Family Tree

by Susan Wiggs

  “It’s just been sitting here ever since.”

  “Sugar Rush aged in a whiskey barrel.” Annie stood back and regarded the old oaken cask. “Barrel aging is a thing these days.”

  “I know. I’ve got all kinds of requests to buy my used barrels—for vinegar, hot sauce, fish sauce, bitters, any form of alcohol, you name it.” Pam put her hand on the rough-hewn cask. “Do you think it’s spoiled?”

  “There’s one way to find out.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I hope this one aged gracefully. How cool would it be if it turned out?” Pam went to the tasting room and returned with a tap and two crystal snifters. “Here goes. Moment of truth.” She tapped the barrel, and a thin, dark amber stream of syrup flowed from the spigot into each glass.

  Annie held the snifter up to the light. “I like the color. Oh my gosh. The smell.” It was a gorgeous commingling of maple and bourbon. She tapped the rim of her glass to Pam’s. “To aging gracefully.”

  They each tried a tiny sip, just a wetting of the lips with the smooth, viscous liquid. Their eyes met, and they sipped again.

  “Well?” Pam asked, eyebrows lifted.

  Annie nearly swooned from the flavor of the barrel-aged syrup. A smoky, boozy essence shimmered through it, giving the liquid a complex depth. “Incredible.”

  Pam offered a dazzling smile. “This definitely has the wow factor.”

  Annie savored another sip or two. The flavor was multilayered and intense with the rustic taste of maple. She carefully set down her snifter. “I think we might be onto something.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Pam beamed at her. “Can we barrel-age some more?”

  “Of course. We’ve got plenty put by on the farm that hasn’t been bottled yet. It’s good to have a project.”

  “Totally. Hey, we could try cold-smoking it, too. Or how about this? We could create a craft cocktail with this syrup that would knock your socks off. What about an old-fashioned made with Sugar Rush instead of simple syrup?”

  “Good idea.”

  Pam took another taste of the Sugar Rush. “This is amazing. I love it so much I would marry it.”

  “How is married life going for you, anyway?” Annie asked.

  “Ups and downs, mostly ups. Hudson and Klaus are my whole world now. Having a baby changed me in ways I never expected. Not just my dress size. It’s like he rearranged my heart.”

  The old yearning tugged hard at Annie and the void of sadness gaped wider. Some days, she couldn’t stop thinking about her lost baby. “Ah, Pam. That just sounds so lovely. I’m really happy for you.”

  “Thanks. You know what I’m happy about right now? This amazing syrup. Let’s bottle and sell it.”

  “Just like that.”

  “We can, you know. The bottling operation has been upgraded. Let’s get Olga to come up with some label designs. She does beautiful work. She’s the one who redesigned our whiskey label.”

  “Olga, the model with a Russian accent?”

  “Oh! You know her?”

  “No. Fletcher said his dad was dating someone named Olga.”

  “He married her a few years ago. She’s great. Her specialty is woodcut prints, and she’s a graphic designer as well. Come and meet her.”

  The office area occupied a new building constructed of peeled logs and glass picture windows with a deck overlooking the neighboring hills. Olga was at a workstation in front of a computer and a bulletin board covered with clippings. She was probably in her forties, but she still had her voluptuous bikini-model looks and smoky Russian accent.

  “It tastes brilliant,” she said when they gave her a sample of the syrup. “We must give it a special label.” Then she turned to Annie. “So. You are Annie Rush of Rush Mountain. Sanford and Fletcher have always had the nicest things to say about you.”

  “Really?” Annie wasn’t sure what to make of that. “What sort of things?”

  “You were very kind to them after Sanford’s accident. And you became famous for your television program.”

  “The Key Ingredient,” Pam said. “Everyone in town watches that show. Annie gave the commencement speech at the high school after she won an Emmy Award, and my mom says half the kids wanted to work in television after hearing her.”

  “Are you here for a visit?” asked Olga. “Do we get to meet Martin Harlow? You are married to him, yes?”

