The Memory of You Page 4

  “You must miss her a lot, Grandpa.”

  “Every day. But she’s in the better place.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t come to the funeral.” She’d given it little consideration, the thought of returning to California too overwhelming. In fact, as she remembered, her parents insisted she not go.

  Don’t want to go down that road again, heaven help us, Dad had muttered. He’d grown fond of the saying over the years.

  A year away from graduating college with finals approaching, Natalie didn’t argue. In the end, only her father went.

  “Not to worry. Funerals aren’t my cup of tea either.” Grandpa tipped his head toward the bread box on the counter. “Grab us some slices and help me out here. I’m not very skilled in the kitchen, and Sarah doesn’t work on Fridays.”

  Since her world collapsed in June, she hadn’t prepared a proper meal for herself, preferring to order out or make-do with scrambled eggs or soup.

  Perhaps she’d cook for Grandpa next week, as long as she promised not to burn down the kitchen. They’d almost done exactly that one summer. Nicole forgot to set the timer and they went outside to play and forgot about the cookies in the oven. An hour later the kitchen was full of smoke and the cookies resembled black lumps of coal.

  “Sarah?” Natalie pulled out a few slices of whole wheat bread and went to work fixing the sandwiches while he made tea.

  “You must remember Sarah,” Grandpa said. “Tanner’s mother. She’s worked here for years.”

  “Oh. Mrs. Collins.” Natalie nodded. She was always friendly and interested in hearing about Natalie’s life in New York.

  They took their lunch out through the French doors onto an expansive patio.

  To the left, large oaks provided shade. Lush green hills rolled downward to the stream that stretched along the property to the small lake where a few trout used to swim for them to catch and throw back. Eventually the tended garden gave way to rows and rows of grapes.

  “Remember this?” Her grandfather lowered himself into a comfortable lounger and gave a contented sigh.

  “It’s so beautiful.” And so peaceful.

  Incredibly, blessedly, peaceful.

  Perhaps she could deal with things here. Perhaps she’d found a place to rest.

  And maybe, to heal.

  “I didn’t tell Tanner you were coming,” Grandpa confessed with a sly grin. “Wanted to surprise him.”

  “I’d say you succeeded.” Natalie pulled up a chair and sank onto the soft blue-striped cushion. “He was surprised all right. And not pleasantly, I don’t think.”

  Grandpa huffed. “Tanner’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got a good heart.”

  “Are we talking about the same man?” Natalie put her sunglasses on and leaned back against the cushions. “Because the Tanner Collins I just met was rougher than sandpaper and didn’t seem to have much resembling a heart.”

  “Well . . .” He leaned over and pulled at the laces of his brown work boots, kicked them off, removed red socks, and wiggled long gnarled toes toward the sun. “He’ll warm up.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his plaid shirt.

  “What exactly does he do here?” She’d been too concerned with ducking the darts shooting from Tanner’s eyes to ask.

  “Tanner?” He chuckled at the question. “Why, he runs the place.”

  Ah. Tanner Collins was the Jesus character her father referred to. Which meant she’d probably be seeing more of him.

  Her smile faded fast.

  “So, Natalie Grace.” Grandpa put down his tea. “What have you been up to since I last saw you?”

  Natalie took her time talking as she ate. Somehow she didn’t think the burly man would be interested in homecoming dances, the debutante balls she’d been forced to attend, her graduation from Harvard Business School, but he wanted to hear everything. And he had an uncanny way of knowing when she was hedging, leaving stuff out and avoiding the truth.

  “Last I heard there was a wedding being planned,” he remarked, peering at her hand. “I don’t see a ring.”

  Natalie crossed her legs and tried to ignore the way her chest tightened. She pulled fresh air into her lungs and shied away from unpleasant thoughts. “We called off the engagement at the beginning of the summer. It hasn’t been an easy few months.”

  “I can see that. You’ve hardly smiled since you said hello.”

  She stared across the shimmering pool at the rows of grapevines. Off in the distance men moved amongst the vines, the dogs racing down the lanes, following a tractor. A cooling breeze curled around her face.

