Feels Like Home

by Beth Andrews

  He wanted a second chance.

  He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. No, not a second chance. He didn’t believe in them. You had one opportunity to make things work, to make the right decision. There was no going back.

  “I’m sorry,” Yvonne said, and for a moment, he worried that she’d read his mind. But then she held up her phone, which she’d been typing notes into while he talked. “I have to take this call. Could we stop for a moment?”

  He pulled over and turned off the engine, then climbed out while she answered her phone. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he strode along the edge of the neatly pruned vines to the top of the hill. From here he could see several blocks of vineyard—cabernet franc, viognier and merlot—as well as the carriage house and the roofline of his mother’s place. He breathed in the crisp spring air, held it for as long as his lungs would allow, then exhaled slowly.

  Five minutes later, he had his thoughts and feelings under control again as Yvonne hung up and joined him. “Sorry about that,” she said, slightly winded from the short walk uphill. She typed something into her phone then slid it into the front pocket of her pants. “One of my brides just found out that her maid of honor broke up with her boyfriend and, as the boyfriend was to take the pictures at the wedding, she’s anxious to find another photographer.”

  “And she called you on a Sunday afternoon?”

  The wind blew Yvonne’s hair into her face. He curled his fingers into his palms.

  “I try to make myself as accessible to my clients as possible,” she said. “Sundays, holidays…” She shrugged and smiled. “It’s my job.”

  And from all accounts, one she was good at. At least, according to his mother. Even Yvonne’s coworker, the one he’d spoken with who’d been more than happy to share the tale of Yvonne supposedly hooking up with a groom, had grudgingly admitted she was the most requested planner at World Class Weddings.

  She’d moved on. As he had. There really was no sense in going back.

  “Did you have any other questions about the vineyards?” he asked, more than ready for this tour to end.

  “No,” she said after a moment. “I think I have everything I need. Except…”

  He bit back a sigh. “Except?”

  She regarded him seriously. “Do you ever regret it?”

  He didn’t have to ask what she meant. Did he regret choosing the Diamond Dust over his plans. Did he regret the choices he’d made, the ones that led to their marriage falling apart. He couldn’t have any regrets. Refused to.

  And yet there’s one question you’ve never asked. Why I left.

  “No,” he managed to reply. “I have no regrets.” He nodded down the hill. “You wanted to know what makes the Diamond Dust special? Well, this is it. It’s my family’s history. Our future.”

  “You always wanted so much more.”

  For over one hundred and fifty years a Sheppard had lived on this land. Woken up to the sun rising over those tree-covered hills. Gone to sleep with the moon casting its glow on the fields as stars dotted the sky.

  “I don’t know if I wanted something more as much as I wanted something…different. Life in a big city with people streaming all around. An office on the top floor of a building so tall I could almost reach out the window and touch the sun.” He shrugged, as if those dreams hadn’t been the most important thing in his life. As if giving them up had been easy. “Then Dad died…”

  She nodded as if she understood—and he believed she did. “And you were needed here.”

  “It was more than that. This land is our legacy. This is…it’s home.”

  It was where he was meant to be. Something he wasn’t sure he’d even realized until that moment.

  “OH, PLEASE,” Connie muttered as she looked out of the window above Diane’s kitchen sink. “As if she can’t get out of Francis without Aidan’s assistance.”

  Diane glanced up to see Aidan help Yvonne down from the sport utility vehicle—or, as Connie had nicknamed it for reasons yet unknown, Francis. “Looks as if at least one of my sons has learned courtesy,” Diane said.

  “I can hear you,” Matt said mildly from where he was sprawled on his back on the family room floor with the girls, playing Monopoly. “And I’ll have you know I’m always very courteous. Tell her, Connie.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re all gentlemanly manners and whatnot,” Connie said. “And this isn’t about being polite.” She waved the half-peeled potato in her hand. “She’s trying to worm her way back into his good graces. I mean…look at her.” She punctuated her command by pointing out the window to where Aidan stood in the driveway, the setting sun behind him, his hands in his pockets as he watched Yvonne walk away. “No woman walks with that much…sway…unless she wants to hook a man.”

