The wine selection was pitiful, but then again, this wasn’t the Ritz. He stretched out on the bed with a coke and stared up at the ceiling, thinking of the place he’d once called home.
If he believed in having a “happy place,” Maoilios would definitely be it. He’d worked hard, spent summers alongside college kids and migrant workers picking grapes, hauling crates, eventually learning the process his father had honed to a natural science. Jeffrey knew his way around the property blindfolded.
Used to.
Bill had hightailed it east for bigger and better opportunities in his early twenties. Broken Dad’s heart in the process. Jeffrey was willing and able, and he looked forward to filling his brother’s shoes, working alongside his father, one day taking over the business. He’d settle down and start a family of his own.
But things changed.
The wedge between him and Dad had still been just as apparent when he’d flown home for Mom’s funeral. And they’d left things unsaid. Dad and Bill’s issues were none of his business, but he did regret not trying to make amends with the old man himself.
Maybe now he could deal with that.
Deal with Sarah too.
He’d caught a glimpse of her at his mother’s funeral. He’d missed his connection from Tel Aviv, and by the time he arrived, the service was half over. Afterward they’d gone to the graveside and he’d lingered, wanting to be alone. To say his good-byes, his apologies, in private. Later, she’d been busy serving guests and tending to Hal, and there hadn’t been an opportunity to talk. Not that they would have. Jeffrey was so blindsided by grief and guilt that he hadn’t been able to say much of anything to anyone. She’d spent the evening avoiding him anyway. And he was gone before dawn the next day.
How many years had it been since he’d parked outside the white stone church in Sonoma, heart pounding, vision blurring? He’d stared at the blazing pink bougainvillea, viewed the arriving guests, realized that soon he’d speak words that would forever change his life, and suddenly he knew he just couldn’t do it.
He hadn’t been a total cad. He’d driven over to Sarah’s in a cold sweat, convinced her family to let him in, and then tried to convince her they were making the biggest mistake of their lives. He’d already convinced himself. Surely she’d understand and agree . . .
She hadn’t.
He left her then, standing in her bedroom of her parents’ home wearing the wedding dress nobody would now see, knowing what it felt like to be truly despised. Knowing that whatever came next, wherever he went, no matter how many years separated them, he would never be forgiven.
And didn’t deserve to be.
Fourteen
“GOOD MORNING, MY GIRL.”
Natalie stirred, sat up in bed on Saturday morning, and watched Grandpa Hal push back the drapes and open a window. Fresh air flooded the room. “Morning, Grandpa.”
“There you are, lassie.” He set a cup of steaming coffee on her bedside table. When they were younger, he’d bring them hot chocolate. “It’s going to be a lovely day. Shall we have breakfast outside?”
“I’ll let you know when I’m awake.” She snuggled back under the covers. After Tanner dropped her off on Tuesday night, she’d found her grandfather waiting up for her. He’d been so concerned, that she’d given in and told him about her PTSD. The past few days, as she recovered from the episode, they’d really talked. He was a good listener. Only gave advice when asked, didn’t judge. She’d even heard him fielding a couple of calls from her father. Grandpa was quite the storyteller when he wanted to be.
He sat on the edge of her bed and studied her through worried eyes. “I wish you’d told me what was going on when you first arrived. I would never have let you get started on those files. I would have given your father what for and—”
“Grandpa.” Natalie shot him a look of chastisement and took his hand. “I’ve told you now. And look where it got me. You’ve barely left me alone. Honestly, you need to take care of yourself, too, you know.”
“Don’t you worry about me, young lady. It’s you we need to mind. How are you feeling this morning?”
“Better.” Nights were still hard, sleep interrupted by visions she couldn’t control. Today might be a good day, but she still lived in fear of tomorrow. Her stomach growled, the sound almost producing a smile. “I wonder if Sarah would make me her famous French toast. I think I could actually eat.” The idea brought silly excitement.