  “I’ve upset you.”

  “No.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “Not at all. I was just thinking how glad I am to be back here.”

  “Well, that’s good then.” He folded his arms and smiled. “I never did know how to mind my own business. But I’m here to listen if you ever need an ear.”

  “Thank you, Grandpa. I appreciate that.”

  He tipped his head and studied her for a long moment. “Now comes the hard question. Did your father really send you to California because I asked him to or are you here to shut down my business?”

  “Grandpa.” Natalie tried to laugh, but her pulse began to race. She slid her gaze from his inquiring expression and studied the ground again.

  “You won’t deny it.”

  “Well, I’ve heard things aren’t great, but . . .” Natalie fidgeted in her chair. Why had she agreed to this again? “Grandpa, it’s just that—”

  He put up a hand. “I was expecting it.”

  Natalie flinched at his dejected expression. “You know how he is. Don’t worry.”

  His wrinkles deepened with his frown. “Well, if you must know, I asked you out here to prove him wrong. So that you can see for yourself things aren’t as bad as he thinks.”

  Natalie registered a hint of smoldering embers in his eyes, ready to ignite. Tight laughter lodged in her throat. “If that’s the case, then I’ll be happy to relay the message. As he reminded me, it’s my winery too.”

  “Indeed it is.” That seemed to please him. Grandpa Hal’s eyes twinkled in the afternoon sun.

  Natalie studied a small chip on the rim of her china plate, looked back at him, and finally asked what she’d wondered for years. “Why did Grandma leave her shares to me?”

  Her grandfather’s smile was slow, as though he’d been waiting for the very question. “That, my dear, is something you are going to have to discover for yourself.”

  Not helpful, Grandpa.

  “But you don’t have any power, you have no say in your own business.”

  “Oh, I have a say.” He wiped his mouth, surveyed the landscape around them with a satisfied smile. “I own this house and the land around it. Trust me, my dear, the decision to bequeath your grandmother’s shares to you was made with my blessing.” He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, eyeing her carefully. “Maoilios has taken a few hits, but we’re far from being done. I suspect you’ll figure that out. As would your father if he’d bother to study any of the spreadsheets I’ve been sending him. For whatever reason, he’s got it in his head that I’m too old to be running a winery. Which is far from the truth. And I have Tanner.”

  “Okay.” Natalie studied the view instead of her grandfather. How would she convince her father he was wrong, if indeed he was? “You’re not getting any younger, perhaps he’s just concerned for your well-being.”

  “Hogwash.” Hal threw crumbs to the birds and drank his tea. “Natalie, as you may remember, I’ve always been forthright. I’m sorry to say so, but I don’t trust my son. He’s always been too bullheaded for his own good. For whatever reason, he wants to see the doors close on this place. But I’ll tell you this.” As he sat forward, she recognized her father’s steady gaze and obstinacy. “The day they shut the gates on Maoilios will be the day they lower my body into the ground.”

  Four

  TANNER NOTICED A BULB H
AD GONE OUT IN THE SMALL CHANDELIER above his mother’s dining room table. Added it to the long list of things that needed doing around the house.

  Like he’d have time.

  He poked holes in his mashed potatoes and glared at his untouched food. Natalie Mitchell had a lot of nerve, showing up at the worst possible time of the year. Having her nosing around was not something he needed to deal with right now.

  Not that he’d have a choice. She’d bat those thick eyelashes at Hal, have him at her beck and call in ten seconds flat.

  He probably already was.

  For the first time, Tanner felt his future at Maoilios was suddenly in jeopardy.

  “Don’t play with your food, Tanner.”

  He looked up and found his mother watching him. Jeni and Jason began to giggle from across the table.

  “If he gets to play with his food, do we?” Jason sounded hopeful, but his grandmother’s raised eyebrow wiped the grin off the ten-year-old’s face at once. Tanner always envied his mother’s ability to speak loudly without ever opening her mouth.