  “I’m married to him, no. I mean, we’re divorced.”

  “You are?” Pam gaped at her. “You never told me.”

  “Nobody told me either. I just recently found out myself. In the rehab place. Discovered the divorce before I even remembered the marriage.”

  “Wait a minute,” Pam said. “He divorced you while you were in a coma?”

  Olga said something in Russian that needed no translation.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Pam said. “Wow, that’s a dick move.” She lined up some whiskey shots, and they each had one.

  Annie gave them a quick summary of events. It felt good talking to women friends, knowing they were entirely on her side.

  “Podonok,” Olga spat, “gavnoyed.”

  “When she’s mad, only Russian will do,” Pam said.

  “Well. I appreciate the outrage on my behalf,” Annie said. “I’m handing the situation over to Gordy—my lawyer.”

  “Oh, he is good, that one,” Olga said. “He created my prenubzhy.”

  “Prenup,” Pam translated as she refilled their tasting snifters. “Annie, I hate that you’re going through this along with everything else. Tell us, how we can help?”

  “You’re helping,” Annie said, indicating the whiskey. “Whatever Olga said—that helped, too.”

  “I can’t believe Martin did that. How did he get past the PR nightmare? Didn’t the tabloids call him out?” Pam asked.

  “Nope, just the opposite. Martin and his handlers are experts at spin,” Annie replied. “The articles that came out played up the tragedy of his loss, and how awful it was for him to be married to a turnip while he was in the prime of life. He deserved to move on and blah, blah, blah. What they neglected to say was that he moved on even before I became a turnip.”

  “What a cheater,” Pam said. “What a waste of air.”

  Olga volunteered to drive Annie home from the distillery. Annie was only mildly buzzed from the whiskey shots, but she didn’t want to chance driving. Olga drove a luxurious SUV with eighties classics cranked up loud. After a while, she turned the volume down. “You were Fletcher’s lover.”

  Annie stared out the window as they passed the granite hills and the river valley. “It was a long time ago. We were just kids.”

  “Fletcher is a good man. He would never cheat. Perhaps there is still something between you.”

  “I’m not ready to explore that.”

  “You will be. The heart will heal, and then it will open up again.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Annie wondered if Fletcher would still be interested when she reached that point. She certainly didn’t expect him to wait. As they’d both admitted, they had a knack for bad timing.

  Olga parked in the driveway at the farm. “Your home is beautiful. Fletcher told me about this place.”

  He did? Annie couldn’t suppress a smile. “Would you like to come in?”

  “No, thank you.” She studied the house and gardens. “I would like to get started on your label.”

  When Annie walked into the kitchen, her mother and brother were fixing dinner. The kitchen smelled of simmering pomodoro sauce and baking rolls, two of Mom’s specialties. She spotted her father in the backyard with Knox and Hazel, pushing little Knox on a swing. Had her dad spent the whole day here? That was different.

  “Stop what you’re doing and get over here, you two,” she said, setting her parcels on the table.

  Something in her tone caught their attention.

  “You’re tipsy,” her mother said.

  “In a good way. I need to show you something.” She paused and regarded her mo
ther. “Do you mind if Dad joins us?” She had realized that if they were going to pursue this idea, they’d need his help.

  “No, of course not.” Mom touched her hair, then took off her apron and went to the back door. “Ethan, can you come in for a minute? Annie wants to show us something.”

  Her father came right away, his face somber as he checked Annie out. “Everything all right?”

  “Absolutely.” Annie took out the bottles of wheat whiskey and bourbon Pam had sent home with her.

  “No wonder you’re tipsy,” her mother said.

  “She’s been drinking?” her father asked.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m not in high school anymore. Just listen, okay?” She hesitated, trying to remember the last time the four of them had been together as a family. Her wedding to Martin, she supposed. Dad had not given her away in the traditional sense. Under the circumstances, that had seemed disingenuous. She had held her head high and walked alone into the arms of her bridegroom.

  Annie shook herself free of the memory as she removed the small sample jar of syrup she and Pam had prepared.

