A Vineyard Rebirth

by Katie Winters

  There was silence for a split second. Marilyn sensed that Robert knew James was quite drunk. Even still, he wasn’t the sort to embarrass James. He grabbed a chair from an empty table and placed it between the two of them. A waiter quickly brought him a wine glass, which was soon filled with the restaurant’s best.

  “Must be marvelous to own this place,” James commented, leaning back in his chair before continuing. “As much of that delightful French wine as they can pour for you.” He slurred his words. Marilyn’s stomach burned with embarrassment.

  Suppose Robert thought Marilyn had actually chosen this man to marry? On purpose? How wretched.

  “It’s truly a wonderful thing,” Robert said as he studied this increasingly drunken man before him.

  James lifted the bottle of wine and poured himself another hearty glass. He lifted it so that the wine within sparkled with the light from the chandelier. “Here’s to you, Robert Sheridan. To you and your beautiful hotel and all those who come from miles around to reside in it.”

  Robert arched an eyebrow but played along. He clinked his glass with James’, then turned his gaze toward Marilyn. He seemed inquisitive.

  “I don’t suppose you’d ever want to depart from this island?” James asked after he sipped. “Run off to some other golden shores elsewhere. Make something of yourself in the city.” He leaned closer to Robert, his eyes sparkling. “You should see the women in the city, Rob. About as pretty as they get, I reckon.”

  “Is that so?” Robert cocked an eyebrow. He was making fun of him with just the tone of his voice.

  Marilyn’s stomach felt filled with stones. She’d long since supposed that James cheated on her. Perhaps this was his admittance— and right in front of her! He didn’t care; why would he? Her parents had given her away to him; it had been an agreement, a trade. She felt like nothing. And certainly, she wasn’t a city girl.

  “Seriously, Robert. You wouldn’t have to marry them. They’re loose and wild and free down there. You could have your pick, a handsome man like you. Wouldn’t they be all over him, Marilyn? Huh?”

  Marilyn was caught off-guard. She sniffed, then gave a half-nod.

  “She’s always like that. So quiet,” James said. He showed his teeth horribly. “But in any case. I shouldn’t beat around the bush. I hate when other men do that, and thusly, I won’t do it to you. I want to purchase your hotel, Robert. I want it so bad that I’m willing to lay down my life for it.”

  Robert laughed outright. “Lay down your life?”

  “It’s just a dramatic expression, Rob.”

  Robert crossed his arms over his chest. James took another enormous sip of wine and nearly tumbled from his chair. Marilyn leaped up and reached for him, but he swatted her away, anger marring his face. The impact stung.

  Robert knew better than to say something. Still, his eyes told his true feelings: he was enraged that James had swatted her. Marilyn steadied James as he stood. He slurred, “If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to my wife in private.” Marilyn then directed them both toward the staircase, where they sauntered up to the top level. She had to drag him half the way. When they reached the presidential suite, she pressed her hands against his chest, and he fell onto the bed. In a split second, he fell fast asleep. How much had he drunk? The entire bottle in thirty minutes flat?

  Marilyn steadied herself. She reached for a bottle of wine he’d brought into the room earlier and drank directly from the bottle to steady her nerves. She then peered at herself in the mirror. What did anyone see when they viewed her? She was just James Peterson’s arm-candy, she supposed— nothing more. At least that’s how he made her feel.

  She reached up and removed the little clips in her hair, the ones that caught the locks in the half-up, half-down hairdo that James liked so much. When her hair was freed, she whipped it around so that it grew wild and untamed and, in her mind, more beautiful. She then turned and headed for the door, careful to keep her footfalls light. When she reached the hallway, her stomach grew tense with horror. What was she doing? What was she headed toward?

  But in a flash, she was downstairs again. She returned to the table she had shared with both men, only to find it void of Robert. She sat anyway and poured herself a hefty drink. She needed it after that embarrassing display.

  It didn’t take long for Robert to reappear. He stopped short at her table and looked at the empty chair across from her.

  “I suppose James couldn’t make it back to dinner.”

  “He’s indisposed, I’m afraid.”

  “Regrettable.” He replied as though he’d never heard anything happier in his life.

  “Indeed.”

  There was a moment of silence. Marilyn sipped her drink, then told herself not to drink too quickly and wind up as drunk as her husband.

  “May I sit with you for a moment?”

  Marilyn’s throat grew thick with tension. “Of course.”

  He sat in James’ old chair. She felt she’d never seen anyone more handsome.

  “I like what you’ve done with your hair. I hope that isn’t too forward to say.”

  Marilyn blinked at him. He didn’t know that this was the perfect thing to say. Or did he somehow sense it?

  “Thank you. I suppose it isn’t the most proper way.”

  “Screw propriety,” Robert returned, flashing her a genuine smile.

  Marilyn’s lips parted. He spoke differently than most men. He spoke without airs. Perhaps this was due to his islander roots. He had nothing of the city-boy mentality. Thank goodness.

  “Tell me. What do you think of Martha’s Vineyard?”

  “I suppose my husband has already said what we think. We think it’s beautiful. So beautiful that he’d like to buy your hotel.”

  “But I want to know what you think.” He pointed toward her as he leaned into the table.

  Marilyn hadn’t been asked what she thought in what seemed like years. It struck her as bizarre. Naturally, her own thoughts stirred around her mind non-stop. She’d long since put up a barrier between her brain and her mouth to ensure nothing slipped through. Who deserved her actual opinions? Almost no one.

  But maybe Robert did.