  “No. You don’t.” Tanner made some effort to eat. Didn’t have the appetite though. He ended up feeding most of his meat to Gwin, who hid under the table out of sight. Of course Mom knew the dog was there, she just chose to ignore it.

  Later, after the dishes were done and homework finished, checked, and put into backpacks, Tanner padded down the hall to say good-night to the kids.

  Jeni’s room first. The Pepto-Bismol room, as he liked to call it.

  “Hey, Pink Girl.” He stepped over Barbie dolls and picked up Kaya, Jeni’s favorite American Girl doll. He placed the Native American doll beside the doll from the ’60s, whatever her name was. Jeni’s collection was growing. The books that came with them were cool. He even liked reading the stories with her. A far cry from the Captain Underpants books he’d enjoyed in early childhood.

  “Hey.” Swallowed up by fluffy pink blankets, her eyes heavy with sleep, Jeni gave a tired smile. Gwin jumped onto the canopy bed for their nightly snuggle. She grinned and hugged the dog’s furry neck.

  Tanner eased down on the edge of the bed and smoothed her blond mop of curls. “Did you have a good day at school?”

  “No.” Jeni rubbed her nose and stared up at him through soulful pools of blue, deeper than the Pacific, and filled with questions he didn’t have answers for.

  “How come?” He shooed Gwin off over Jeni’s protests, pulled the blankets up again, and retrieved her teddy bear from the floor. One pajama-clad arm snuck out from under the covers and wrapped the bedraggled stuffed animal in a vise grip.

  “We had math. I hate it.”

  “Ah.” He could relate. “Well, how’s your new teacher? You like her, right?”

  “She’s okay. But she has stinky breath.” Jeni yawned, her snub nose inching into her face until it threatened to disappear altogether. She let out a sigh and studied him like he could tell what she was thinking. He wished. What he wouldn’t give to know what was going on inside that seven-year-old mind. “We have to do a family project.”

  “Oh.” Tanner’s gut twisted. Just when he thought he might get through one day without being reminded of everything they’d lost.

  “With pictures.”

  Of course.

  “Okay. Well, I’m sure Nan can help you out with that, Jeni.”

  “Can you?”

  “Can I what?”

  “Help me.” She huffed out her answer and handed him the Doofus Award with her eyes.

  “I can try, Jeni Bear.” Try to get through the rest of this conversation without you ripping my heart out, but after that, sure.

  “Okay. I love you.” She rewarded him with a smile and stretched her arms out.

  Tanner eased into them, wrapped her in a tight squeeze, and counted.

  One . . . two . . . three . . .

  Maybe tonight the question wouldn’t come.

  Maybe tonight he’d finally get a reprieve.

  Four.

  Maybe tonight . . .

  “When’s Mommy coming home?”

  Tanner exhaled, tucked her back in, nice and tight the way she liked, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “I don’t know.”

  “Soon?”

  “Probably not soon.”

  “Is Grandpa going to come back and visit soon?”

  Tanner stared at the bookshelf. “You’ll have to ask Nan.”

  “Why does he live so far away? What’s it called again?”

  “Seattle.” A day’s drive away. Not far enough. “Jeni Bear, you need to get some sleep. No more questions. Nan will come in for your prayers.”

  “You could listen.”

  Tanner pinched the bridge of his nose. Sighed. “Not tonight.”

  “Okay. But . . .”

  He waited. She hadn’t asked lately. But she was about to. He could tell by the hope shining in her eyes.

  “Mommy will come home, right? One day?”

  Tanner shoved fingers through his hair and glanced across the girly room. When they’d first moved in, he’d painted it pink, not really knowing if she even liked the color.

  Turned out he could have painted it black and she would have liked it.

  It wasn’t okay to lie. He knew that.

  “Sure she will.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.” The words popped out before he’d had a chance to think. And he couldn’t take them back.

  Tanner shut his eyes.

  He could still smell Marnie in here. That perfume she’d always worn permeated the places she’d spent her time. He couldn’t catch a whiff of it now without drowning under a tsunami of emotion.

