The Vineyard

by Barbara Delinsky

  Natalie’s offer got even better.

  The Great House here at Asquonset has plenty of room to spare, so I can offer room and board, along with a handsome stipend. Time is of the essence. I welcome any recommendation you can make.

  My thanks, and best wishes,

  Natalie

  By the time Olivia set down the letter, her thoughts were racing. Spending the summer in Rhode Island would be her dream—and she could do it, she could. Okay, so she wasn’t a fast writer—in fact, she was actually something of a struggling writer—but she could work nights and weekends to make up for it. She could do what Natalie wanted done. She knew she could. Didn’t she do all those things for Otis?

  Otis. Oh, dear. Otis wanted her to work through the end of July. She couldn’t just quit. She owed it to him. He was a friend.

  But Otis was retiring. After July, he wouldn’t be her employer at all. He was abandoning her. Okay. Not abandoning her. Setting her free. So what if she left a few weeks earlier? What harm would that do? He had stopped taking in new work. All that was left was to finish the old. She could work extra hours until she left, and he could get the rest done after that.

  Tess would love Asquonset. The vineyard lay midway between the Asquonset River and the Atlantic, and she would love both. She would love the tennis court right there on the grounds—Olivia had seen it in photographs. Tess would love the Great House. And Natalie—she would adore Natalie. Natalie was the quintessential grandmother. She was the quintessential great-grandmother.

  Room and board in the Great House. Olivia would die for that.

  And a handsome stipend, too? She wondered how Natalie defined that. If the stipend was truly handsome, it might go a long way toward hiring tutors for Tess. A truly handsome stipend would come in really handy.

  Jared was gone for good, and Olivia’s mother remained among the missing—these two harsh facts of life were now softened by Natalie Seebring’s invitation.

  All right. So it wasn’t exactly an invitation. But the end result was the same.

  I want that job, Olivia thought.

  Three

  OLIVIA SLEPT FITFULLY. She wanted the Asquonset job, wanted it with a passion that grew as the hours passed. It wasn’t the most realistic thing to set her heart on, she knew. There were scores of people more qualified than she, people who could write easily and had formal training—not that she doubted she could do the job. She could. She was sure that she could. And where there was a will, there was a way. Besides, she had something the others lacked: she already loved Asquonset. Plus, thanks to the photographs, she knew the people and even part of the story.

  But would Natalie choose her?

  When she finally slept, Olivia dreamed that she got the job. She was still at it the next morning, daydreaming while she got Tess dressed and fed and out of the house. Even as she walked with the briefcase and its precious contents under her arm and her daughter by her side, her thoughts were miles away.

  The air was still, the Cambridge streets narrow and close. By the time they reached the school yard, she was fantasizing about open fields and ocean breezes.

  “Mom?” Tess looked up at her—beautiful Tess, the top of her head chest-high to Olivia, her hair neatly combed, her freckles soft on her freshly scrubbed face, her slim body still prepubescent. Her glasses were clean and perched high on her nose. She looked to Olivia positively angelic—except for her expression, which fell somewhere between timidity and distaste. “What do I tell Mrs. Wright?”

  Mrs. Wright. Lord. Olivia had forgotten about that—repressed it, no doubt. Tess’s school problems were an ongoing ordeal. The night’s escape to Asquonset had been sweet.

  Tell her we have a solution, Olivia thought, quickly back in the midst of the mess. Tell her you’ll be having a tutor five days a week this summer. Tell her I want you moving into fifth grade with the rest of your class. Tell her, sweet child, that next time she wants to reach me, she should get off her duff and pick up the phone.

  “Tell her,” Olivia said with restraint, “that I’m calling her this morning to set up an appointment. I’ll meet with her whenever she wants.”

  “I’m not staying back.”

  Olivia pressed a two-fingered kiss to her daughter’s nose. “I know.”

  Tess grabbed the fingers and held them away. “I don’t care if the kids do think I’m stupid. If I stay back, it’s like someone’s saying they’re right.”