  “What’s that?” asked Kyle.

  “Our new project. I think we might have hit on a new product to launch. A moneymaker.”

  He eyed the jar of amber liquid. “Yeah?”

  “Four words,” Annie said, opening the top. “Listen carefully.”

  “We’re listening.” Their mother sat down and folded her arms on the table. Dad sat next to her. The image of the two of them took Annie back to her childhood, when she’d eagerly shown her parents a good report card, a baby bird she’d rescued, or a plate of cookies she’d made all by herself. Now their expressions were much the same—indulgent pride.

  “Barrel-aged maple syrup.” She helped herself to a warm roll, fresh from the oven. Dipping the bread in the syrup, she gave them each a sample and watched them taste it.

  “Wow,” said Kyle. “Man, that’s good stuff.”

  “I’ve missed your rolls, Caroline,” Dad said to their mother.

  “You’re supposed to be tasting the syrup,” said Mom. “Delicious. Does it contain alcohol?”

  “No, just the flavor. It’s amazing, right? Sugar Rush, but with an extra kick. We aged it in a whiskey barrel.” She told them about the drum of syrup she’d given Pam years ago. “I forgot all about it. Now we have fifty-five gallons of this stuff.” She explained the plan of bottling and labeling it as a high-end gourmet product.

  Dad leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. “When can you get it to me? I mean, I assume I’m here because I can take care of the approvals and distribution. That’s how I met your mom. Did we ever tell you that?”

  “Ethan,” their mother said. “It’s ancient history—”

  “You never told me how you met,” Annie said, then touched her forehead. “Or maybe you did, and it got erased from my hard drive.”

  “I was driving the produce truck for my folks, and I came up the mountain for a load of apples. Went back down the mountain with ten bushels of McIntoshes, a few cases of syrup, and the phone number of the prettiest girl I’d ever met.”

  “And now we’re supposed to all go ‘aww,’” said Kyle.

  “Whatever,” said their father. “We fell in love, we raised a family, and things changed.” He was looking right at Mom when he said the words. She stared back at him, her expression soft and immeasurably sad.

  That was how love worked sometimes, Annie reflected. It filled every nook and cranny of your heart, and then one day you realized it had gone away. She wondered where those feelings went. Maybe they trickled into the atmosphere to be inhaled by someone else, a stranger who suddenly saw someone across the room and instantly fell in love. That would be totally cool, right?

  Annie wondered if she had lost Martin’s love in a moment, or if it had been a slow leak, invisible to her until the end. She was trying to remember what it felt like to love Martin, and oddly, she could not.

  “. . . help in any way I can,” Dad was saying to her.

  Annie blinked, backing away from the thoughts swirling through her head. “With the syrup?”

  “Sure,” he said. “If you’re willing. If we’re all willing.” He looked around the table. “Want to team up?”

  In that moment, Annie remembered what it felt like to be a family again. There wasn’t a picture for it on her feelings chart, but it was a tangible thing, warm and soft as fresh rolls from the oven, a cocoon of safety surrounding them all.

  Now she realized that this was the feeling she’d been seeking when she told Martin she wanted a baby. She hadn’t found it with Martin, though. She’d had to come all the way home to recapture the feeling.

  And then the moment passed, and Kyle said, “This product is awesome. It’s the kind of thing you want everyone in the world to taste. I say we do it.”

  “I’m in,” Annie said. “Mom?”

  Her mother’s hands pressed down on the tabletop as if she was trying to hold it down. Then she noticed what she was doing and eased up. “Dinner’s ready. Ethan, would you get the little ones inside and washed up? And open a bottle of wine?”

  “Are you asking me to stay?” His grin failed to mask the nervous flicker in his eyes.

  “For dinner,” she said, tying on her apron.

