The Memory of You Page 3

  That last year, fifteen-year-old Tanner Collins had been heartthrob material. Tall and lanky, with just the beginnings of facial hair cresting a handsome upper lip. Dark brown hair kissed by the summer sun, hazel eyes flecked with gold were often filled with mischief and found company in the dimple in his left cheek whenever he smiled.

  “You want to say hi or just stare?” His deep tenor brought heat to her cheeks and Natalie looked at the dogs instead.

  Watchful eyes regarded her from almost identical black and white faces. One of the animals raised a paw, as if to say hello. Natalie was tempted to wave back. She’d never had a pet of her own. Her mother wouldn’t hear of it. Dogs and small children were always kept at bay around Jane Mitchell.

  Natalie faced Tanner Collins again, the more than five-hour flight still doing a number on her synapses. “I had no idea you were still here, Tanner.”

  “How would you?” His tone definitely hovered near the lower end of the barometer. Fine lines creased the corners of his eyes. Light stubble grazed his jaw and there was no dimple in sight. His tan bore testimony to working outdoors, the tip of his nose a light pink where the skin had started to peel.

  “Well. I . . . um . . . came . . .” Heat and cold battled each other, making her stomach do somersaults and she closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. Jet lag, I guess.”

  “Get out of the sun.” He grabbed her elbow and steered her toward a door on the side of the building, into a small air-conditioned office. “Sit.” He pretty much pushed her onto the nearest chair but if he hadn’t, she’d have been on the floor. A minute later he held a glass of cold water in front of her face.

  “Thanks.” Natalie took small sips, waiting for her stomach to settle. The dogs flopped at her feet. Natalie reached down to pat the closest one, grateful for a friend.

  “That’s Gwin,” Tanner told her. “She belongs to me. The other two, Millie and Roscoe, belong to Hal.”

  “I see.” Did he want to make small talk about dogs? “I’m surprised you remember me, Tanner.” She switched her shades for glasses, and let the room come into focus.

  He backed up against a metal desk. “Of course I remember you, Mouse.”

  A feeble laugh slid from her. “Nobody’s called me that since the last time I was here.”

  He folded his arms, tipped his head. “I suppose not.”

  She took another sip of the cool liquid, the haze beginning to clear. Years rolled backward, revealing memories she’d almost forgotten.

  Tanner was the first boy she’d been able to talk to without sounding stupid.

  After that final, awful summer, he’d tried to keep in touch. Wanted to know if she was all right, how she was doing in school. After a few pathetic attempts at trying to describe her muddled feelings through e-mail, Natalie gave up. Partly because she just didn’t know what to say, mainly because he was a reminder of Nicole—and the accident. Eventually the contact stopped.

  Not that extricating him from her life had helped.

  Nothing helped three months later when she wound up in the psych ward.

  Tanner pulled a cell phone from his pocket and glanced at it, then back at her. “So what’s it been? About fourteen years?”

  “Thirteen.” She wondered what his life looked like now. At twenty-eight, he was probably married, might even have kids. Natalie studied her blue canvas shoes, startled by the thought and the disappointment that tagged behind it.

  “What are you doing here, Natalie?”

  Alarm coursed through her, made her feel woozy again. “My grandfather didn’t tell you I was coming? I thought my father called.”

  “Hal didn’t mention it to me.” Tanner tugged at the collar of what was probably once a white T-shirt, now streaked with stains, his hands colored the same deep purple. “I spoke to your father about a week ago. I told him not to bother sending you all the way out here. It’s kind of a busy time. Harvest, you know. I did get the feeling he wasn’t taking me seriously.”

  “Don’t take it personally. The only person my father takes seriously is his stock broker.” Natalie swatted a fly and pushed hair off her face, trying to gauge Tanner’s cool expression. “How is my grandfather doing?”

  Tanner gave that annoying shrug again. “He’s not dead.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” What was his problem?

  She let out her breath and glanced around the office.