  Olivia wanted to cry. She had never wanted her child to know this kind of pain. “Someday,” she said, vehement now, “those same kids will be asking you for answers.”

  Tess stopped walking. “When?”

  “When the nuts and bolts of reading take second place to understanding the material.”

  “What do you mean, nuts and bolts?”

  “The pieces. Like words. Punctuation.”

  “And grammar? I hate grammar. I can write sentences. Parts of speech are easy to use. What’s hard is having to name them. I don’t see why I have to do that.”

  “You have to name them because it’s a requirement of getting into fifth grade.” The school bell rang. “Go on, now.”

  Tess looked worried. “My stomach hurts.”

  Of course it did. She was about to go off all alone. What she needed was a best friend. She needed someone in the school yard who would run over to her when she arrived. Other children were huddled with their friends. Olivia wanted that for Tess. She was a sweet child. She was sensitive—and pretty. But she wore thick glasses and she struggled in class, which made her the butt of jokes. It was enough to break Olivia’s heart.

  “Just think,” she said now. “Only two weeks more.” And then Asquonset? Asquonset might break the cycle. Daily tutoring might help. The ocean air might help. Tess would be sailing with children who had no way of knowing she couldn’t read. If they accepted her, if she made a friend or two, if she had a positive experience for a change, it could make the difference.

  “Am I going to be able to take tennis lessons?” Tess asked.

  “I’m working on it.”

  “I am not having a tutor.”

  “If you don’t have a tutor,” Olivia bartered, “then you can’t do tennis.”

  “Then if I have a tutor, I can do tennis?”

  Olivia was caught. “We’ll see.” She pointed at the door of the school.

  Tess scowled at the pointing finger. Shifting her backpack, she trudged off.

  “Hey,” Olivia said, her tone gentle now.

  The child stopped, turned, and ran back, gave her a fast hug, then turned again and ran toward the school.

  Feeling a swell of love, Olivia watched until she blended in with the other students climbing the steps, but the door was no sooner shut on the last of them than her mind shifted south. She saw another door, one she knew well from photographs. It was a screen door leading from Asquonset’s Great House to an awning-covered patio. That patio overlooked the vineyard, row upon row of trellised vines growing taller and fuller as summer progressed. Olivia could just hear that screen door squeaking open and slapping shut, squeaking open and slapping shut, squeaking open and slapping shut. It was an enchanting sound.

  She wanted that job. She needed that job. Worrying about Tess was a full-time chore—testing, tutoring, meeting with teachers, trying to help her out at home. It was a drain, but she wouldn’t do any differently. Tess was the best thing that had ever happened to her—and the child was trying, she really was. She was working her little butt off to compensate for the problem.

  Boy, they had earned a summer off, she and Tess. Working for Natalie wouldn’t be like working for Otis. It wouldn’t be like working at all.

  OTIS WAS IN RECOVERY, better than yesterday but still a little off—this much was apparent to Olivia when he came in the door. “We’re out of fixer,” he said without a hello. “I asked you to put in the order.”

  Olivia came out of her chair. “I did.” She held Natalie’s package to her chest. “It’s on the storag
e shelf out back.”

  “We need it for the Brady prints. I told you I wanted to do the copy work today.”

  “It’s there. Otis? I have to show you something.” The timing wasn’t right. He was not going to be receptive. But she couldn’t wait. She had to act on this now.

  He walked past her to his desk on the far side of the room, and began flipping through yesterday’s mail.

  Olivia followed him and held out the package. “This came, too.”

  He scowled at it. “What?”

  “It’s from Natalie Seebring. More photographs. But there was a letter with them. I think you should read it.”

  “If she doesn’t like what we did, she can stuff it,” he said, but he held out a hand. “Show me the thing. I have work to do.”

