  Too much dirt.

  Too much Hal.

  Natalie set off, glad for the flat soles she’d chosen for her journey. As she walked, she told herself it was all going to work out, that she’d made the right decision coming. Her grandfather would be happy to see her. Sure, it had been years and she hadn’t kept in touch, but still. She was family. And he’d asked for her.

  Unless her father had made that up to get her out here.

  As she approached the b
uildings, three black and white dogs shot up from their prone positions and raced toward her. They circled her legs and sniffed around, giving the occasional whine. No growling.

  “Okay, hi. Friendly, are you? Good.” She held out her hands and allowed the moderately sized beasts to check her out. She passed inspection and was rewarded with licks and wagging tails. Bravery got the better of her and she bent to pat their soft heads. “So where is everyone, huh?”

  Shielding her eyes against the sun, Natalie looked toward a building where several men moved around, busy with their tasks. A forklift moved large plastic containers filled with grapes to a long stainless-steel contraption with a big corkscrew-like thing in the middle of it that looked a little scary. She inhaled and wrinkled her nose as the distinct smell of yeast hit hard. Her stomach lurched and her already dry throat threatened to toss out the last meal she’d eaten several hours ago.

  “Can I help you?” A long shadow fell across her path.

  A man stood at the entrance of the building. The dogs left her side and jumped around him. He promptly sent them off to a corner where they flopped down in the shade.

  Natalie squinted up at him. “Yes. I . . . I hope so. I’m looking for Hal Mitchell. I’m his granddaughter.”

  He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and peered at her. The barest of smiles raced across his face. “Hello, Mouse.”

  Natalie stepped back, not sure if she’d heard correctly. Nobody had called her that in years. And the only person who had was . . .

  Standing right in front of her.

  “Tanner?” Natalie lifted her shades, blinked, and squelched a squeak of surprise and the temptation to hurl herself at him. “Tanner Collins?”

  He stepped out of the shadows. “You remember.”

  Natalie nodded and readjusted her sunglasses. She wanted to say “wow” but managed to swallow the word as she studied the object of her first crush.

  Tanner’s mother was the housekeeper at Maoilios, and they had lived on the property. Close in age, she and Nicole had become friends with him and the other employees’ children who lived on the grounds. She’d often thought of Tanner over the years, wondered what he’d done with his life.