by Lynne Norris
“Do you mind if I take this card?” Grace fingered the edge of it reading the list of projects he purported to be an expert in.
“No, I’m not going to do anything with it.”
“I’m going to call this developer and tell him to forget anything that Tony has told him.” Grace shoved the card into her pocket.
Her temper still simmering at her brother and the coffee forgotten, Grace stalked out of the kitchen. When she got out to the porch she jammed her stocking feet into her work boots. A hot breeze rustled the branches of the trees that shaded the west side of the house from the scorching afternoon sun.
Tony stood by his Porsche jiggling his keys impatiently. “Grace,” he called out to her as she descended the steps.
“What?” she snapped.
“I know you don’t agree with me, but this place is going to suck the life out of both of you.”
“Why are you so against the idea of them keeping the farm?”
“They can’t run it anymore. It’s too much. How long are you going to put your life on hold? For Chrissakes you were living your dream as a Division I soccer coach.”
A dream that turned into a nightmare, Grace thought. “As if you really care, Tony. I had my reasons for leaving.”
Tony walked around to the driver’s side of the car and opened the door. “You should go back. It hasn’t been that long. You’re wasting your talents here.
Grace didn’t have any other response and it didn’t matter. When she came back home she wanted routine and shelter from the world. She didn’t want to have to think about what happened. She could handle the daily chores, manage the farm hands, run the farmers’ markets, repeating the same tasks day in and day out. She wanted to get lost in the rhythm of the seasons and let time pass her by so she could forget.
Chapter Five
“POP?” GRACE CALLED out when she entered what looked like an oversized garage. One of her father’s passions was growing grapes for wine. The summer was unusually hot and dry so the grape harvest came early. Grace worked in the fields alongside the volunteers and the paid farm hands for days plucking the grapes when they were perfectly ripe. Everyday was a race to harvest the fruit as the afternoons galloped into night.
“I’m here, Grace,” Peter called from the other side of the hand operated fruit grinder. It was situated atop a wooden barrel that sat on stacked four by fours. He hoisted a crate of the harvested grapes into the top of it.
“Pop!” Grace rushed forward. “You shouldn’t be lifting that much weight.”
“I’m fine. Besides the doctor told me I should start exercising more.” Peter Moretti had a round handsome face and black hair streaked with grey. He was still ten pounds lighter on his five-eleven frame than he should be and it made him look skinny. Grace remembered how he looked in the hospital. Tired, gaunt and wounded.
“I think he meant something more organized than lifting crates of fruit onto a barrel.”
He ignored her gentle chastisement and said, “You have perfect timing. Come turn the crank for me. We’ll get through the crates faster.”
Grace loved mashing the grapes. They went in whole into the hopper with the stalks and the mashed fruit cascaded out in a waterfall of skin, seeds, stalks and flesh into the oak barrel below it. She remembered how proud she felt the first time her father let her turn the crank to crush a batch of grapes for wine as a child. She would never forget the heavy, sweet, savory smell of the grapes as they fermented.
“Was that Tony who was at the house?”
Grace cringed at the hurt in her father’s voice. “Yes.”
“He didn’t stay long.”
“I guess he was in a hurry. You know how Tony is. He’s always wheeling and dealing.”
Peter grunted as he lifted another crate up and dumped the grapes into the top of the mill. She didn’t need to tell him what the reason for Tony’s visit was. Her father had witnessed the ugly sibling battle that erupted between them over the farm three weeks after he’d gotten home from rehab.
They worked side by side, the only sound the noise of the crushed grapes falling into the fifty-five gallon oak barrel until it was full.
“I don’t think I told you before, but I’m glad to have you back home. I know things didn’t work out the way you planned with your job, but Mom and I are both happy to have you here.”
Grace avoided his gaze and nodded. “I bet you never thought you’d have your two oldest kids back under the same roof again.”
“No, but it’s worked out well so far.”
“It’s been good for the twins to be here with you and Mom. They need the stability and routine in their lives,” Grace said.
“I’m not talking about Michael and the kids. You’ve been a big help these past few months. We couldn’t have kept the farm going as well as we did without your help. What happened at that college wasn’t your doing. The right choices often seem to be the hardest ones to make.”
“Don’t remind me,” Grace stopped turning the crank waiting for the burning she felt in her shoulder muscles to subside.
“You know I never wanted the farm to hold any of you back from what you wanted to do.”
“I don’t think it did. We worked hard, but when we had the chance we all went off and did our own thing.” Grace put her shoulders into turning the handle again.
“You will again when this chapter is over,” her father said.
“What do you mean?” Grace looked at her father over the barrel.
“Nothing lasts forever, Grace.”
“Have you thought about what you want to do?”
“Your mother and I have talked about it. More seriously since I got hurt.”
“I imagine you have.” Grace knew it wasn’t her place to pry for information. She wished she knew for sure what her father’s plans were for the farm.