“Of course she could.” Grandpa’s brow furrowed. “Is it my imagination or is your hair . . . a bit lopsided?”
“Not your imagination.” She remembered the sorry state of her appearance. Last night, after waking drenched and drained from another nightmare, she’d caught her reflection in the mirror and balked. She looked too thin. And her hair looked like a family of rats had made their home in it.
Angry with herself, she’d grabbed a pair of scissors without thinking. Next thing she knew, she’d made a royal mess and almost resembled Anne Hathaway’s look as Fantine in Les Mis. She’d leaned back against the tiles, closed her eyes, and let the tears come. Crawled back to bed and promised to fix it in the morning.
Natalie shook her head at the memory. “You wouldn’t by chance have one of those home hair-cutting kits, would you?”
“There’s something like that in the kitchen somewhere. Sarah gives me a trim now and then. Best let her sort you out. Or find someplace in town if you like.” He gave her a wink and stood. “We’ll get you through this, Natalie Grace. A year from now you’ll barely remember any of it.”
“That or I’ll be in the loony bin.” She ducked out from under the hand he tried to swat her with, and he left the room grumbling. Natalie wiggled her toes as warm fingers of sunlight crept over the covers to tickle her face. She could hear the kids and dogs outside.
Perhaps there was hope to be had after all. Perhaps God hadn’t seen fit to punish her. Perhaps He’d answered her halfhearted pleas for mercy.
Natalie still wasn’t sure.
Who was she to ask anything of a God she barely knew? And why would He answer her prayers? Religion was just something people made up to make themselves feel better. At least that’s what she’d spent most of her life believing. Lately, she was having doubts about that, wondering if there was more out there than she knew or had ever been willing to explore. She found herself skimming through the Bible that Laura had given her. Pondering over words like faith. Grace.
Mercy.
That was all well and good for people like Laura, people who had nothing to hide.
Natalie didn’t need it.
Except, maybe she did.
But she certainly didn’t deserve it.
Tanner sat at their kitchen table and glowered at the fly buzzing around his coffee. His first Saturday off in weeks. The crew would take a well-deserved break today. Harvest was over at last. Tonight they would celebrate, and then it was up to the wine. With any luck, this year would be the one to pull them out of the red.
Aside from losing those tanks, and the incident with Natalie on Tuesday—having to explain to Hal why her rental was hooked up to the back of his truck and why she sat in the front seat looking like death warmed over—last week had been manageable.
He’d negotiated a sweet deal with two new restaurants in town and they’d agreed to feature Maoilios’s wine on the menu. One was even planning a wine-tasting night to introduce Maoilios to the restaurant’s patrons. Tanner loathed those events as much as Hal, but he’d agreed to attend. He’d persuade Hal to come along. The old guy was practically a legend in his own right. Not that he’d ever admit it. And maybe—Tanner almost grinned at the thought—maybe he’d even ask Natalie.
“Everything squared away out there?” His mother came into the room carrying several large photo albums.
“Finally.” Tanner leaned back in his chair, bone weary but still wired from running on adrenaline and caffeine. “Cleaning up now. Getting ready for the party tonight. I still wish I could fig
ure out how that wine went bad, though. But, nothing to do about it, I guess.”
“Nope. No use crying in your coffee.” She placed the books on the table with a thump. “I’m heading to the hospital. Jason and Jeni are up at Hal’s, on the swing set.”
Tanner groaned at the mention of his nephew. “How mad is he?”
“That you missed another game? What do you think?”
He’d hoped to get out to the soccer field by nine this morning, but he’d still been in the sorting room supervising the last of the bins. “I know. It was crazy busy this morning and I couldn’t leave in time.”
“Don’t tell me. Tell him. And make sure you’re there next week.”
“How’d they do?”
“Lost. But Jase scored two goals. I got video.”
Tanner produced a tired smile. “Don’t tell me you finally figured out how to use that camera I gave you last Christmas.”
“No, I used my iPhone.”
“Really. I suppose you do Instagram too?”