  Photographs of the vineyard hung everywhere. A huge whiteboard covered one side of the wall, almost illegible writing merging together in what she surmised was some sort of schedule. The surface of the small metal desk was covered in files and piles of papers that didn’t look like they’d been touched in years. Shelves on the far side of the room overflowed with more files, binders, and paperwork. Whoever was responsible for this mess needed some lessons in office management.

  “So, Tanner . . . you’re working here?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched as he glanced down at his grape-stained shirt. “No. I stopped in to see your grandfather on my Avon route. We were just about to have a cup of tea and discuss the new fall lipstick line.”

  His sarcastic reply hit its target like a well-placed serve. Natalie trained her gaze on the terra-cotta tiles. The grout was moldy. Stale coffee and that infernal stench of rotten eggs launched another attack, but she pushed to her feet.

  “Speaking of my grandfather, I should go and say hello.” And find out if he was indeed expecting her. She glanced at her watch. “What is the correct time?” In her hurry to gather her things and bolt off the plane as soon as humanly possible, she hadn’t bothered to adjust her watch.

  “Gotta be around lunchtime, I guess.” Tanner strode to the door and yanked it open.

  “That’s helpful, thanks.” She ignored the scowl he tossed her way as he moved ahead of her out of the office. He stalked toward the building he’d come out of when she arrived.

  The friendly, kind Tanner Collins from her youth was clearly just a figment of her imagination. “Hey, wait a sec!” Natalie had to yell to get his attention.

  He stopped, turned, and faced her. “Something else I can do for you, Miss Mitchell?”

  Miss Mitchell?

  Natalie took a few quick steps toward him. “Yes, please, Mr. Collins.” Start acting like a human being. “You could tell me which room my grandfather is in. Is the front door of the house locked? I don’t want to disturb him if he’s sleeping.”

  Lazy laughter loosened his features and Natalie caught a quick glimpse of the boy she remembered. “He’s not up at the house.” He tipped his head toward the long warehouse-like structure. “He’s over there.”

  “You could have just said so,” she muttered, trying to keep up as he marched along a row of large stainless-steel tanks. Natalie placed a hand over her nose and mouth. Getting out and about was probably good for her grandfather, but she didn’t know how anyone could stand this putrid smell for long.

  “Something wrong?” Tanner came to an abrupt halt and she almost ran into him.

  “It stinks in here.”

  Tanner revealed a flash of perfect white teeth. “Fermentation process. Yeast. It mixes with the sugars in the juice and gives off . . . well, never mind. You didn’t come all this way to get a lesson in wine making.” He swiveled and pointed down the row. “Hal’s over there.”

  Natalie squinted, expecting to see a frail-looking man sitting down someplace. “I don’t . . .”

  He tapped her shoulder and indicated a little higher. “Up there.”

  A white-haired man stood on the top rung of a ladder that reached to the very top of one of the huge vats of fermenting wine. He peered over the rim and looked almost ready to dive in.

  “That’s your grandfather.”

  Natalie blinked and shook her head. Surprise swallowed speech. “What is he doing up there? Isn’t that dangerous?”

  A word she couldn’t catch slipped from Tanner’s tongue. “Look. We’re in the middle of harvest. The last of the grapes will co
me in over the next week or so and I don’t have a minute to breathe, let alone worry about why you’re here. I don’t have time for games.”

  “Games?”

  “Please,” he scoffed. “Drop the act. I know what your father wants, and I assume he’s sent you here to do the job.” He stepped closer, eyes flashing under the stark overhead lighting. “Far as I can tell, Hal isn’t on his deathbed or anywhere near it. So if your plan was to come out here, play nice, and nurse him back to health, then sell Maoilios out from under him while he napped, you might want to reconsider.”

  “Excuse me?” Natalie was unprepared for the sparks of anger that flew from him.

  “Just so we’re clear, Hal might be happy to see you, but I’m not. You make one false move, do one thing to hurt him, and I’ll run you out of town faster than a wildcat can run down a rabbit. Got it?”