  She gave him the letter and waited impatiently while he read it. His expression remained dark. The timing wasn’t only not right. It was awful. But if Asquonset was going to happen, if she was going to beat out more qualified applicants, she needed the elements of enthusiasm and speed.

  Otis finished the letter, flipped it over, and looked at the blank back, then flipped it front again. He gave Olivia a long look. She held her ground. He read the letter again. By the time he had finished the second reading and looked at the page for a while, she could tell his mood had mellowed.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a touch of what sounded like sadness, and Olivia felt suddenly disloyal. Otis was her employer and a friend.

  “Well, you’re retiring,” she reasoned. “Seven more weeks and I’m out of a job, and anyway, you’ve stopped taking new work. We can finish what you have in two weeks. We can. Really.” When he was silent, she added, “If we don’t, I could come back for a day or two.”

  “That’s not the point. The point”—he held up the letter—“is that this is only a summer job. You need something full-time.”

  “But nothing else has come up. I’ll keep looking. I can do it from there. This just buys me a little time.”

  He frowned, brooding. “That’s not the point either, I guess. There’s something else. I’ve been watching you work on the Seebring job. You’ve become attached to it.”

  “I just love old photographs.” They were rich. They conjured a time when life was simpler and more romantic.

  “These more than others. Why?”

  She was embarrassed. “I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Natalie has you wrapped around her little finger.”

  “That’s not true. I’ve never even met the woman.”

  “Not that I blame you,” Otis went on. “She had me wrapped around her little finger once, too, so I know how that is.”

  Olivia was startled. “You knew her?” She had assumed that Natalie was simply another client drawn to the studio by its reputation. Then she remembered the yellow envelope with Otis’s name on the front. Horrified, she pulled it from the large manila envelope. “I’m sorry. This was tucked in with the photographs. I didn’t open it.”

  Otis did that himself and pulled out a yellow card. He was barely ten seconds reading it when he began to smile. It was a sheepish smile that lingered, even when he rapped a fist to his heart and rolled his eyes. “Shot down again.”

  “Excuse me?” Olivia asked.

  “She’s remarrying. Once upon a time, I fancied it would be me.”

  Olivia was doubly surprised. This was a whole other twist on Natalie knowing Otis. But then what Otis had said registered fully. “Remarrying? Where’s Alexander?” Granted, Olivia hadn’t seen photos from the last decade, but it had never occurred to her that Natalie and Alexander weren’t still together. That was part of the image.

  “He died.”

  Olivia gasped. “When? How?”

  “Six months ago. Heart attack.”

  Olivia pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry.” She had never met the man, yet she felt his death as if he were an old friend. He had played a part in nearly every Natalie story she had created. Now he was dead, and there was a new man in Natalie’s life. It was a lot to take in.

  “When were you and she together?” she asked Otis.

  “A long time ago. And it was more my initiative than hers.” He tapped the invitation. “Obviously.”

  Olivia was still trying to process the abrupt shift in her image of Natalie. She was trying to conjure up the face of a man who wasn’t Alexander, but kept coming up blank. “When is the wedding?”

  “Labor Day, which coincidentally is her deadline for this work.”

  That quickly, Olivia resumed her quest. “She needs help meeting it. She’s in a bind. I can help.”

  Otis sighed. “Again, I have to ask about the source of the attraction. I know what it was for me. Natalie thought I was an artist. She loved my work. But that isn’t what’s appealing to you.”

  “She just seems nice—you know, a grandmotherly type.”

  His voice grew chiding. “She isn’t your grandmother, Olivia.”

  “Of course not.”

  “Of course not,” he mocked. His eyes were bloodshot this morning, but they remained knowing. “You’re chasing a dream, my girl. You imagine spending the summer at the ancestral home with a grandmother who takes care of everything, but Natalie isn’t that way. Natalie takes care of Natalie.”

  Of course he would say that. Natalie had shot him down. He wouldn’t be normal if he wasn’t a little bitter or hurt.

