by Iris Morland
“No swearing at the table. I’m going to start a swear jar if you keep that up, young lady.” Carl opened his newspaper with a flourish.
Adam laughed into his fist while Grace shot daggers at him.
“Goodness, aren't you two too old to squabble?” Julia set a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table in front of Adam, but she slapped his hand away when he was about to serve himself. “You two act like a bunch of kindergarteners.”
“It’s not my fault Adam has the maturity of a five year old,” Grace said with an eyelash flutter. “How quickly did you insult Ms. McGuire after being introduced? Five seconds? One?”
Adam felt an uncustomary flush crawl up his face at the memory: he had been unaccountably rude to Joy, even if his reasons made sense to him. And at the thought of Joy, he remembered her laughter as she’d left River’s Bend, when he’d so stupidly given her that bottle of aloe vera. He thought about how she’d listened to him explain the ins and outs of the vineyard. How she’d taken notes with her ridiculous pink pen, and how she’d seemed like this exotic, colorful bird in the midst of drab sparrows.
God, now he was going to start writing poetry about her? He tipped back his bottle of beer at the thought.
“Who’s Ms. McGuire?” Carl asked, behind his paper.
Julia snatched the paper from him when she’d set the last plate of food on the table. “No reading at the table. And she’s the new woman come to town, right?”
Grace nodded. “She came here from Chicago. She’s a writer.”
“Oh, how nice,” Julia said, sitting down. “Adam, will you do grace?”
Grace made a face at him. He closed his eyes and dreamed about pushing his sister’s face into the mashed potatoes as he thanked the Lord for the food before them.
The conversation flowed around the usual topics: the vineyard, the news in town, Grace’s painting, and eventually flowed back to the topic of Joy McGuire. Heron’s Landing received so few newcomers—people unrelated to anyone else in the town—that whenever it did happen, that person became the topic of conversation for at least a month. Adam assumed it was a town rule at this point.
“What brings a writer from Chicago to this place?” Carl asked as he cut up his steak. “Seems like the last place someone like that would move.”
Grace said, “Maybe she needed a change of pace? Some place to detox?”
Carl grunted.
“I think it’s lovely,” Julia said, smiling at her family. With her light blonde hair and with only a few wrinkles on her face, Julia seemed years younger than fifty-nine. But she’d always prided herself on a neat, put-together appearance, and even when sitting with her family for dinner, she wore a pearl necklace and her hair up in a tidy bun. Adam hadn’t seen his mom wear something like sweatpants in all the years he’d known her, although she’d traded in her heels for flats now that she was older. “When can I meet this young woman?” Julia asked. “Where is she staying?”
“Above the general store,” Grace responded. “She has the apartment up there.”
Julia said, “I assume she’s unmarried?”
Joy’s ring-less left hand flashed in Adam’s mind, and he was annoyed at himself for looking in the first place. What did it matter to him whether or not Joy McGuire was married? It wasn’t as if they could date.
At the thought of dating Joy—kissing Joy, touching Joy—Adam’s body turned hot, and he finished off his beer to help stem the tide of whatever it was he was feeling right now.
“No, she’s not married. But I think she may have left someone behind in Chicago,” Grace said. “When she comes to Trudy’s in the morning, sometimes I watch her, and she seems…sad.”
Carl glanced at his youngest, his eyebrows lowered. “And what did I tell you about speculating about people?”
“That everyone does it, I just happen to say it out loud?” Grace said with a bright smile.
“Dad’s right,” Adam said suddenly. He didn’t want to talk about Joy anymore, and he especially didn’t want to talk about her unmarried state, either. “It’s none of our business.”
Grace protested, but Julia gave her The Look. Grace quieted, but not without a glare at Adam for getting her in trouble in the first place.
“Speaking of business, how is the old place doing?” Carl asked. “The buds looking good?”