  “Sway?” Matt asked as he started to rise. “Where?”

  Connie whirled toward him. “Boy-o, you’d better keep your butt on the floor.”

  Diane’s irrepressible son lay back down. “Yes, dear.”

  “I like Yvonne,” Payton said, rolling the dice for her turn. “She’s nice.”

  “And really pretty,” Abby added. “She has good lipstick, too.”

  Abby had filled all the adults in on how Yvonne had put lipstick on her so she wouldn’t suck her thumb. It was even working. Then again, it’d been only an hour and a half. If Diane had to guess, she’d say Abby’s thumb would be back in her mouth before the chicken she’d put in the oven finished roasting.

  “Yes,” Connie said tightly. “Yvonne is very pretty. But there are more important things in life than what you look like.”

  “Then why do you make me brush my hair every morning?” Payton asked.

  “Why, to torture you, of course.” Connie went back to peeling potatoes. “What other reason could there possibly be?”

  Payton’s answer to that was an eye roll worthy of a sixteen-year-old.

  Except she wasn’t sixteen, Diane thought as she crossed to the door to let a whining Lily outside. Payton was eight and Abby seven. They had so much growing up to do, so many wonderful firsts to experience.

  Diane’s throat closed. She twisted the rings on her right hand—Tom’s rings. Would she be around for any of them? Even if she agreed to the treatment, would she be too sick to make it to Payton’s dance recital in a few months? Abby’s birthday party in July? Would she be strong enough to hold her first grandson? J.C. wasn’t due to deliver until early May. Maybe Diane could put off starting any treatments until after that so she could help with the baby.

  So she wouldn’t have to face her fears. Her own mortality.

  She’d never been a coward before, but now all she wanted was to stop thinking about what-ifs. Stop worrying about the future, what it held for her, how long she had left on earth, and live in the moment.

  Connie and Matt had taken Connie’s mentally ill mother to the emergency room for what the attending doctor had diagnosed as a panic attack. They’d driven Margaret home, made sure she had her prescriptions and something to eat, before coming back here to pick up the girls twenty minutes ago. As always, dealing with her mother had left Connie emotionally exhausted so when Diane had invited them to stay for supper, she’d readily agreed—thank God.

  Diane didn’t want to be alone.

  Especially not after the phone conversation she’d had with Al a little while ago. He’d driven back up to D.C. Friday morning to attend a board meeting for one of the nonprofit groups he was affiliated with, and had phoned to let her know he’d set up an appointment for her at the oncologist’s office.

  He was so worried, she’d had no choice but to promise to keep the appointment. To listen to her treatment options with an open mind.

  “I just don’t understand why you hired her,” Connie said, obviously not done griping about Yvonne. She turned on the water, filling the heavy pot of cubed potatoes. “Is that really what you want for Aidan? Someone so…snobby? So cold? I swear, I get a mild case of frostbite every time I talk to her.”

>   “You’re not giving her much of a chance.” A headache pulsed behind Diane’s temple. “You never gave her a chance. None of us did. We were all too wrapped up in our grief over losing Tom, trying to figure out how to go on without him, how to keep the Diamond Dust running.”

  To her horror, her voice broke. She turned and crossed to the refrigerator, keeping her back to Connie.

  Oh, God, how would her children deal with losing her? She hoped they would stick together, run the winery as they promised, but what if they didn’t? Once she was gone, they could break their contract. Go their separate ways.

  And what about Al? She stared at the ring on her left hand. Would he forgive her for giving up? Would any of them?

  Her mouth set in a stubborn line, Connie placed the pot on the stove and turned on the burner underneath it. “Well, I’m not about to feel bad about how I treated her. She doesn’t belong here. She never has.”

