The Last MacKlenna

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “I’d like to bring someone on board.”

  “As what?”

  “Director of Social Media. He’ll handle Twitter, Facebook, a blog, and the website.”

  Meredith leaned back and crossed her arms. A Director of Social Media wasn’t the issue. She’d have hired one if he’d only asked. “I know social media is important. I’m willing to tweet.”

  “If you’d like to, great. But we need someone to do it regularly. Once we start, our customers will expect regular updates on what’s happening at the winery. Can you do that? Do you want to do that? I don’t.”

  “I’m willing to write blog posts, too.”

  “You don’t have time to keep up a blog.”

  She fiddled with her spoon. “What else do you want?”

  “I’m only interested in one thing. If you can’t deliver, I’m not coming back.”

  Meredith’s phone rang and flashed her doctor’s name and number. She turned off the device and dropped it into her purse. This was a scrub brush moment, and she had to see it through.

  “You need to run the company, not the marketing department,” he said. “Step aside, and I’ll go back to work.”

  She opened her mouth to say no, but the word wouldn’t form on her tongue.

  “The winery is a private company with over two hundred employees and no succession plan. Who’s going to lead if something happens to you? What if you get sick again and have to be out for several months? What would happen if you fell in love and wanted to spend more time with the lucky man instead of your grapes?”

  “So that’s what you’re after? The executive office.”

  “If you think that’s what this is about, you’re not watching the market as closely as I thought you were. If Cailean’s a success, we could do a hundred million this year. That’s too big for one person. You’ve got to let up on the reins. If you do, you’ll have time to chase your dream. Other than rescuing that broken down racehorse, you’ve done nothing to fill up the stables you built.”

  He’s right about that.

  “God, Meredith. I’m not asking you to cut off a body part.”

  He could have used a different analogy.

  “I’ve been marketing wine for twenty years,” he continued. “I’m good at what I do. That’s why you cherry picked me from Kendall Jackson. Let me do my job.”

  I thought I was.

  The early lunch crowd filled the booths around them. The smell of Sauerkraut for the turkey Reuben sandwiches filtered her way and irritated her already queasy stomach. “Do you really think we could make a hundred million dollars?”

  Greg smiled for the first time since she’d sat down across from him. “Let me do what you hired me to do.”

  “I have high standards. From what I’ve seen coming out of your office lately, the work falls below my expectations. Why is that?”

  His eyes grew large, and he pushed back from the table. “The work on the brochure has been top of the line. You’ve done nothing but pick it apart since this project began. Why is that?”

  “I’m not getting into a—” She glanced around to see if restaurant patrons were listening to their conversation. As far as she could tell, they weren’t, but she did lower her voice. “—pissing contest with you over whose work is better.”

  “Really? Well, take a good look at the corrections you’ve made. You’ve trashed all my initiatives and revised the slicks to retain your look. A look that’s been around for a decade. It’s time to freshen up the website and our printed material. It’s all dated and turns off buyers.”

  “That look has done well for us. There’s no reason to change it. It’s our brand.”

  “Our brand needs a facelift. If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you the market research.”

  “Where’d you get the research?” she asked.

  “I had it done.”

  Her face flushed with the heat of anger. “Behind my back.” Now it was her turn to push away from the table.

  “I should have told you, but I had money left in my budget. I went for it. The results were well worth the time and expense.”

  That was it. She threw up her hands. “I’m done here.”

  “What if you get sick again?” he asked.

  “That’s the second time you’ve asked that. Do you know something I don’t?” None of her doctors would have talked to Cate about her health issues. Gregory was hitting her in a vulnerable spot.

  “I’m prepared to walk away. Are you prepared to let me?”

  Was he intentionally trying to provoke her? “If you think you’re indispensable, you’re wrong.”

  They were now at a standstill. He was prepared to walk, and she was prepared to let him. Damn egos. Any other time, she would have let him go, but right now, that would make a huge mess of her life.

  She put her elbows on the table, tented her hands, and tapped her fingertips together. “Here’s the deal. I’ll step back, and you can hire a Director of Social Media. The ball’s in your court. But I swear, if you drop it, you won’t find another job in the valley or the bay area.”

  “Deal,” he said, shaking her hand with a dry, strong grip.

  “Deal,” she said, returning his shake with a slightly sweaty palm.

  She walked away knowing neither of them left anything on the table. Gregory got what he wanted—her out of the way. She got what she needed—a very capable marketing VP and less responsibility.

  There’d be no negotiating during her upcoming appointment with her doctor though. Either she had cancer or she didn’t. If she didn’t, she’d go back to Kentucky, have a great weekend with Elliott, and try to find out why Cullen Montgomery was hanging out at MacKlenna Farm. If she did have cancer, well, all bets were off.

  Chapter Forty-One

  San Francisco Breast Care Center – December 28

  MEREDITH PULLED INTO the small, crowded parking lot at the San Francisco Breast Care Center. Sweaty palms made for an uneasy grip of the steering wheel. She found a space in the back, farthest from the door, and squeezed in between a new Lexus and an older model VW Jetta that had a woman in the driver’s seat. Meredith turned off the ignition and sat perfectly still. Tears welled in her eyes. Within three hours, she’d all but surrendered to Elliott’s request and did surrender to Gregory’s demand. Both men were happy. But what about me? She should feel lighter, giddy with anticipation, but she didn’t. How could she?