If Adam didn’t want to talk about Joy, he sure as hell didn’t want to talk about River’s Bend. But at his dad’s expectant expression, he replied, “The ones that survived all of that rain look good. But it looks like this harvest won’t be a great one.” He sawed into his steak, not wanting to see his dad’s face. What must he think of his oldest son, who’d had three years in a row of bad harvest? The disappointment of his dad was one of the top three things Adam never wanted to experience, and now it was happening—again.
“Well, you can’t control the weather, Adam,” Julia said prosaically. “Remember ’83, Carl? That was one of the worst harvests we ever had. But we bounced back, just like you will.” She patted Adam’s hand like he was little boy, but hearing his mom’s encouragement bolstered his own mood somewhat.
“Jaime says that you might start doing events again.” Grace’s voice was cool, offhand, but she knew she was throwing a bomb onto the table.
Adam glared at her with an expression saying, I’ll get you for this later.
“Events?” Carl set down his fork and knife. “Son, you know what happened the last time.”
Adam said, “Of course I do. And we’ve only discussed it—we’ve made no decision otherwise.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Grace offered. “You could hire someone part-time to be an events coordinator.” She gasped, her silverware clattering to her plate. “You know who you should hire? Ms. McGuire! She could do marketing and social media. Even write up stories about the events you’re doing—”
“Absolutely not.” Adam knew his voice was too harsh, but he couldn’t listen to Grace prattle on about things she didn’t remotely understand. He saw his sister bite her lip, her expression hurt and annoyed, but he couldn’t be sorry for that. “If we end up doing events—which is unlikely—we’ll be doing it without some flashy journalist turning River’s Bend into a wedding hub instead of a vineyard.”
The table fell silent. They all remembered what had happened the last time, but they also knew that Adam could be as stubborn as the best of them, too. Just because they failed once, didn’t necessarily mean they’d fail again. But Grace was staring at her plate morosely, and Carl never chose to enter family fights unless absolutely forced to.
The family mediator, Julia finally said, “Let us know how we can help. I know you’re hesitant to change things, Adam, but you’re smart enough to know when to change course, too.”
Adam did know that. Deep down inside, he had a feeling they’d have to expand the vineyard into doing events, but he wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. Like he’d told Jaime, he didn’t really have the money for a full-time event coordinator—possibly a part-time one, but that was it—and even then, that didn’t mean success.
“How is Jaime, by the way?” Julia asked. Her glance landed on Grace, who looked up from her plate with a slight blush.
“How should I know?” Grace said. “I barely see him.”
Everyone in the family—and probably the entire town—knew that Grace Danvers had nursed a crush on Jaime Martínez since he’d arrived in Heron’s Landing. But Jaime was seven years her senior, and her brother was his boss, so any interaction had been strictly platonic. This was fine with Adam: his baby sister was too young to date, and although Jaime was a great guy, he had a feeling the two of them were too different to rub along well. Plus, Jaime was his employee, so that made things extra awkward.
“He’s great,” Adam offered, giving his sister a reprieve. “Although if he keeps firing sous chefs, I’m going to kick his ass.”
“Language,” Carl said.
“We should invite him to dinner more often. I
can’t imagine he enjoys eating alone. Don’t you think, dear?” Julia said as she turned to her husband.
Since Carl now lived with two women exclusively, Adam had a feeling his dad would love to live in a bachelor pad every once in a while. But his dad was smart enough to say, “Sure, invite him.”
“He’ll take Gavin’s place,” Grace said. Gavin Danvers was the second-oldest brother, but he’d moved away from Heron’s Landing years ago and rarely visited anymore. Adam had spoken to him maybe a month ago, but Gavin had never been particularly chatty to begin with. And now that he was having issues in his marriage again, he was more taciturn. Downright surly, really. He and his wife Teagan had been having trouble for a while now, mostly due to Teagan’s battle with bipolar disorder. They also had a young daughter, Emma, who the family had only gotten to see a handful of times.
Julia sighed sadly at the name of her other son, but no one else felt compelled to discuss Gavin right now. He’d made the decision to stay away, and Adam could only hope that if he needed help, he’d ask for it.
