by Beverly Long
It made Melody nervous. Bernard had never married, had never even dated as far as she knew. To coin a phrase from George, Bernard courted grapes.
“It’s none of my business,” she said, “but—”
“You’re right,” he interrupted. “It isn’t any of your business.”
Her feelings were barely even bruised. How could they be when she was so worried? She loved Bernard and she didn’t want to see him get hurt. And while she knew better than to pass judgement, something told her that Ms. Fields wasn’t the type of woman likely to be interested in Bernard—if for no other reason than she had to be at least twenty years younger.
She plucked at his sleeve. “Bernard, just be careful. Okay?”
He looked her over. “Maybe I’ve been a little too careful my whole life. Maybe it’s time for me to stop being cautious.” He reached over, took a glass of wine off the tray that Bessie was carrying past, and calmly walked away from Melody, leaving her with her mouth hanging open.
Oh, for goodness sakes. Couldn’t the man just take up surfboarding or skydiving? There was no need to be crazy here.
“Darling,” her grandmother said, coming up behind her. “Come with us. I want to introduce you and George to our guest.” She had George firmly anchored on her left, and she hooked her right arm through Melody’s.
Up close, the woman was even prettier and thinner. “Rebecca,” her grandmother said, “may I introduce my granddaughter, Melody, and her new husband, George Johnson.”
Rebecca extended a soft hand with absolutely perfectly manicured fingers. It took everything Melody had not to hide her own bare, sort-of-short, sometimes-chewed fingernails.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” Rebecca said, her voice so on-camera sweet that Melody thought she might have stumbled upon a sound stage. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Since Louis was the woman’s contact, Melody could just imagine what she’d heard. “The pleasure is mine.”
Rebecca released Melody’s hand and immediately turned her attention to George. She extended her hand. “My, my,” she said, “why is it that all the gorgeous men are already married.”
“Ma’am,” George said, nodding his head at her.
She winked at him. “It’s ‘miss’.” She had yet to release his hand.
The absurdity of the situation hit Melody like a seven-year-old running full speed toward home plate. An absolutely stunning woman was interested in George who would be a crazy man not to be interested in return, but he could do nothing. Otherwise, she’d have to tell her grandmother that she was a liar. And an unwed mother-to-be.
It really wasn’t fair to George.
Melody pulled gently on her grandmother’s arm. “Let’s go talk to Aunt Genevieve. She’s standing over there all by herself.”
Grandmother looked between George and Rebecca Fields, like she was afraid to leave the two of them alone.
“Don’t worry about Rebecca,” Melody chattered brightly. “George can entertain her.”
She didn’t look back until she’d reached Aunt Genevieve’s side. Then she was sorry she did. Rebecca and George were sitting on the couch, their heads close together. She turned back to Genevieve. Mona was draped around her neck, her front paws folded nicely on one side, her tail flipping furiously on the other.
“There’s a name for women like her,” Aunt Genevieve said.
“She’s just outgoing,” Melody said. “Probably was a cheerleader in high school.”
Aunt Genevieve rolled her eyes. “It’s a shame your baby is using up all your oxygen. Must make it hard to reason things out.”
She ignored the comment and pretended to be fascinated by the tray of crackers and cheese on the table next to where her grandmother stood.
“I think we better have dinner,” her grandmother said.
“Good idea,” muttered Aunt Genevieve. “Before that one thinks it’s time for dessert.”
Within minutes Grandmother had them moving toward their chairs. She sat at the head of the table with Aunt Genevieve at her left. Then it was Bernard, Gino, and Louis rounding out the side. Grandmother waved Rebecca to the seat directly to her right and then motioned for Melody, George, and Tilly to file in.
George had his hand already on his appointed chair when Melody slipped into it, leaving George to sit between Rebecca and herself. He gave her a look but obligingly sat next to Rebecca Fields, who wasted no time in leaning his direction and saying something in her soft, aren’t-I-sexy, voice.
There’d been no good option. No way in hell was she letting Tilly sit next to George. Not only had the woman practically drooled over him on the stairs, she’d also had time to prepare a full arsenal of questions. George wouldn’t stand a chance and the whole charade would be uncovered. She couldn’t let that happen. However, now she’d have to spend an hour watching Rebecca Fields charm George.
“Melody, would you like to lead us in prayer?”
Dear God. Please make Rebecca Fields pick her teeth at the table. “Absolutely, Grandmother.” She looked around the room. Bernard was staring at Rebecca, Tilly at the potatoes, and Aunt Genevieve had her eyes narrowed at George. He was the only one with his hands together and his head bent.
What was he praying for?
“Melody?” her grandmother prompted.
“Okay.” She ran her tongue across her teeth. “Heavenly Father. We. . .uh. . .we thank you for this opportunity for our family to be together.” She made the mistake of looking up. Louis looked amused. “And we. . .uh. . .thank you for this food.” Now what? “Please watch over us,” she finished and quickly unfolded her hands.
“Amen?” her grandmother prompted.
“Yes. Amen,” Melody added. George turned his head and smiled at her.