  Diane grabbed an onion and two celery stalks then slammed the refrigerator door shut. “That’s not up to you to decide.”

  “Oh, but it’s up to you?” Connie asked, her hands on her hips.

  “Yes,” she snapped, worried Connie could be right, that she’d made a huge mistake in hiring Yvonne, that Aidan might not forgive her. “I’m his mother. It’s my family.”

  Connie pulled her head back as if she’d been slapped. “Right. Your family. Your company. After all, I’m just an employee.”

  Diane’s stomach churned sickeningly. She reached for Connie, her heart breaking when the younger woman stepped back. “No. Connie, that’s…that’s not what I meant.”

  Matt walked into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

  They ignored him. “I’d say it’s pretty clear where I stand in your eyes,” Connie told Diane as she hugged herself. “You made it clear when you didn’t tell me about your plan to bring Matt into the winery. But then, why would you? It was family business. And I’m not family.” Her eyes welled with tears and she turned to Matt. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here. Not now. Will you take us home?”

  He stroked a hand down her hair. “Of course. Get the girls. I’ll meet you in the car.”

  Diane could only stare, her chest tight, as Connie gathered up her daughters. Payton and Abby must’ve sensed something big was going on because they didn’t argue, just followed her out the door.

  No sooner had it shut when Matt turned on her. “What the hell did you say?”

  “I…it was a mistake.” Her skin was clammy. Cold. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t find enough air to call Connie back, to tell her how much she meant to her. How sorry she was. “She misunderstood…”

  But she hadn’t. Diane had kept secrets from her. Was still keeping secrets from all of them. Had put her own wants and needs ahead of the people she loved most.

  The door opened and Aidan stormed in, followed by Lily. “What did you do to Connie?” he demanded of Matt, going toe-to-toe with his younger, taller brother. “She wouldn’t even talk to me. She’s crying!”

  With a low growl, Matt pushed past Aidan not bothering to shut the door behind him as he left.

  Aidan tossed up his hands. “I give up. What’s going on?”

  “It’s my fault,” Diane said, unable to look away from that door, her voice so thin even she could barely make out her words. She cleared her throat. “I said something to Connie I…I shouldn’t have.” She glanced up at her son. Even scowling he was handsome. All three of her boys were. Handsome. Smart. Kind and funny. And such very good men. “I need to stop them from leaving. I have to tell Connie I’m sorry.”

  Before it was too late.

  But before she got past him, Aidan took ahold of her arm. “Let’s back up a min—hey,” he said, frowning. “You’re shaking. Come on…” He led her to the table. “Sit down. Let me get you a glass of water.”

  She collapsed in the chair. “I have to talk to Connie. Will you get her for me? Bring her back here?”

  He set a tall glass of water in front of her. “Why don’t we get you calmed down first? There’s plenty of time to talk to Connie later.”

  Her tears threatened to fall. “But what if there’s not?”

  SOMETHING ON THE STOVE boiled over, the water splashing and sizzling on the hot grate. Nudging his mother’s water glass closer to her, he went to the stove. “What if there’s not what?” he asked as he turned down the flame under a pot of rapidly boiling potatoes.

  “What if there’s not enough time?”

  Her voice was soft. His scalp prickled. He began to panic when he turned and saw tears streaming down her face.

  His mother was crying. Shit. He glanced around, but of course they were still alone in the room. No one had magically appeared to help him deal with this situation. So he grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and handed it to her as he sat beside her.

  “It’ll be all right,” he said inanely. If it was any other woman, he could muddle his way through. But this was his mother. He was completely over his head here. The only time he’d ever seen her cry was at his father’s deathbed. “Whatever happened, we’ll fix it,” he promised. “We’ll get Matt to bring Connie back—”

  “That’s not it.” Diane opened the napkin and patted her face dry. Crumpled it in her hand.

  Suddenly, he was glad he was sitting. His legs felt like rubber. “Tell me.”

  “Aidan, I…I’m sick.”