“Of course. What, you think I’m old or something?” She refilled his coffee and tapped the back of his head as she headed toward the door. “Go check on the kids when you’re done, and take these to Natalie for me. I found them in my cedar chest, thought she might enjoy having a look.”
Tanner reached for the first album, thumbed a few pages, and rolled his eyes. “Mom. Seriously? I’m not taking these to her.” Skipping down memory lane with Natalie was the last thing he wanted to do. Yeesh. What in the world had he been thinking with that long hair? And what was that fur above his lip?
“Tanner.” She walked back to the table, placed her palms down while piercing him with that I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself look.
“What?”
“Deal with it.”
He pushed the books away as coffee churned in his stomach. “Those pictures are downright embarrassing. I’m not going to stand there and let Natalie laugh her guts out over me.”
“This has absolutely nothing to do with those photographs, and you know it. Natalie has PTSD, Tanner. It’s not a communicable disease. I know you. There’s nothing you can do to fix it and you hate that. You’re avoiding her the same way you’ve been avoiding Marnie.”
“Don’t.” He held up a hand, the sudden sting in his eyes making him blink.
“Tanner, let me say this; you need to hear it.” Her tone warned of what was coming. “Marnie isn’t going to get better. We know that. Those machines are keeping her alive. Dr. Blair says it will only take a little while before she passes. She’s not in pain. We need to let her go. It’s the right thing to do.” She pulled a Kleenex from the pocket of her slacks and wiped her eyes.
“Is it?” Words he would regret scratched his throat and tried to claw their way out. He smashed his hand onto the table, then stood and marched across the room. His chest heaved and his throat burned so badly he thought he might puke right there. “Is that what you’re going to tell Jason and Jeni? That it’s ‘the right thing to do’?”
“Tanner . . .” Mom raised a hand to her mouth, her tear-filled eyes wide. “We have to. Soon. And I want you to go see her before it happens. Make your peace.”
“You don’t ask for much, do you?”
“You can blame yourself as long as you live, but that won’t change a thing. The only thing it will do is hurt you in the long run. If you push away everyone who cares about you, you’ll end up a lonely man.”
“I enjoy being alone.” Out the window, a pair of birds landed nearby, picking at crumbs on the ground. The blue sky and bright sunshine mocked him, said all was well in the world, when clearly it wasn’t.
Hadn’t been for a long time.
“When did you last talk to David?”
Mom so needed to learn when to back off. She was a fine one to talk about letting go.
“I’ll drop these off.” He picked up the books, grabbed his jacket, and sent his mother a sidelong glance. “Talking to a priest or pastor or whatever David’s calling himself these days won’t help. Won’t change a thing.”
“He’s your friend, Tanner. He wants to help.”
“Well, he can’t help. Nobody can help.”
Fifteen
NATALIE SCOURED THE KITCHEN FOR THE KIT GRANDPA HAD referred to. She finally found it in one of the cupboards, an inch of dust on it. She didn’t want to shave her head or anything. It at least contained scissors that looked in better condition than the ones she’d used last night. She just had to figure out how to fix the mess. Or find a salon in town that would do a better job. But the thought of going out in public was too mortifying and she’d convinced herself she could do it.
The kettle boiled and she pulled down her favorite mug—the one with the sunflowers on it—scooped some orange pekoe tea leaves from the canister into the small sieve, and poured water over them. While she waited for the tea to steep, she spied Tanner’s niece and nephew heading up the hill toward the house, the dogs at their heels.
She hadn’t seen Tanner since Tuesday, and part of her was relieved. As awful as she’d felt that night, being with him, confiding in him, stirred something in her she wasn’t prepared to consider. Had no business even contemplating.
Chances weren’t in her favor, but if she did manage to steer clear of crazy, if she ever allowed herself to fall for anyone again, a guy like Tanner Collins would be first on her list. And that scared her more than the thought of not getting well.