  Her photographs were everywhere. She stared down at him from the silver-framed portrait on the dresser. In the picture she was smiling, almost laughing. But her eyes held secrets he hadn’t always known. Secrets he wished now he’d never discovered.

  Mom said it was good for Jeni to keep the photographs. To look at them. To remember the way things were. Before. Because, despite everything, there had been good times.

  “Time to sleep, princess.” Time to get out of here before he started blubbering like a baby.

  “Okay.” As always, she accepted his word as gospel. Never questioned. Never argued. “I love you.” She said that a lot. More now than she had before. She held on tighter when she hugged, cried harder when she got hurt. His mother said that was normal. Tanner didn’t exactly agree.

  Nothing about any of this was normal.

  “Love you too, baby. Sweet dreams.” He tweaked her nose and tried not to choke on a mouthful of guilt. He called Gwin out and turned off the light.

  Tanner leaned against the wall and sucked air. Would it ever get easier? Something told him no. Told him he deserved every bit of pain the kids served him. His eyes landed on the sliver of light emanating from under Jason’s bedroom door, and Tanner steeled himself against that pain, ready to receive another slice.

  He knocked once before entering. “Lights out, buddy.”

  Jason sprawled across his bed, reading a copy of Sports Illustrated. The swimsuit edition.

  “Hey!” Tanner strode across the room and grabbed the magazine. “Where’d you get that?”

  “From your bathroom.” Jason flipped onto his stomach and laughed. Or cackled. “It’s sorta gross.”

  Sorta? Tanner rolled up the glossy magazine and tapped Jason on the head with it. “Yeah, well. You’re ten years old. You don’t need to be looking at stuff like that.” He made a mental note to burn the magazine pronto. Search his room for any others and burn them too.

  “Actually, I’m almost eleven.” Jason scrambled under the blankets and flashed a grin that managed to peel away another layer of Tanner’s heart.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know how old you are. Okay, listen . . . I got this a long time ago. We . . . uh . . . guys . . .” Oh, he was so not ready for this kind of conversation. “Women are, well, they’re not—”

  “I know, I know.” The kid ac
tually rolled his eyes. “Miss Kline gave us the big lecture in health class. Women aren’t sex objects and guys need to respect them.”

  “Right.” Heat prickled Tanner’s cheeks but relief ran down the embarrassment. “That’s where I was headed.”

  “It’s cool. I got it.” Jason yawned and stretched. Tanner noticed a few hairs sprouting under his arms.

  “Okay.” Tanner shoved the magazine under his arm. He’d make a hasty exit before Jason decided to ask any questions. “See you in the morning, bud.”

  “Did you remember about my soccer game tomorrow? I’m goalie. Coach said if I—” Jason narrowed his eyes and scowled. “You forgot.”

  Tanner rocked back on his heels and tried to come up with a viable excuse. “Jase, I have to work, buddy.”

  “But it’s Saturday. You always have to work.” Jason pouted. It was actually a good look for him. “Why can’t somebody else stomp some grapes for a while?”

  “The grapes don’t get stomped. They’re crushed. By the crusher.” Sometimes Tanner wished they still did things the old-fashioned way. An hour or two of taking his frustrations out on a bunch of grapes might do wonders for his soul. But all he had to do was flick a switch and let the machine do the work.

  “Can you please come?”

  Jason didn’t ask for much. In fact he never asked for anything. Tanner ran his tongue over his teeth and did some mental calculations. “What time?”

  “Nine. Or maybe ten.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I forgot.” Jason inched down in the bed.

  “Well, that doesn’t help me much, does it?”

  “Forget it.” Jason rolled over and squished his face into his pillow. “You wouldn’t have come anyway.”

  Tanner turned and headed for the door. “I’ll ask Nan about the time and see what I can do. ’Night, Jase.”

  “Whatever.”

  Later, after his mother’d gone in to say good-night to the kids, they sat out on the back porch. She took up her usual position in the old rocker, a Mexican blanket around her legs, fingers flying as she worked on whatever latest creation she was knitting. Something for Jeni, if the varying strands of pink were any clue.