A Memory Away

by Melinda Curtis

  “Fess up. There’s something missing.” His gaze probed for the truth, but there was a reluctant slant to his eyes, as if he didn’t want to know.

  I’m so sorry, Baby. Jessica’s hand drifted to her stomach. “The only thing I know is that a week before the accident, my bank account was drained.”

  “He did it.” Duffy was maddeningly certain.

  Jessica shook her head when instead she wanted to shake him. “I can’t be certain of that.”

  “I am. I know my brother better than anyone.” His lips pinched upward at the corners, so tense she wouldn’t have called it a smile. “Twins, remember?”

  She didn’t want to believe him. There were the recently remembered smiles and kisses.

  Duffy stood. His gaze cut toward the door. His feet pointed that way, as well. “Sorry about the memory thing, but I need to get back to work.”

  She should never have gotten her hopes up. She should have accepted that the father of her baby was gone and his family wouldn’t want anything to do with her. Being unwanted was her reality.

  But something inside of her wouldn’t settle. Not this time. “Wait. Can I see you again?” At his frown, she rushed on. “I’ve recovered quite a bit today just by listening to you talk. For five months, I’ve had nothing.” Desperation seized her and squeezed. “Please. It’s important to me that I remember.”

  His jaw worked. He didn’t look at Jess. Clearly, he didn’t want to see her again and be reminded of Greg. But his hesitation meant he wasn’t as cold and uncaring as he might want her to believe. That perhaps somewhere in that closed-off heart of his were memories of Greg he cherished.

  Above them, the ceiling creaked.

  “There’s no point.” But he didn’t leave or ask her to go.

  Hope flooded her chest. “There is. There’s every point. Up until today, I couldn’t remember how I got pregnant. If I’d been abandoned by my husband or raped...” Steady, girl. She squared her shoulders. “I grew up without knowing my father, not even his name. All I’m asking for is a little of your time.”

  “I know I’m going to regret this—”

  “You won’t.” Jessica gathered her things, anxious to leave before he changed his mind.

  “Come back Saturday at six. There’s a restaurant in town, El Rosal. I’ll be having dinner there.” She wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him because it sounded as if he’d added the words Whether you’re there or not.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE ONLY THING worse than finding out your brother had left a bun in the oven? Duffy’s new boss hearing all about it. At least Ryan, the assistant winemaker, was off today.

  “Sorry for the lack of privacy. That was pretty heavy.” Christine stood in the doorway between the tasting room and the kitchen. “How are you doing?”

  Duffy shrugged, watching Jessica walk to her car with carefully measured steps. She tugged the ends of her jacket, trying unsuccessfully to wrap them around her belly, hunching her shoulders against the cold.

  So frail. So fragile. Duffy wanted to believe her.

  She didn’t remember Greg? How was that possible?

  Christine came to stand next to him. “I’m not sure how I’d react to knowing I was going to have a niece or nephew soon.”

  I’m going to be an uncle.

  Duffy hadn’t processed Jessica’s news in that light. He’d been blindsided by her presence and her pregnancy and her claims of amnesia. He supposed that as the child’s uncle, he had a responsibility—to be a fatherly influence since Greg wasn’t around, to teach the little tyke how to throw a ball and swing a bat, to make sure the kid had some money socked away for college.

  Money?

  Recently buried worries resurfaced in his gut, sour and unpleasant.

  After Greg swindled their parents, Duffy had helped support them. Since Greg’s death, he’d sold and liquidated all his twin’s assets, and given everything to his mom and dad. He’d set them up in a senior living apartment complex, one that could help his mother take care of his wheelchair-bound father. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Duffy’s paycheck was his own. His weekends were his own. His life was his own. All because of the money Greg left behind.

  Did Jessica and her baby deserve a share of Greg’s money?

  Morals dictated he give Jessica something. But what if she was lying? What if she was exactly like Greg?

  Jessica drove away in a dinged and dented four-door sedan. Everything about her said trust me. That’s how he’d felt about Greg, too.