  Natalie exhaled, backed up against his assault, and bit back tears of exhaustion. “If you’re done, I’d like to let my grandfather know I’ve arrived.”

  “Suit yourself.” Tanner turned toward the back of the room and yelled. “Hey, Hal! Someone here to see you.”

  Three

  AT TANNER’S YELL, THE MAN AT THE TOP OF THE ENORMOUS stainless-steel tank looked up. “Who is it?” He clambered down the ladder as easily as a boy. A minute later Natalie stared into an older version of her father’s face. Except this version was smiling. “Well, I’ll be.”

  “Hi, Grandpa.” She waved as he approached.

  “Natalie!” He took her arms and peered at her through sparkling blue eyes.

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  “Goodness, saints preserve us! I’d forgotten you were due today.” He enfolded her in a warm embrace. “Welcome back to Maoilios, my dear. Here you are, all grown up. A sight of beauty to behold.” The rumbling tenor she remembered cloaked her like a blanket, pushing aside the unpleasant altercation she’d just experienced.

  When her grandfather released her from his bear hug, Tanner Collins was nowhere in sight. Relief unwound the cords of tension in her neck.

  “You did know I was coming?” Natalie held her breath.

  “Of course. Your father phoned and barked something about putting you on a plane, you checking up on me, me taking care of you. He always did talk too fast.”

  “I usually find it best to nod and smile.” Natalie laughed at the sparkle in his eyes. “It’s good to see you. Really.”

  “Likewise, my dear. It’s been a long while, hasn’t it?” He guided her out of the building. “We had some fun, didn’t we?”

  “Yes.” Snatches of days gone by began to bob to the surface like apples in a barrel of water. “You took us to the ocean. Every summer.”

  “That’s right.” He nodded, pulling at his bristly cheek. “I’d forgotten that. Still allergic to clams, are you?”

  “Probably.” Natalie grimaced. “I haven’t had one since.” She’d ended up in the emergency room that night, swollen and barely breathing.

  “Thought your mother was going to have my hide over that.” Rough laughter shook him and brought him to a halt. “You and your sister sure did get up to some tricks.” He smoothed a hand over a shock of thick almost-white hair. “But we won’t talk about that yet, will we?”

  “No.” She managed a thin smile. Not yet.

  Maybe not ever.

  He nodded. His leathery skin was tanned and bore a healthy glow. His blue eyes overflowed with untold tales of the life he’d lived. First-generation American born to Scottish immigrants, he had embraced the American dream. He had to be in his late seventies, but he could pass for younger.

  Tanner’s words rang true. Hal Mitchell certainly didn’t look like he was about to drop dead anytime soon.

  “You look great, Grandpa.” Natalie was completely convinced the man was healthier than she was. “From what I heard, I expected you to be in bed.”

  “Nah.” He waved a hand and took her by the elbow as they approached the hill. “The old ticker had a little hiccup and everyone overreacted. Kept me in the hospital a week, but between you and me”—he leaned in and gave her a wink—“I think it was indigestion.”

  “Grandpa.” Laughter rushed from her before she could do a thing about it.

  “Come on now, let’s get you up to the house. You’re looking a little green around the gills, my girl.”

  The dirt road was steep, and she still felt a bit dizzy. After a while, he stopped walking, the two dogs doubling back to wait at his heels.

  “Are you all right?” Natalie had to ask, but she was breathing more heavily than he was. He could probably run a half marathon before she made it to the door.

  “I am, but you look as though you could take a breather.” He smiled, stepped a little closer to put a hand under her chin. “You’re every bit as beautiful as your grandmother was at your age, Natalie Grace.”

  She felt her cheeks flush with the compliment. “I never thought I looked like Grandma. Everyone always said Nicole favored her.”

  He nodded and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dirty jeans. “To be sure, your sister had some of Grace in her. But you have more than just her look. You have her poise, her charm, that certain something in your eyes that says I’m in the presence of a great lady.” His smile made her feel she was the most important person on earth. But then, he always had.