“We haven’t made any decisions yet, but once we do we’ll have to sit down and talk about it soon with the three of you. We’ve made a good living farming. I think someone could do the same if they had the mind and the desire to continue to do so. I’d hate to see all this get turned into block after block of townhomes. That’s what will happen if we sell it.”
GRACE CLOSED HER laptop and let her head fall back against the cushion on the well-worn leather couch. She’d spent the afternoon harvesting tomatoes, summer squash and peppers for the farmers’ markets later in the week and then helped transplant greens for the fall harvest. It was close to midnight and she’d been working on the latest numbers for the last month so she could close out the quarter on the books.
She’d known weariness the first few weeks of her father’s stay in the intensive care unit. The constant level of stress gnawed at her relentlessly until he finally was out of the woods. But the exhaustion she felt now, knowing her decisions impacted the success or failure of the family farm, their home and their livelihood, morphed into a completely different level.
In the weeks and months since Grace’s father was released from the hospital he relied on Michael and her to run the farm. Michael being busy with twins was happy dealing with the day-to-day work and chores. He deferred most of the decisions to Grace and by default the big picture decisions driving the operation became hers to make.
Her eyes burned. She could barely see straight. Her brain hurt and her body was so full of aches she wasn’t sure she was going to make it off the couch tonight. Lord knows it wouldn’t be the first time she slept all night on the couch.
Behind her, Grace heard the floorboard creak and she registered her mother’s voice saying, “You should go to bed. You’ve been up since four thirty.”
Grace regarded her mother as she walked around the end of the couch and sat down. She held a cup of tea in her hands, Chamomile, no doubt. “I was just finishing up and you should talk. Did you talk to Dr. Evans when you were at her office the other day?”
“No. I’m not taking any drugs to help me sleep.”
“I wasn’t suggesting you needed
any. Sometimes it just helps to talk to someone besides family.” Grace met her mother’s pointed stare and sighed knowing this discussion was a losing battle.
“This family has been through tough times before. This is no different and we’ll get through it again. I just wish your father would stop pushing himself so hard. I’m afraid he’ll make himself sick.”
“He doesn’t know how not to work hard,” Grace said.
“Up ‘til now he missed one day of work in forty years.”
“Is that all?”
Lucy cleared her throat and ran her fingers idly over the rim of the teacup. “I was talking to Hank in the hardware store today.”
“Mmm,” Grace said half listening.
“Sounds like the people renting the Chamberlain’s lake house did a number on it before they left.”
“Who? Oh, you mean Emma Chamberlain. What happened?” Grace asked.
“Holes in the walls, stains everywhere. They tore up the carpeting. The place sounded like it was completely trashed,” Lucy said.
“That’s awful.”
Michael walked in carrying two glasses of wine. He nudged one into Grace’s hand and sat down across from her. “Who’s place are you talking about?”
“Emma Chamberlain.”
Michael tilted his head and Grace could see him trying to recall who she was. “She graduated first in your class. Didn’t she? Wasn’t she the blonde nerdy kid with glasses?”
“She was not a nerd,” Grace said bristling unexpectedly at her brother’s description of Emma.
“Okay. How about quiet and shy? Never said much, but she had a nice body.” He sat back in the chair with a self-satisfied smile and stared at Grace over his glass while he sipped his wine.
“Isn’t it a little late to be drinking wine?” Lucy asked.
“It’s how I relax before I go to bed,” Michael said.
Grace ignored her mother’s question and asked, “How did Hank find all this out?”
“Emma’s been in and out of the store buying contractor bags, spackle, primer and other supplies.”
“Maybe she’s just doing some minor renovations.”
“You know Hank. He has a knack for getting anyone to talk to him. The realtor who rented the place apparently knew about the damage and didn’t tell Emma before she got there.”
Grace felt a surge of anger. “Isn’t that against some realtor code of ethics they have to practice?”
“I’m sure it is, but really the only thing Emma could do is go through the insurance to pay for the damages,” Lucy said and drained the rest of her mug.
“If it wasn’t significant enough it’s not even worth filing a claim. The insurance company will just turn around and raise her rates,” Michael added.
“Grace, maybe you could drive over there and see if she needs any help. She’s here alone and just got laid off from work. I’m sure Emma could use a friend.”
“I’ve got a lot going on this week,” Grace said hoping to skate around the topic.
“You could ask her over to dinner. The weekend we do the cookout for the staff would be fine.”
“She might run for the hills with this crazy bunch,” Michael said.
“It would be an opportunity for her to meet people in the community.”
Grace eyed her mother with irritation. “Mother, stop.”
“I’m simply making a suggestion. There’s nothing wrong with being neighborly and making someone feel welcome.”
Grace sipped her wine and pointedly ignored her.
“It’s the polite thing to do,” her mother persisted. “Really, I raised you better than that.”
“Fine. I heard you.”
“Grace,” her mother said in a tone that said she didn’t like her attitude.
Grace rolled her eyes heavenward. “I’ll ask her. Okay?” Exasperation crept into her voice.