It was the last time he looked at her. His attention shifted to Rebecca Fields when the woman put her hand on his wrist. Melody tried very hard to pretend that it didn’t bother her. Or that later, when she heard George laugh at something the woman said, that it wasn’t hard to swallow her roast beef.
Bessie had just cleared the dirty plates when Gino’s cell phone rang. It startled Melody because one, Gino rarely carried a cell phone and two, everybody knew Grandmother hated those kinds of interruptions at the table.
She looked at her grandmother but she didn’t see irritation in the woman’s eyes. Instead, it was pure concern. Gino pushed his chair back and was halfway out of the room when he answered on the third ring.
“What’s going on?” Louis asked.
Grandmother didn’t answer. Aunt Genevieve looked like she wanted to speak up but a quick shake of her sister’s head had her silent as well.
Bessie had delivered dessert and coffee by the time Gino came back. Melody felt scared when she saw that his eyes were red.
“It’s over,” he said, looking at Grandmother.
She nodded. “I’m sorry, Gino. You know I want you to take as much time as you need.”
“It could be four weeks,” he said, looking uncomfortable.
“Go.” It was Aunt Genevieve who issued the terse order. “Your mother needs you.”
It was Gino’s turn to nod. “I’ve been trying to stay ready, to be prepared. I’ve got a good list made of what needs to be done over the next couple of weeks. Arturo can handle it.”
“What’s going on?” Louis repeated his question. His voice was louder, more agitated than before.
“My father is dead,” Gino answered. He stood straight, rather stiffly, like he didn’t want to talk about it.
Melody understood. She knew the story. Gino hadn’t spoken to his father in over thirty years. Grandmother had told her that they’d had a terrible falling-out when Gino had left the family vineyard in Italy and had come to work for Grandmother. Gino had always kept in contact with his mother, talking once a week on the telephone, and he’d paid for her to come visit him in the United States several times.
“Arturo can barely read English,” Louis said. “He certainly can’t ma
nage fifteen other men or the complexities of the vineyard.” The man looked at his wife.
“Louis will have to do it,” Tilly said. “Somebody in the family needs to be in charge.”
Nobody at the table said a word. Bernard looked like he’d eaten something sour and Grandmother and Aunt Genevieve exchanged another look that told Melody neither woman thought the suggestion was a good one.
Grandmother, ever the professional, turned to Rebecca Fields. “Rebecca, I’m sorry but as you can see, we have some business to attend to.” She glanced across the table. “Bernard, would you be willing to share dessert and coffee with Rebecca in the living room?”
Under normal circumstances, Melody knew it would take an earthquake to remove Bernard from a discussion about the vineyard. Every winemaker knew that the secret to wonderful wine was wonderful grapes. And wonderful grapes didn’t just happen. They needed tender loving care in the form of just the right amount of sun, the right amount of water, and vigilance against the insects and other pests that threatened a growing vine.
He looked from Gino, to Louis, then back again to Grandmother. Ultimately, Rebecca was a force that could not be denied. He picked up his cheesecake and his coffee. “I’d be happy to,” he said.
Rebecca had the good grace not to make a scene. She stood up, picked up her own dessert and coffee, and smiled at the group. “It’s been a pure delight,” she said. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”
Melody noticed that the woman’s utterance of delight had happened at exactly the same moment her gaze had reached and settled on George. She looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but all eyes were on Grandmother, wondering what the heck she was going to do.
Grandmother waited until the door was shut behind Bernard and Rebecca before turning toward Louis and Tilly. She licked her lips and when she spoke, her voice was surprisingly strong, reminding Melody of the Grandmother of old. “Arturo is a fine young man. And if Gino thinks he’s ready, then he’s ready.”
Louis turned red. “But—”
“But since,” she interrupted him, “it is my name on the bottle and my reputation, I don’t see any harm in having a family member working with him, side by side.”
“Louis doesn’t prune vines, Mother,” Tilly said in a disgusted tone.
Louis’s face had toned down to a dull pink. “No, but I sure as hell can tell somebody else how to do it.”
“Of course you can,” Grandmother replied smoothly. “But last week when we needed help spraying sulfur after that rain, you told me you were much too busy with the mail-order business.”
“But this is different,” Uncle Louis said.
Melody knew what was different. Last week he’d have actually had to work. Now he was gleefully contemplating bossing their trusted employees around. Gino would be lucky to come home to a crew.
Grandmother turned slightly in her chair and looked first at Melody and then George. “I believe we all agree that one of the family should take over for Gino. George, can you do this for us?”
Melody could feel her ears grow hot. George had straightened in his chair and she sensed his discomfort with the request.
It was all her fault. She’d told everyone he was family. He certainly hadn’t signed on for this. He was supposed to show up, pretend to be a husband, earn a few dollars, and be on his way.
“Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t know much about grapes.”
There was a grunt of satisfaction from Louis’s end of the table.
“Gino is right in that Arturo does know what needs to be done. I just want you there as a second set of eyes and ears. Please.”
George turned to look at her and Melody resisted the impulse to apologize. Instead, she looked him in the eye. “It’s your decision, George. No one will think less of you if you say no.”