  22

  Caroline Rush finally had an inkling of what Annie must have experienced, waking up to a world turned upside down. She felt that way now, as twilight settled over Rush Mountain and she took her youngest grandson upstairs for his bath. The older kids were cleaning up after dinner while Annie, Beth, Kyle, and Ethan lingered over the last of the wine, talking about Annie’s idea for the maple syrup. Caroline could hear the deep murmur of Ethan’s strange-yet-familiar voice gliding into laughter now and then as he visited with their adult children.

  Holding Knox’s tiny hand to help him into the tub, she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked . . . flustered. That was probably the word for it. Her ex-husband had just eaten dinner with the family. His presence in the home they’d once shared was unsettling.

  “This is from Grampa,” said Knox, plunking down in the warm water and pulling a little action figure on a surfboard from his bin of toys.

  “Yes, it is. He sent it last Christmas.”

  “What’s that say?” Knox pointed to the words on the board.

  “‘Pacific Rush Surf Camp.’ It’s the name of Grampa’s place in Costa Rica.”

  Knox made a shushing sound as he glided the surfer over the water. Caroline gently shampooed his hair and soaped his little bony shoulders. She and Ethan had named the camp together, back when they thought they would be partners forever. Back when Caroline had truly believed that buying a beach compound in Costa Rica had been pure fantasy, something to talk about in bed after the kids were asleep and they were too tired for sex.

  “I’m gonna go to Grampa’s beach,” said Knox. “I’m gonna see the ocean.”

  She scooped water over him to rinse, and wiped the cookie crumbs from his face. “That sounds fun.”

  Caroline hadn’t been prepared for the sucker punch of hearing he had met someone in Costa Rica. He had left her for a dream, not a woman. She should have been prepared, though. Ethan was incredibly handsome, with the kind of affable charm that drew people to him.

  She’d taken secret delight in Annie’s description of Imelda—the snare-drum voice, the sweat running down between her boobs, the onion breath—and then Caroline had felt evil for taking delight. She’d wanted to get past the hurt, the anger, the disappointment.

  She lifted Knox out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel, loving the soft, dewy feel of a freshly washed toddler. “You smell minty fresh,” she said, planting a kiss on his damp head.

  “So do you,” he said politely.

  She supervised the brushing of his teeth. He got ready for bed all by himself, pulling on undies and jammies like a pro. He wasn’t a baby anymore. The transition always happened so fast, and
it made her wistful. Grandbabies were life’s sweetest reward, and she craved them with all her heart. When she’d learned of Annie’s lost baby, Caroline had wept until she couldn’t see straight.

  Knox must have sensed the dip in her mood, because he gave her a nice hug and a kiss.

  And just like that, her mood lifted. “I don’t need dessert tonight,” she said. “You are sweeter than maple sugar. Let’s go tell everyone good night.”

  “Okay.”

  She looked again at the woman in the mirror. Still flustered. She needed a swipe of lipstick. Just gloss; she didn’t want to be too obvious. Didn’t want him to think she was primping.

  She took Knox downstairs and he made the rounds of hugs and kisses, including the two dogs, Hootie and Dug. When Caroline watched Ethan swing the little boy up to the rafters, then down for a kiss, she flashed on a younger Ethan with Kyle, both of them chortling with glee. They’d been a happy family, hadn’t they? What had happened to them?

  Two words, she thought—communications breakdown. She had never told Ethan of her high-flown dreams of art school and a career as a painter. She’d meant to, but once Kyle came along, she hadn’t seen the point. Why bother getting misty over something that was never going to happen?

  And Ethan had never told her that he hated working for the Forest Service and the family business. Out of loyalty to Caroline and her parents, who gave them a home in the big, rambling farmhouse, he had tried to like the logging and the sugaring, being tied to acres of land that had sustained the Rush family for two hundred years. At the time, she hadn’t sensed his discontent, just as he hadn’t sensed her yearning to pursue art school.

  Would things have turned out differently if they’d been honest with one another? She didn’t know. What she did know was that it was impossible to hide from a dream. Unfulfilled yearning had a way of eking out somehow, causing invisible cracks in the foundation.

  Knox extended the tucking-in privilege to Annie. “I want to read two books,” he said.