  His gut continued its churning. Duffy couldn’t shake off the feeling of being sucked back into a Greg-induced vortex of financial folly.

  Trust Jessica? Give her money? She claimed she had amnesia. Greg would have told her that was a hard scam to sell. And Greg had been the king of con artists.

  Christine glanced up at him. “You think she’s lying.” It wasn’t a question.

  “You know how when you meet someone you give them the benefit of the doubt? How you trust what they tell you is the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “You could never trust a word that came out of my brother’s mouth.” Duffy barely recognized his own voice. It was as thick with emotion as the day he’d learned of Greg’s death. “If she and Greg...”

  “Don’t judge her so quickly,” Christine said. “If only for the baby’s sake.”

  Duffy nodded, but the desire to convict outweighed the compulsion to trust.

  Thankfully, Christine’s work ethic intruded. “You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to show me something.”

  He had. “Let’s take a drive.” He needed a distraction and he needed to show Christine the extent of the threat on the hill.

  The winery had recently purchased several small vineyards around town, ones that had been lying idle and untended for years. One of their properties was on the slopes of Parish Hill and might have a problem. As the winery’s newly hired and first-ever vineyard manager, it was Duffy’s responsibility to restore the vineyards to optimal production.

  A few minutes later, Duffy drove them down Main Street. There was little traffic. With a population just reaching one hundred, and barely twenty of those residents below the age of sixty-five, there weren’t many cars around.

  Nearly two decades ago, the largest employer in town had burned to the ground. Younger Harmony Valley residents had moved closer to civilization, leaving the town on the brink of extinction. And then three local boys made it big in the dot-com world, returned home to decompress and decided to save the town by starting a winery. The jury was still out on the saving part, but those employed at the winery were optimistic.

  “It’s sad about Jessica, isn’t it?” Christine waved to the elderly barber, standing on scarecrow-like limbs in front of his shop.

  “I suppose.” Duffy drove slowly around the town square with its ancient oak tree, and took the turn toward Parish Hill and its steep switchbacks.

  “I was trying to imagine how I’d feel if I couldn’t recall a part of my life. It must be frustrating and terrifying not remembering who the baby’s father is.” How quickly Jess had pulled Christine into her camp. A strike against her.

  Duffy navigated a tight turn. “Can we talk about work?” Always? He liked to keep his private life separate from his professional life.

  “You’re one of the few people in town who doesn’t want me to stop talking about the winery.” There was no change in Christine’s voice. No indication that she felt snubbed by his request. “Promise me you’ll never change.”

  “Never.” Of course, she might not like what he was about to tell her.

  Duffy turned onto a dirt road that led to a small vineyard clinging to the hillside. According to their records, the Cabernet Sauvignon vines had originally been planted in the 1990s. Thei
r trunks were thick and twisted. Duffy parked and led Christine down the vine-tangled hill. The vineyard had shriveled, unharvested grape clusters on the ground.

  He stopped at the bottom row of leafless, wintery plants. “Look at this. See how these vines have produced fewer shoots and canes than the next row up?”

  “Yes.” Christine’s gaze moved with a scientist’s deliberation. “What do you think? Soil composition? Water drainage?”

  “It could be those things. But we also have to consider leaf roll virus.” A grapevine disease that delayed maturity and lowered grape yield. Saying it out loud was like telling a child there would be no Christmas this year.

  Christine didn’t like the news. She frowned and shook her head several times before she said anything. And when she did speak, her tone had the serious quality of a winemaker twice her age. “You can’t know that. You’d either have to see it in their leaves come spring or have tested the vines.”

  “True.” But he knew the signs, had seen them on his last job, where the winery owners hadn’t wanted to hear the news, either. “Look at this.” He crouched next to the rotted remains of a withering grape cluster. “There are others like it all along this row.” He moved to a row farther up the hill, carefully making his case. “Now look at this cluster.”