After finishing up dinner and helping with the dishes, Adam told his parents and Grace goodbye. Grace, for her part, was still annoyed with him, but thankfully, his little sister wasn’t one to hold grudges. His mom hugged him, while Carl instructed him to do what he needed to do to save the vineyard. As if he needed to be told that, but Adam had nodded before making his way outside.
The sun was just setting, fireflies dancing about in the grass as cicadas sang in the trees. Adam had to admit he loved this time of year, with the long days and warm nights. Sure, the mosquitoes were annoying—he slapped at his arm when he heard one buzzing—but nothing was perfect. Not Heron’s Landing, or River’s Bend, or himself.
With that jolly thought, he drove back through the town, stopping at Mike’s general store for a few things. Mike owned the only grocery store in Heron’s Landing, and it also featured a small café and hardware section as well. Picking up pasta, tomatoes, and a few other items—no Hot Pockets this time, damn Grace—Adam was about to check out when he spotted a flash of color in his peripheral vision.
“Adam!” a voice called, and he turned to see Joy McGuire walking up to him. She wore a loose t-shirt above very short shorts, her legs lithe and milky white in the light of the store. She had little makeup on, and Adam found himself even more intrigued by her as a result. He liked her tendency toward color, but seeing her more subdued in this way made him feel like he was seeing a Joy not too many people got to see. A relaxed Joy, he thought.
“Miss McGuire,” he said in reply.
She wrinkled her nose, her hands on her hips. “Are you seriously still going to call me that? You can call me Joy, you know. You won’t explode if you do.”
He knew that. But saying her name out loud was an intimacy he didn’t want to cross. “Miss McGuire” was a woman who’d just moved into town who he’d met only a few times. “Joy” was a woman he’d looked at with desire in his eyes and who he wanted to toss over his shoulder and take home with him.
So, “Miss McGuire” it was.
He noticed powdered donuts in her hand, plus a large bottle of Coke. “Is that your dinner?”
She glanced at the food, and then laughed. “Yeah, kind of. I’m too lazy to make anything right now. And for some reason I just needed some sugar. Don’t tell anyone, though, okay? I’m supposed to be a sophisticated city girl who only eats organic kale and freshly squeezed carrot juice.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” he said seriously. And at her look of surprise, he shifted in embarrassment, especially as silence stretched between them.
Why couldn’t he talk to this woman? He wasn’t some ladies’ man like Jaime, but he could generally make conversation without spontaneously combusting. He’d talked to Carolyn enough that she’d married him, right? His heart contracted, remembering his dead wife, who wouldn’t be waiting for him when he came home. Wouldn’t smile at him as he got into bed and then turn to him with a laugh as he gathered her into his arms. Instead, he was talking to this woman, who was the antithesis of Carolyn, trying to say something…what? Flirtatious?
Disgusted with himself, he said something like a goodbye before paying for his things and leaving. And then he was disgusted with himself for an entirely new reason at the memory of the look on Joy’s face, which had been one of hurt and surprise. Could he do nothing but offend this woman? He wasn’t trying to be a jackass, but that seemed to be his modus operandi with her as of late.
About to get into his car, the evening sky now turned to purple twilight, Adam heard steps coming up to his car.
“So I gotta ask: did I do something to offend you? Or are you always this nice to new people in this town?” Joy had her hands on her hips, her head cocked to the side, and she looked so much like an inquisitive bird that he half expected feathers to sprout from her arms.
He struggled for an answer. Should he just say yes and drive off? But looking at her, he couldn’t leave it at that. “No, I’m not,” he said finally.
“No, you are always this nice? Or you aren’t always this nice?”
Her words twisted around his brain. What was it about this woman that tied him up in knots? “No, I’m generally…nice.”
“Oh, well,” she replied as she crossed her arms. “I’m glad I’m special then.”
Her defensive posture—no longer the curious bird—caused his chest to squeeze. Without thinking, he touched her arm, leaving his hand there for a moment. She gazed up at him, her mouth slightly agape.