  The door to the building opened and closed as women—old and young, some dressed in designer suits, some in jeans and jackets—walked in and out. None of them smiling. Although she had survived a previous battle, she could still lose the war. Others had. Beautiful, courageous women who suffered with long-term pain once their breast cancer metastasized. She grieved for them, the ones she had known, like her dear friend Sally, and the ones she hadn’t.

  “Don’t let fear get a foothold,” her dad’s assistant of many years used to say. “Once it does, it’ll bully all of your other emotions.” Right now, fear was a noisy troublemaker. She tried to quiet it, but . . .

  Her cell phone rang. She dug into her bag. Her fingers ripped into the contents, tossing aside a wallet, passport, tissues, ChapStick, power cord, hand sanitizer, nail polish. The phone rang again. “Damn.” She upturned the bag. On the third ring, she grabbed the phone off the floor and punched the send key. “Meredith Montgomery.”

  “You’re crying. What’s wrong?” Elliott asked.

  Tell him anything, but don’t tell him the truth. “I just had a conversation with Gregory about the direction of the marketing department.”

  “Let me guess. He wants you out of his way.”

  She wiped her eyes with a tissue. “You’re perceptive.”

  “I’m not a marketing expert, but the slicks I saw were well done. You didn’t like them, which meant something else was going on. You probably ran the department before your father died and you don’t want to let go.”

  “Like I said, you’re perceptive.”


  “Your situation sounds familiar. A couple of years ago, I was the farm’s chief vet. I got tired of horses kicking and slamming me against the wall, so I stepped down to concentrate on developing a compound for joint inflammation that Sean and I were working on.”

  “Are you going to tell me you got in your replacement’s way?”

  “And acted like an ass—”

  Meredith laughed, and so did he.

  “Yeah, well, some things never change. I rewrote several of his orders. He went to Sean threatening to quit if I didn’t stop. Sean told me to either back off or take the job back. I didn’t want it, but I didn’t want to completely let go either. Somehow, Sean smoothed Doc’s feathers. He didn’t tell me how.

  “Then, only a few weeks before Sean died, an offer for the drug came in from a pharmaceutical company. We signed the agreement the next day. Based on the last quarter’s earnings, we’re set to make some real money.”

  “Gregory told me Cailean could make us a hundred million dollar company. If we get that big, I can’t do his job and mine, too.”

  “Giving up control isn’t the worst thing in the world. You might find something else that makes you happier.”

  She didn’t say anything. She just let his words seep in and fill in the corners and crevices. “Why’d you call me just now? I thought you said you’d call at eight.”

  “I woke up from a nap, thinking about you. I wanted to hear your voice.”

  I wish you could give me a hug.

  “If I was there, I’d give you a hug.” He laughed again. “Probably wouldn’t stop at a hug, though. As soon as your body rolled into mine, I’d be ripping off your clothes.”

  “Okay, I’m going to hang up before this becomes one of those calls.”

  “I don’t want you over the phone. I want you here where I can make—”

  She laughed again. “I’m hanging up. I’ve got a meeting to go to.”

  The woman in the Jetta opened the driver’s door and stepped out of the car. She wore a butterfly, print head scarf. She gave Meredith a wan smile, then shuffled toward the clinic’s entrance. Would that be her in a couple of months, making her way to another chemo appointment? With her first cancer, treatment hadn’t included chemo or radiation. She touched her head and ran her fingers through her hair. I’d look awful without hair. No one would buy a sick woman’s wine.

  “Meredith, are you there, or am I hanging on to a dropped call?”

  She sniffed. “I’m still here. I think I’m getting a cold.”

  “You’re too fit to get sick. You’re upset, and there’s more going on than the conversation with Gregory, isn’t it? Do you want to talk?”

  “Not really. I’m just tired. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “You need a break.”

  She leaned her head against the window. “I wish we were still in Edinburgh.”

  “I need to bring Edinburgh to the farm. Would that get you back here sooner?”

  “Haggis and a Ferris wheel at MacKlenna Farm. Wow. Lexington’s first Hogmanay. You might start a new tradition.”

  “The farm needs one.” Elliott’s voice reflected a sad tone.

  No matter what happened once she walked through those looming clinic doors, she could have one last weekend in his arms. “A couple of quiet days would be fine with me.”

  “It’ll be New Year’s weekend. We need to celebrate. Kevin,” Elliott yelled.

  “You don’t have to yell. I’m right here,” Kevin said.

  Meredith shook her head at the mumbled conversation taking place in a hospital room on the other side of the country. “Elliott, I’ve got to go. I’ll call tonight.”

  She disconnected, unsure he even heard her say goodbye. She had no doubt he would spend the next few days creating a mini version of Edinburgh’s four-day winter festival. Whatever he planned would be spectacular.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  San Francisco Breast Care Center – December 28

  MEREDITH SAT IN a plastic chair with sturdy metal legs, an institutional mainstay, and cleaned the fingerprints from her phone. She’d turned it off in case Elliott called back to ask her to come tonight instead. Even if he promised the Edinburgh Wheel, she couldn’t leave any sooner than she’d planned.