  “Almost twice the size,” she murmured. Then she shook her head again. “Leaf roll has never been documented in Harmony Valley.”

  “I was exactly where you are. Drainage, incline of the hill, even the fact that these vines haven’t been harvested or trimmed back in years.” Duffy tugged on a bare branch. It snapped free, another indication of the poor health of the vines, weakened by years of drought. “I had Ryan pull the data. The last row was planted ten years ago after a fire destroyed part of the vineyard. I couldn’t find any confirmation of it being certified virus-free stock.” He tossed the vine to the ground. “I’d rather err on the side of caution, wouldn’t you?”

  After a moment, Christine nodded. “We should test for red blotch disease, too.”

  “Agreed.” She’d taken the news better than he’d expected.

  They hiked up the hill, the biting wind at their backs.

  “I walked the vineyard last fall when we decided to expand.” Christine paused on a rise to take in the rest of the area, sounding resigned, as if she were to blame. “But I can’t remember going that deep into the rows.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe I’m wrong.” Duffy prayed it was so.

  “If they are diseased,” she said softly, more to herself than to him, “we’ll have to take them out right away. Both leaf roll and red blotch dilute the taste of the grape.” Christine opened the truck door and inspected the bottom of her boots one at a time. “Check for bugs on the bottom of your shoes. Mealy bugs—”

  “Spread the disease,” Duffy finished for her, already examining the crevices in his boot lugs. He added in a neutral tone, “You hired me because I know things like this.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s a shock.” Her apology was as arrow-straight as the worry furrowing her brow.

  “With your approval, we’ll have Ryan take samples and send them to the lab.”

  A beat-up green truck backfired as it trundled down the dirt road behind them.

  “Rutgar,” Christine said. “I...uh...told you about him, right?”

  Sounded like she hadn’t told him enough. “Used to own this property. Likes to know what’s going on.”

  “Everyone in town is a bit of a gossip,” she said apologetically. “It’s not something I divulge during a job interview. You’re in the grace period of being new to town.” Christine hesitated, and then her smile turned as apologetic as her tone. “Or you were. Now that Rutgar’s showed up... Well, let’s just say folks’ curiosity can sometimes be trying. Be patient with them. They mean well. And they grow on you.” She quickly transformed into a confident, friendly winemaker greeting the previous owner. “Rutgar! What a surprise.”

  A bear-sized man stood beside a rusted truck fender. His gray-blond hair hung inches from his chin and draped thickly across his shoulders like a long, matted mane. “What are you two doing out here?” His accent was European. All he needed was chain mail and a sword to carry off the Viking vibe. “That’s the second time I’ve seen this one up here today.”

  This one being Duffy. “We’re discussing the condition of the vines.” Duffy didn’t feel comfortable sharing his suspicions. Instead, he introduced himself. Duffy wasn’t a small man, but Rutgar’s hand swallowed his.

  “I want to be informed about what goes on. This is my land—”

  “Was.” Christine stepped up to hug Rutgar. “Was your land. You sold it to me, remember?”

  “I sold it to your fiancé.” The older man made a noise that sounded like a territorial growl. “I live on top of the hill. Everything that goes on here is my business.”

  “Of course, it is,” Christine soothed. “And just so you’re aware, there’ll be workers up here sometime in the next few weeks.”

  Rutgar’s sharp blue eyes narrowed. “Workers won’t go any farther than this driveway.”

  “The view from the top is spectacular.” Following Christine’s lead, Duffy kept his voice kiss-butt polite. “You can see the entire valley. Why limit access on a public road?”

  “Because the top of Parish Hill is my home.” Rutgar’s features twisted into something no one would call a smile. It involved drawn-back lips and bared teeth. “I’ve seen you up there wasting the nice lady’s time.”

  “Surveying the land.” Duffy’s patience held. Barely. “It’s easier to keep all the properties straight with a view from above.”

  “Wasting time,” Rutgar scoffed. “Winemaking takes months and years, and a lot of effort.”