Jason barreled through the back door, took one look at her, and stopped in his tracks. “Whoa.” He stared down at his soccer cleats and muttered something about coming in for a drink of water.
Jeni was less subtle. “What happened to your hair?”
“Well.” Natalie smiled, took her tea to the table. She pulled out a chair and motioned for the little girl to sit next to her. Jason grabbed two bottles of water, gave one to his sister, and perched at the far end of the oak table, veiled curiosity in his eyes. “I thought I needed a new look,” Natalie explained. “Had a little run-in with the scissors and it didn’t turn out so well.”
“Why’d you do it yourself?” Jason wanted to know.
“I figured I could. A bad decision.”
“I’ll say.” The kid was as blunt as his uncle.
“You’re still pretty, Miss Natalie.” Jeni put a hand on Natalie’s arm, her big eyes filled with worry. “Don’t be sad.”
Natalie nodded, her throat tight. “Thank you, Jeni.”
“At least you’re not bald. My friend’s mom had cancer,” Jason said, taking a long swig of water. “She lost all her hair. Bald as a baby. Then she died.”
“I’m sorry for your friend.” Natalie sipped her tea. Anger marked the boy’s features, but she had a feeling it wasn’t brought on by the thought of his friend’s mother.
“Nan says we shouldn’t question when people die before we think they’re supposed to.” Jeni lifted the lid of the cookie jar and took one out. “Sometimes God has other plans for them.”
“Like rotting in the ground? Please. That’s a bunch of baloney.” Jason grabbed a cookie and shot his sister a glare. She glared right back.
“No, they go to heaven, dummy.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Do too. Right, Natalie?” Jeni turned to her. Natalie groaned inwardly. She was the last person to be answering these kinds of questions. Where was Laura when she needed her?
“Well, I suppose . . .” The imploring look on the little girl’s face did her in. “Of course they do. And I think heaven must be a very peaceful, beautiful place.” That sounded convincing.
“If Mommy doesn’t get better, she’ll go to heaven.” Jeni’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Shut up, stupid.” Jason spewed cookie crumbs and smacked her arm.
“Ow!”
“Hey, what’s going on in here?” Tanner strode through the door, eyebrows knit together. He carried a pile of what looked like photo albums.
“Perfect timing,” Natalie whispered.
Tanner raised a brow and focused on the kids. “Did I hear you yell at your sister?”
“No, sir.” Jason grabbed his water bottle and headed for the back door.
“Don’t move, we’re not done talking,” Tanner growled.
“Uncle Tanner!” Jeni ran to Tanner, tears flowing. “He said Mommy’s not going to heaven.”
“I did not!”
Tanner put the albums down, picked up his niece, and held her against him. His eyes widened at Jason. “Why would you say something like that?”
“I didn’t say that. Not exactly.”
“Did too!” Jeni pouted. “And he hit me!”
“Jason?” Tanner’s expression darkened and tears welled in the boy’s eyes. Natalie suddenly felt sorry for him. For all of them.
“I didn’t mean to, I just . . .” Jason’s lower lip began to tremble.
“Never mind.” Tanner shook his head. “You and I will discuss this later.”
“Oh, like you’ll actually have time to talk to me? Yeah, right.” The dark look he sent Tanner made Natalie cringe.
“Jase, chill out.” Tanner waited a moment. Probably counting to ten. Or a hundred. “I know you’re miffed because I missed your game.”
“We lost anyway.”
“Nan said you scored two goals.”
“Big whoop.” Jason attempted to leave again.
“Hold up.” Tanner grabbed the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t like what just happened in here. And I don’t like your tone.”
Jason shrugged him off but stayed put, his face thunderous.
Tanner put Jeni down and crouched before her. “I want the two of you to go down to the barn and see what you can do to help Miguel and Iliana get ready for the party tonight.” He wiped the little girl’s tears.
Jeni sniffed, her smile coming out to play. “Last year I got to help with the flowers. Do you think she’ll let me do that again, Uncle Tanner?”
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