  If she slept with him again—who was she kidding—when she slept with him again, she’d have to tell him about her mastectomy. The slight nuances in her reconstructed breast would be visible to his discerning eye. She sighed with the full weight of her worry. Then why put herself through it? For a non-risk-taker, risks were stacking up at her feet.

  The radiologist entered the room carrying his iPad. He sat at the desk next to Meredith. “The fine needle aspiration was negative. You could still have a tumor that the needle just missed. Because of your past history, your doctor is concerned, legitimately so. My recommendation is that we do an ultrasound.”

  “Can I get conclusive results today?” she asked.

  “Let’s see what we find, if anything,” he said.

  “If it’s malignant, I can’t do anything about it before February 16.”

  He sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and scratched his chin, playing with an invisible goatee. “Let’s not talk about what you can’t do until we know what, if anything, that we’re facing.”

  “One of the biggest events in my life is coming up. I can’t—”

  “Worrying about tomorrow or two months into the future won’t do you any good. When we have all the facts, we’ll deal with what happens next. Let’s start with an ultrasound and go from there.”

  She wanted to make light of what was happening, to find a joke, a reason to laugh instead of shake. This shouldn’t be happening to her again. Hadn’t she already sung to this audience? Yep, and she didn’t need a comeback tour.

  “This situation is complex, Meredith, but you’ve been through worse.”

  His platitude stung. If it was meant to comfort her, it didn’t. Instead, it buried its stinger in her gut, spreading venom, and she exploded. “What do you think was worse? My first cancer, or praying for a brain-dead husband? How about my father dying in my arms, hoping he’d regain consciousness long enough to tell me for the first time that he loved me? Which one of those was worse, do you think?” She slid over the edge of a cliff, dangling above a cavern. “Maybe we should start with my mother dying in labor because she was too sick to give birth to me. Which one was worse?”

  The doctor cleared his throat.

  She had asked rhetorical questions and didn’t expect answers from him. Her cheeks heated, partially with embarrassment, partly from anger. “I’m sorry. I’ve had too much happen to me lately.”

  “All those things are awful, but you survived.” He stood and patted her shoulder. “I’ll go and get Lisa to take you across the hall to change. She’s a patient advocate and will stay with you during the testing to answer your questions.”

  A young woman with pert breasts and brown hair pulled into a ponytail entered the room. “Hello, Ms. Montgomery. My name is Lisa. If you’re ready, we’ll go across the hall for the ultrasound.”

  They walked through an interior waiting room, passing a fire burning in the fireplace and multi-colored fish swimming in an aquarium. Calming fixtures. Meredith counted a dozen women wearing short flowery gowns over their street clothes, sitting on upholstered sofas. Some read books; some dipped tea bags into mugs of steamy water. There was camaraderie in the room. A laugh, a chuckle, a sigh. Everyone was there for the same reason. To find out if their breasts had betrayed them.

  Lisa led her down the hall to an exam room, where she left Meredith to change.

  A few minutes later, Lisa and the radiologist entered. “You had an ultrasound last time, didn’t you?” he asked.

  Meredith nodded. “You’ll tell me what you see, right?” She lay down on the table and glanced up at the screen.

  “I will. I want to do a breast exam first. Then we’ll do the ultrasound.” He palpated deep into the tissue. Mered
ith saw a twitch around his mouth and knew the moment he felt the lump.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Meredith asked.

  “Let’s see what it looks like.” The radiologist moved the ultrasound transducer around the whole breast, up to the nipple and back around again. “There’s a low density, irregular, spiculated mass at the posterior depth in the left breast. We need to do a core biopsy.”

  “Right now?” Meredith asked.

  “Yes. We’ll take three to six samples.”

  “Will that tell you for sure?” She tried to keep the quiver out of her voice—impossible. She was shaking-in-her-Jimmy-Choo’s-scared.

  “Yes, but it’ll be tomorrow before we get the results.”

  While the doctor prepared to do the procedure, Meredith closed her eyes and thought of Elliott and the sleigh ride and Christmas night. And then she thought about him some more as a needle pierced her skin.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  San Francisco Breast Care Center – December 29

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, Meredith sat at a conference table across from the radiologist who had performed the biopsy. She clasped her hands in her lap to keep from twiddling her hair or picking at her nails or tapping on the tabletop.

  The doctor pointed to the image on his laptop screen. “You have an invasive lobular carcinoma.”

  Her heart beat fast and furiously. Her mouth went dry, and her hands shook. Invasive carcinoma. I’m going to die. The room began to spin. She grabbed the edge of the table and held on fast as her life spun out of control.

  The doctor poured a glass of water. “Drink this.”

  She reached for the glass, then had second thoughts and dropped her shaking, clammy hand. Tears fell down her cheeks. “Are you sure?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s . . . what’s the survival rate?”

  “Prognosis varies with the grade and stage.”

  “What’s mine?”