  Natalie waved off his words. “I think you’re just being your old charming self, Grandpa.” Her voice hitched and she took a minute to categorize her scattered thoughts. “You know, before I arrived, I only remembered bits and pieces. Things we did, Nic and I. As soon as I hit the gates it all started to come back. Like a dream I’d just forgotten. Weird, huh?”

  “Not at all.” He slipped his arm through hers and picked up his pace again, leaving her no choice but to keep up. He let out a low whistle as they approached the house and her rental car came into view. “Now that’s a car.”

  “Dad rented it for me.” She squinted as the afternoon sun bounced off the silver exterior.

  “Won’t have much use for it out here. May as well return it if you’re planning on staying a spell.”

  “Well . . .” What was a spell, exactly? “I’ve got a few meetings lined up in San Francisco. Think I’ll hold on to it for now.” Natalie popped the trunk and went for her suitcase, but her grandfather snatched it up before she had a chance.

  “Whoa, girlie, what have you got in here?” He marched up the stairs, chuckling. Natalie grabbed her purse and briefcase and followed him into the big house.

  Inside, she stopped and stared at her surroundings. Her mouth inched upward.

  Shadows danced across the gleaming mahogany floor of the foyer. Paintings hung on dark wood walls and colorful woven rugs ran the length of the hall ahead. A long staircase to the left led to upstairs bedrooms.

  Wood polish and the perfume of roses pulled back the curtain of memory again.

  Nothing was different.

  But everything had changed.

  She walked to a long table set against the wall and studied a bronze statue of two horses captured in full canter and ran a finger across the back of one of them. “I used to help Grandma polish these. Wednesday was cleaning day.”

  Nicole would never lift a finger. Claimed to be allergic to dust. But Natalie didn’t mind helping. She liked having her grandmother all to herself for a few hours.

  “Sure was. Still is.” He thumped her bag down at the foot of the stairs and coughed. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m fine. Just a bit winded.”

  “I can get you some water.” Natalie glanced down the corridor toward the kitchen.

  “Come on. You must be famished. I’ll make us some sandwiches and tea.” He took off at a clip.

  Natalie rushed to catch up.

  They passed a large formal dining room, ornate pocket doors closed halfway, went through what they used to call the mess room because it was the only room in the house that they’d been allowed to make a mess in, and finally entered the far
m-style kitchen.

  Her throat constricted against a wash of unexpected emotion.

  It was just as she remembered.

  Organized clutter that welcomed visitors, no matter the hour.

  Butter-colored walls with green ivy painted along the border displayed framed photographs of the vineyard, family photos, along with a few paintings by their favorite local artists. An old bookcase buckled under recipe books, magazines, and more photographs. Dried sunflowers and lavender sat in ceramic vases along the windowsills.

  The copper hood shone brightly over the big stovetop. Empty wine bottles with the Maoilios label lined up like soldiers along the top of all the cupboards, some dating back to the opening of the vineyard in the ’70s. The old fridge was plastered with faded photographs and postcards and receipts.

  In a flash of memory, her grandmother stood there, waiting with something sweet right out of the oven.

  Grace Mitchell’s presence still filled the room and sent Natalie into a chair.

  “You all right?” Grandpa waggled his eyebrows.

  “Yes. It’s just strange.” She took off her glasses, wiped her eyes, and watched him gather items from the fridge. “It feels like she’s still here. Like she’s going to walk through that door any minute.”

  Along with Nicole.

  He fumbled with a jar of mayonnaise and set it on the counter, turned to face her with a sad smile. “I’ve had a few years to adjust to the fact that she’s not.”

  Five years ago, the phone rang in the middle of the night.

  Natalie went to see what was wrong, because phones didn’t ring at that hour unless it was bad news. She’d found her father and mother in their bedroom, locked in a tight embrace. The sight was so startling that a small cry escaped, announced her presence, and they pulled away from each other at once.

  It was the first time since Nicole’s death that she’d seen tears in Dad’s eyes. And the first time in what felt like forever that she’d seen her parents show any kind of affection toward one another.