  As did placating former landowners. “Since you’re so interested in what’s going on, can I count on you to help cane?” Given the vineyard hadn’t been cut back in what looked like nearly a decade, Duffy was betting the answer was no.

  “You can count on him to watch,” Christine ribbed.

  Rutgar shook a finger the size of a sausage at her. “I like you.”

  “You’ll like him, too.” Christine gave Rutgar’s shoulder a gentle nudge that didn’t move the large man an inch. “Now back out. We’ve got other vineyards to inspect.”

  * * *

  “HOW DID IT go yesterday?” Vera yelled over the sound of the mixer’s grinding motor.

  It was 4:00 a.m. and the owner of Vera’s Bakery in Santa Rosa was preparing the batter for red velvet cupcakes. They sold hundreds of them in the weeks leading up to Valentine’s Day. The large industrial kitchen was already filled with welcoming, sugary smells from cinnamon rolls and various breads and cookies of all kinds. At the next worktable, several bakers were chattering in Spanish. Jessica’s maternal grandparents had emigrated from Mexico, but Jess didn’t speak more than a handful of words in their native tongue.

  Normally, Jess couldn’t wait to begin baking. Contributing to a busy kitchen always made her feel as if she belonged. Not today. Today she felt as if she’d never belong. Not with her coworkers, not with Greg’s family, not with anyone.

  “Did you find your baby daddy?” Vera’s white hairnet covered her unnaturally red hair like snow on a high desert mountain.

  “He’s dead.” Jess was saddened by Greg’s death. Sad, yes, but since her memories of him were like dandelion fluffs on the wind, it was a detached sadness. If they’d been in love, wouldn’t she feel broken?

  For what must have been the thousandth time since she’d woken up in the hospital after the accident, Jess wondered if her baby was a creation of love. But now the wonder-train was on a new track.

  What if Duffy’s words were true? What if Greg had used her?

  What if? What if? What if? She was at square one again. Too many questions. Too few
answers.

  “Your baby daddy’s a deadbeat?” Vera shouted, sending her dangling silver cupcake earrings swinging over the tattoo of a rose on her neck.

  “No. He’s dead.”

  “What?” Vera promptly switched off the mixer and came around to Jessica’s side of the prep table. “Dead? So who was the guy in the photo?”

  “His twin brother. Duffy.” His handsome and bitter twin brother.

  Vera’s brows shot up accusingly. “You’re sure he didn’t just make up the twin angle? Some guys will do anything to avoid paying child support.”

  Jess tied her apron on as she weighed what she’d been told. The man she’d hoped she might be in love with wasn’t Duffy. She was sure of that. “I believe him.”

  “That’s a shame. If you can’t find a baby daddy, you’ll need a sugar daddy.” Vera shook a finger in Jessica’s face and asked her something in Spanish she didn’t understand. When Jess stared at her blankly, Vera said, “How can you raise a child alone? Without a man’s steady head and regular paycheck?”

  “Women raise kids by themselves all the time.” Jess was more interested in providing Baby with family roots than a secure bank account—although that would be nice, not to mention having a father figure around.

  “Yes, but women shouldn’t bring up babies alone. You’re a smart girl. All you need to complete the package is to learn your native tongue to catch a good man.” Her smile and nod indicated Jess was this close to attracting the right guy. “Smart girls always find sugar daddies.”

  “I’d just like to find my memories,” Jess said.

  Vera muttered in Spanish again and then stared at Jess as if she were a problem child. “I said memories won’t keep you warm at night, but maybe your baby’s uncle can.”

  “I have an electric blanket,” Jess deadpanned. “And to be clear, even though I’m having dinner with Duffy this weekend in Harmony Valley, I am not planning on a brother swap so that I can have an insurance policy.”

  “You should listen to me. I know what I’m talking about.” Vera laughed and turned on her loud mixer. “You be careful driving out there. Big storm coming in with flooding predicted. It’s bad enough you’ll be on leave soon. I need you every day until that baby is born.”