“That’s true,” Grandmother said.
“That’s good to know,” he said. “However, if you think I can be of assistance, I’d be happy to help.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Tilly left the table without finishing her dessert. Louis, always better at keeping his feelings under wraps, settled back into his chair and sipped his coffee. “Work starts early in the vineyard, George.”
“I imagine it does,” George said, his tone even.
Gino looked at his watch. “I’m catching a red-eye out of San Francisco tonight but I have enough time to take you out and introduce you to Arturo.”
Louis straightened up in his chair but before he could speak, Aunt Genevieve pushed her chair back and stood up. “Gino, grass is growing under your feet. Just go. I’ll take care of introducing him around tomorrow morning. You know I’m always up.”
Gino nodded and he looked first at George, then at Grandmother and Aunt Genevieve. “I appreciate this,” he said. Then he looked at Melody. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with you, Sweet Pea. Next time, okay?”
She got up and gave him the hug that she’d been wanting to deliver for the last fifteen minutes. “Take care,” she said. “We’ll be thinking about you.”
Gino shook his head and awkwardly patted her belly. “I’m happy for you.” He glanced at George one last time and his eyes were serious. “You’ve got Sweet Pea and her baby and now my grapes to take care of. I hope to hell you’re a good man.”
It was the kind of statement that didn’t require a reply and George didn’t give him one. Gino hugged Melody and was out the door.
Nobody said anything for at least a minute. Then George pushed back his chair.
She figured he was going to go look for Rebecca Fields.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” George said, “and since work does start early, I think I’ll retire for the evening if no one has any objections.”
Retire for the evening?
Grandmother smiled at both her and George. “I imagine you’re both tired. You had a long drive this morning and it’s certainly been an eventful day.”
Well, that was clear enough. Her grandmother expected her to retire with her husband. Given that her other option was chatting it up with super-thin Rebecca in the other room, it was no doubt the thing to do.
Melody walked over and kissed both her grandmother and her aunt on the cheek. “I’ll see you both in the morning,” she said. She glanced in Louis’s direction. “Good night.”
As they walked upstairs, Melody repeated one thought. I can do this. I can do this.
She had done this.
In college, the summer between her junior and senior year, she’d shared an apartment with Gavin Blake. They’d met through a mutual friend. He’d cooked, she’d cleaned, he’d showered at night, she in the morning. It had been perfect. Each had slept in his or her own bedroom.
She knew how to do the roommate thing.
And this was sort of the same. Her room at her grandmother’s house was about the same size as the two bedrooms at that tiny college apartment. So, really, all she was missing was a wall.
Some drywall and a coat of paint. Nothing much.
She stopped in front of the big linen closet. “I’m just going to grab that extra blanket,” she said. It was on the top shelf. She reached for it and he put his fingers on her forearm and gently pressed her arm down.
Heat.
Big dip, big sway. Tango in progress.
“I’ll get it,” he said. He pulled out the blue and gray quilt and tucked it under his arm.
“Drywall and a little paint,” she mumbled.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
When they got inside her room, he closed the door with a quiet thud. When she turned to look at him, he was staring at the picture on the wall. He seemed so far away.
“I figure Colorado, ’cause of the mountains,” she said.
He continued to stare at it. “I saw some mountains like that once in Wyoming,” he said.
“I’ve never been to Wyoming.”
He didn’t answer.
“Sounds like
you have, though.” She pushed, unwilling to let him close her off.
He nodded absently. “Spent a few weeks there.”
“When?”
His head jerked toward her. “A few years ago.” His tone suddenly seemed guarded.
Who knew how long he’d been out of work? Maybe he’d drifted around for a while and the memories weren’t all that pleasant. She walked over to the dresser and grabbed the pajamas that she’d put in the top drawer earlier. There was no sense putting this off indefinitely. He was tired. So was she.
“I’m going to change into my pajamas in the bathroom.” She said it so nonchalantly that she was sure a casual observer would have assumed that she had men in her bedroom every night.
It struck her that George might think she had men in her bedroom every night. After all, she’d obviously had at least one, at least once. “Um, George.”
“Yes.” He put the quilt down on the seat of the chair that sat next to the dresser.
“I’m not. . .”
“Yes,” he repeated.
“I don’t sleep around,” she said. Well, that was probably blunt enough. “I mean, I know I’m pregnant and all and there’s no husband, no boyfriend, no nothing.”
He sat there. Waiting. Finally, he spoke. “Yes.”
Oh, good grief. “That’s three times. If you say that word again, I’m going to smother you with a pillow tonight.”
He opened his mouth, but then shut it quickly.
Great. It wasn’t like the man had talked all that much to begin with. “Never mind,” she said.
She had the bathroom door open before he stopped her.
“Melody.”
She didn’t turn around.
“What I think,” he said, “isn’t all that important but if it matters to you, I guess I’d just want you to know that I think you’re a fine woman.”
She could barely walk up a flight of stairs, her ankles were swollen, and her bra was way too tight. But suddenly, she felt sort of like delicate porcelain china.