“I don’t know why we keep getting off on the wrong foot,” he said slowly. “But as Grace likes to remind me, it’s mostly my fault.”
He hadn’t removed his hand, and he had the sudden thought that he didn’t want to. That was when she uncrossed her arms, and they moved down to her sides, as if they had a will of their own. His fingers brushed at the skin where her t-shirt ended.
“Did you use the aloe vera?” he asked gruffly.
She stared at him. Stared at his fingers on her arm. “Yes,” she said softly. “Thank you. It really helped. The burn’s almost gone already.”
He couldn’t see the color of her skin in the darkening twilight, but he could feel its heat underneath his fingertips. And he could smell her—roses, he thought—and with the fireflies blinking around them, it seemed as if they had been transported to an entirely new world. But he knew this wasn’t a new world, and he took his hand away with a reluctance that shocked him.
“I’m glad. You should be more careful about getting sunburned,” he said finally.
Her face transformed then into a bright smile, and she laughed. “You’d think I would’ve figured that out by now, but I guess not. But I stocked up—just for you.”
At those words—“just for you”—Adam’s heart stopped, and he felt as if this moment could go on for a lifetime. Just them two, alone, standing in front of each other. Gazing at each other and memorizing the other’s faces, like doing otherwise were impossible. And that was when he bent down, wanting to press his lips to her to see if she tasted of roses, too, and then the jingle of the front door bell sounded, and they jumped away from each other.
“I’m closing up, Joy!” Mike called. “You have your key?”
“I’m good. Thanks, Mike!” she replied, her voice only slightly breathy.
The moment now shattered, Adam’s only thought was that he needed to leave. He needed to escape this woman’s spell on him. “I’ll see you later,” he said, opening his car door.
She blinked at him. “Okay,” she said, “see you.”
And then he drove off, forcing himself not to look behind him at Joy’s shrinking figure.
5
T wo weeks after arriving in Heron’s Landing, Joy fulfilled her promise to Grace and invited her over for a full-on girls’ night. It included manicures, cocktails, and a variety of chick flicks—10 Things I Hate About You for Joy, and Sleepless in Seattle for Grace. Joy also tossed in a few random contenders to spice things u
p—Terminator 2 and Rocky—mostly so she could tell people that girls’ nights didn’t mean they could only talk about boys and boy-related issues. Always important to pass the Bechdel Test in real life.
Pulling out the red polish to begin work on her nails, Joy squinted as she started on her left hand. Sadly, Dana the stylist was on maternity leave for the foreseeable future and didn’t want to inhale nail polish fumes right now, so Joy was stuck doing her own manicures for now. Which was fine, but she wasn’t talented enough to paint tiny flowers on her own nails, so they inevitably seemed rather plain in comparison to what she was used to.
Oh, the sacrifices she made coming to this town!
“Adam told me you went to River’s Bend recently,” Grace said as she went to go pop another bag of popcorn.
Joy didn’t look up from painting her nails, mostly because she didn’t want to let Grace know she had feelings about that whole…thing. Nope, no feelings tonight. Just frivolity and Bloody Mary’s and girl stuff. At this point, she’d rather talk about periods than about Adam Danvers, but alas, Grace didn’t seem to agree.
“He said you wanted to do a story about the vineyard. I hope he didn’t run you off with a pitchfork for suggesting it. He’s weird about journalists, you know.” Grace came back over to the couch, setting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. Joy grabbed a few kernels with her unpainted hand, but one missed her mouth and bounced into the depths of the couch.
She then looked at Grace—oh yeah, Adam. The vineyard. Stories. Aloe vera.
Continuing to paint, she said in as airy a voice as she could manage: “He didn’t run me off, but he wasn’t exactly welcoming of the idea, either. He does realize there’s a thing called the First Amendment, where I can write what I want despite what Adam Danvers thinks?” She swiped the side of her ring finger with the nail polish brush, and she sighed. “I mean, it’s not like I’d write something that would cause him to sue me for libel. Generally, people don’t sue writers for positive stories about their business.”