  Olivia, though, saw only generosity in Natalie. Granted, she had no way of knowing how a new husband might affect the picture. But marriage or not, the facts didn’t change. “She’s offering room, board, and a stipend. A handsome stipend, she says.”

  “Her definition of ‘handsome’ may differ from yours.”

  Olivia didn’t blink. “Maybe, maybe not. I need that money, Otis.”

  “But this isn’t a career move,” he complained. “It’s just for the summer.”

  “I know that,” Olivia said, desperate to convey her belief that it was the right thing to do. “That’s what’s so perfect about this. I’ve thought it all through, Otis. Really I have. I can finish up here and get out of your hair. I can let you retire without a guilty conscience, because I’ll be in another job that I want. I don’t even have to give up my apartment. I can sublet it for the summer, and then I’ll have it if I want to come back here in the fall. Tess finishes school in two weeks. We can pack up and be in Rhode Island the next day.”

  “How do you know Natalie’ll want Tess?”

  “What’s not to want? She says it herself in that letter—there’s plenty of room at Asquonset. Tess is one little girl. She’ll be nearly invisible. I’ll find a tutor. I’ll give her tennis lessons. I’ll hire a teenager to be with her while I work. Between the river and the ocean, there’s plenty for a little girl to do. Natalie’s used to grandchildren. I’ll bet they’re swarming all over the place. She may even have great-grandchildren by now.” Olivia had another thought. “Tess could baby-sit the great-grandchildren. For free.”

  Otis looked unimpressed. “I don’t think there are any great-grandchildren. As far as I know, there aren’t even any grandchildren running around. They’re grown and on their own. Why do you think she has extra room in that house?”

  “Because it’s so big,” Olivia said. “And those grandkids may be on their own, but summer’s when they come back to visit. Asquonset is an incredible summer vacation place.”

  “How do you know that, Olivia?”

  “I just know.” Her gut told her so. Granted, her gut had been wrong in the past, particularly where men were concerned. But this was different.

  “Maybe you’re tired of Cambridge.”

  “No.”

  “You’ve been here longer than you’ve been anywhere else.”

  “Because my job here was so good,” Olivia argued. “But my boss is retiring. Pulling the rug right out from under me.”

  “So you’re dumping him first, that it?”

  She shot him a quelling look. />
  “What about Ted?” he asked.

  “Ted is not in this picture.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “No. I don’t exactly have the job yet.”

  “But you want it.”

  “Yes.”

  “For the money.”

  “For Tess.”

  “What if the money’s no good?”

  Olivia wasn’t worried. A “handsome stipend” had to be at least good, and even if it wasn’t, room and board counted for something, not to mention nearness to the ocean and the use of a tennis court. The change of scenery alone was worth something.

  Otis pushed a pad of paper and a pen her way. “Write down what you want.”

  “What I think she’s paying?”

  “What you want. What’ll make the effort worthwhile.”

  Olivia couldn’t do that. Anything she put down would be too much. She would be embarrassed.

  “Okay.” Otis pulled back the pad. “I’ll do it.” He wrote down a sum that was roughly twice what he would have paid her for the summer if he hadn’t been retiring. While she stared at the figure, slightly stunned but already thinking of what that much money would buy, he picked up the phone, drew Natalie’s letterhead close, and punched in her number.

  “What are you doing?” Olivia cried in alarm. She had the sudden vision of his ruining the whole thing with an ill-placed word.

  “Saving a little breath. Let’s see if we’re in the same ballpark.”

  Olivia nearly stopped him. She didn’t want to know—if knowing meant the end of the dream.

  But the call went through before she could react, and Otis was suddenly greeting Natalie like the old friend she apparently was. There was a minute of warm conversation—talk about the pictures that were done, the ones newly arrived, the upcoming wedding. Again, Olivia mentally tried to pair Natalie up with a suitable groom, but Cary Grant was the only face she saw, and he was long dead.

  Otis asked Natalie for details about the assistant she wanted.