  “You’re not feeling well?” He jumped to his feet. “What is it? A stomach bug? Do you need me to take you to the E.R.?”

  “No. Honey, no.” She took hold of his hand, something she hadn’t done since he was a child and needed help crossing the street. “I have cancer.”

  His mind spun. In denial, he turned his hand over and linked his fingers through hers. “If you’re not feeling well it could be anything. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  She squeezed his hand. “I have a lump in my right breast. Invasive ductal carcinoma.”

  “Wait, wait.” He shoved his free hand through his hair, not willing to let go of her with his other hand. “You already have a diagnosis?”

  “Al was able to get me in at Georgetown University Hospital.”

  “When was this?” Aidan asked suspiciously.

  “A week ago last Friday.”

  “You told us all you were attending an alumni dinner,” he said, remembering how surprised they’d all been at lunch that day by her sudden decision to head up to D.C. after hiring Yvonne. “You lied to us.”

  She’d lied to him. He couldn’t believe it. She’d always relied on him, turned to him.

  She slowly let go of his hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready to tell you. The doctor saw something on the mammogram and was able to fit me in for a core needle biopsy that day.” No doubt, Al’s influence, Aidan thought. “I didn’t want to tell you until I knew what I was dealing with.”

  “And yet it’s been…what? Well over a week since you got the results?”

  “Yes. But I’m telling you now.”

  This was a nightmare. One they’d both lived through before. It had been at this very table where she and his father had held hands and told Aidan about his dad’s diagnosis. His treatment options and chances of survival. His parents had seemed so strong. Invincible. And his father had promised to fight with everything he had to beat his cancer. To stay alive.

  Aidan linked his hands behind his neck and exhaled heavily. “Okay. Okay.” He sat on the edge of the chair. “What are your treatment options? Surgery? On one breast…both? Has the cancer spread?”

  She held up a hand. “Dr. Pacquin wants me to meet with an oncologist tomorrow. Al’s on his way to get me and we’ll drive up in the morning. But I’m looking at six months of chemotherapy, then a lumpectomy.”

  “So after the chemo, then surgery, then…what? Radiation? More chemo?”

  “Radiation but after that, they won’t really know what’ll be next until the time comes.”

  He tapped his fingers on the table twice. “You need
to tell Brady and Matt.”

  “I…I can’t.”

  “You mean you won’t.”

  She shook her head. “No. I mean…I can’t.” Her eyes welled with tears again, but this time she blinked them back. “Aidan, I…I’m so sorry, but I’m not sure I can go through with treatment.”

  His stomach dropped. “Of course you’ll go through with it,” he said, speaking through numb lips. “You have to.”

  “I’m so scared,” she admitted hoarsely. “You and I both know that there are no guarantees with cancer treatment. Even with the best care, the best medicine, I could still lose this battle.”

  Everything inside of him went still and cold. “You won’t.”

  It was inconceivable. He wouldn’t lose both parents to this disease. He couldn’t.

  “Don’t do this,” he said, not caring that he was begging. “Don’t give in without a fight.”

  “I need some time. And I don’t want you to spill one word of this to your brothers.”

  He felt sick. “You expect me to keep your secret?”

  She met his gaze unflinchingly. “I expect you to respect my decision. No matter what it is.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” he admitted. “Not if that decision means you giving up.”

  “We’ve been here before. Your brothers haven’t. They didn’t see your father suffer, what he went through as he fought for his life. I’m just…I’m not ready to face them yet. I can’t face them yet.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears. “Please, don’t tell them. Not yet.”

  “I won’t say anything,” he promised gruffly. What else could he do? He’d never let her down before.

  He wouldn’t start now.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “YOU AND AIDAN looked awfully chummy yesterday.”

  Yvonne squeezed her eyes shut and said a quick prayer for patience before facing the other woman. “Good morning, Connie,” she said. “Can I pour you a cup of coffee?” She held up the pot in her hand with a cheerful grin.