“Good. I’ll see you two in the morning. G’night.”
“Night,” they both said as Lucy left the room.
Grace peered over her glass at Michael, watching the smirk play across his lips. “Stop it.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You don’t have to.”
“What would it hurt?”
“Jesus Christ. What is it with you and Mom? I don’t even know the woman,” Grace said.
“You graduated in the same class. You have at least one thing in common.”
“We hardly knew each other at all.”
“What have you got to lose?” Michael countered.
“I have enough work to do here.”
“Maybe it won’t be all work. Be adventurous for once.”
“Let me spell it out for you, Romeo. She’s from New York, drives a Mercedes and probably has a taste for the expensive things in life.”
“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” Michael asked.
“Listen, I know her type. Once she’s back on her feet this little trip home will be nothing more than a distant, unwelcome memory for her. I’m not interested in being a part of her respite stay here. I’m doing quite fine all by myself.”
“Yup. You and the dogs.”
“Shut up. Besides, they were going to be put down if someone didn’t rescue them.”
“Get back to what we were talking about.” Michael stood and walked into the kitchen returning with the open bottle of wine.
“Since when are you so damn interested in my love life or lack thereof?” Grace lifted her glass as he motioned to her with the bottle.
“Because mine is pathetically nonexistent. At least allow me to live vicariously through you.”
Grace groaned and rubbed her tired eyes. “You need a night out.”
“Talk to me, baby,” Michael said eagerly leaning forward in his chair. “What Friday night will you take the twins so Papa can go out on the town.”
“Now you’re scaring me. There will be no pub-crawls followed by a two-day recovery period. Got me? I’m not doing your damn share of the work around here on top of mine while you nurse a hangover.”
“I swear on a stack of bibles no hangover. Come on, please. Don’t make me beg.”
“Fine, but I get to pick the Friday and it’s not until Mom’s Sunday cookout is over with.”
“Deal. How about the Friday after the cookout?”
Grace glared at him. “It’s as good as any. I wish Mom would stop trying to play matchmaker.”
“Too late. She already is,” Michael said. “She’d just like to see one of us be happy in a relationship.”
“Yeah well neither one of us has a great track record in the relationship department.”
“At least you’re not divorced.”
Grace snorted and said, “It wasn’t your fault she cheated and left you and the kids. What kind of woman has an affair and leaves her two beautiful children so she can party?”
“Don’t know and frankly I don’t give a damn about the bitch anymore,” Michael said, and Grace wondered who he was trying to convince more, her or himself.
“Here’s to not looking back and new adventures,” Grace said raising her glass to her brother’s. The glasses clinked and they finished the last of their wine.
Grace knew what her brother said was only partly true. Tricia had broken Michael’s heart when she left. She hated her for doing that to him. “Did you get the boy’s to bed all right?”
“They were exhausted. I only had to read Goodnight Moon to them twice tonight.”
“Tony was here today,” she said.
“When did he come by? I didn’t see him.”
“I think he timed his arrival to when he knew you would be out in the fields. He was hoping to get Mom alone.” Grace dug into her pocket and handed him the business card he left on the table.
“He’s starting this crap again?”
“I don’t think he ever gave up trying to convince Mom and Dad to sell this place.”
Michael ran a hand through his curly black hair brushing it back o
ff his forehead. His dark eyes swirling depths of obsidian. “When God gave out tact and sensitivity Tony must have skipped those two lines.”
“Ya think?” Grace leaned forward watching her brother’s face. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Michael fiddled with his glass and after a moment of consideration nodded. “Tony came to me during the spring of last year. I remember because we were out in the fields planting lettuce. He asked me to loan him some money.”
“How much money did he ask you for?” Grace asked her stomach tightening into knots. “Twenty thousand.”
“Holy Crap! Who the hell has that kind of money sitting around?” Grace asked.
“Not me.”
“Did he tell you what he needed it for?”
“He wanted to invest it in some idea this guy had for a startup venture in Boston. I told him it was a crazy idea. He tried to convince me to take out a line of credit against the farm,” Michael said.
“A line of credit? Please tell me you didn’t lend him anything.”
“Hell no. Pop would have killed me if I opened a line of credit against the farm.”
“How could he even ask? After all the years we listened to Grandpa talk about the Great Depression.” Grace leaned forward and stared at her brother. “Does Pop know about any of this?”
Michael shook his head. “Hell no. I never told him.”
“Please don’t.”
“Believe me, I don’t plan on breathing a word of it to either him or Mom.”
“Was this business venture legitimate?” Grace asked.
“I have no idea. I didn’t want anything to do with it. The less I know about what Tony’s up to the better.”
“Do you think Tony’s in trouble?”
Michael slipped off his shoes and propped his feet up on the ottoman in front of him. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been into something shady. I try not to ask any questions.”
Grace sat back and sipped her wine. “Remember when he was running poker games and sports betting in high school?”