  “I think it’s one of the most magical places I’ve ever been to,” she murmured with so much truth. “I’ve been captivated with the property since the very first day. I feel something in the air—a promise of something I can’t possibly describe. Perhaps my husband feels it too; maybe this is why he is so hungry to buy your hotel. But he doesn’t have a particularly poetic soul, so perhaps I’m putting something within him that doesn’t exist.”

  Robert’s eyes glowed with the light from the chandelier. Marilyn wondered what it might be like to kiss him. She’d read books of women who had affairs; always, they ended in tragedy. She had never imagined herself to be that sort of woman.

  But didn’t she want to operate in a world of endless romance and beauty?

  They continued to speak. Robert leaned toward her with each of her sentences, seeming to take stock in what she said and how she said it. James hadn’t listened to her in ages, and Marilyn found herself addicted to this attention. He never once removed his gaze from her eyes. Once or twice, she actually wondered if he saw her body at all— if he appreciated it. She immediately felt shame for this feeling. She couldn’t allow herself to go down this road.

  When the bottle of wine was finished, Robert ordered them another, one from Italy. Marilyn ached for him to take her hand and take her away, perhaps to his private quarters. Instead, she asked him about his background. His parents owned an inn in Oak Bluffs; he’d wanted something grander, something with more magic. He’d been given the old hotel because he’d grown close to the old man who had owned it previously. “I did odd jobs for him around here. He spoke to me about the great loves and losses of his life. He was terribly sad and terribly lonely. When he left this world, he left the hotel to me. I couldn’t understand it— but I wanted to honor it with everything I had. I knew that w
ould be the most important thing to him.”

  “And here you are—honoring it. It’s really beautiful.”

  “I don’t always know if that’s true,” he returned with a little jump to his shoulder. “I’ve certainly put a lot of my time into the place. Perhaps that’s enough.”

  “Isn’t time really the only resource?” Marilyn asked. It was something she’d thought about endlessly.

  Robert’s grin widened. He sipped his wine, then said, “I knew it.”

  Marilyn furrowed her brow. “What? Please tell me what you know?”

  “I knew you were smarter than him. Much, much smarter.”

  Marilyn’s stomach tightened again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You do. And perhaps you’ll pretend you don’t till your dying day, but you’ll always know what I mean.”

  Marilyn turned her gaze to her newly-poured glass of wine. She’d grown foggy with the alcohol, but she rather liked this feeling— as though she’d left the rest of the world behind.

  “Are you from the city as well?” he asked her then.

  It had been years, as well, since anyone had asked her a question about herself.

  “I’m not. I’m from a tiny town in upstate New York,” she told him.

  “You must miss it.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve only been to the city a few times, but it’s stifling,” Robert admitted. “Especially if you’re used to the clean air and the quiet.”

  “And the stars,” Marilyn breathed, turning to look out at the view. “I miss the stars.”

  Robert’s smile faltered. “You need them back.”

  Marilyn chuckled. “They’re here, at least. I have them here for now. Until you kick my husband and me to the curb and tell him you’ll never sell, which you should do, by the way. Tell him that because he doesn’t deserve such a beautiful place.” She covered her mouth as quickly as the words fell and then whispered, “I’ve said too much.”

  “You’ve said too little, in my opinion.” Robert poured another drink, then leaned forward with a display of curiosity etched across his face. “Tell me, Marilyn, if I may call you that.”

  “You may. But only here.” All the tables around them had cleared out. She didn’t dare look at the clock on the wall to know the time. She knew it had to be near midnight or well past. If James knew what she was up to, she was doomed.

  But more than likely, he was still dead to the world.

  “All right.” Robert placed his fingers around the wine stem and moved the glass around timidly. He needed time, maybe, to build up confidence. “Tell me why you married him.”

  Marilyn felt it: the sinister hatred behind his words. Her throat tightened.

  “It was an arranged marriage my father made a long time ago.”

  Robert’s eyes grew shadowed. “That’s wretched.”

  “We were poor. We were always so poor and he had me to offer. I suppose my siblings and parents are doing quite well now. I can take solace in that.”

  “But you’re a prisoner.”

  “A prisoner who drinks fine wine, eats fine meals, and stays in luxury hotels on the coastline,” she pointed out. “It isn’t so bad, is it?”

  “But you miss the stars.”

  Marilyn’s heart felt squeezed. “I hope you won’t mention to James that I told you all this.”

  “I don’t suppose he’d take it well.”

  Marilyn dropped her gaze to the table. “I wish I could love him. It would be easier.”

  She immediately regretted her words. It was too much. But in a flash, Robert splayed his hand over hers, there on the table. It stayed there for only a split second before he removed it. Marilyn thought she would remember the sensation of his skin upon hers for the rest of her life.

  “I had better get to bed,” she whispered. “Thank you for the wonderful conversation. You must understand— it’s nothing I’m accustomed to.”

  “But you must have had these sorts of conversations before.”

  “Yes, with my father.”

  She could see that his troubled Robert all the more. “And he still gave you over to James?”

  Marilyn could feel her tears threaten to fall. She willed them to wait till she returned to her room.

  “He explained that this is a man’s world. I was born into it and I will die out of it. Till then, I must do as he and my husband say.” She took a final sip of wine and felt her head cloud all the more.

  “I don’t mean any harm, but your father sounds cruel.”

  “He’s a realist, as I must be. Goodnight, Robert Sheridan. I will see you soon.”

  Marilyn walked all the way up to the presidential suite with her ears ringing wildly. When she reached the other side of the door, she slid down it as the sound of James’s snores rattled from wall to wall. She pressed her hands together over her heart and dared for a moment to dream of another reality.

  But of course, she knew better than all that.

  Chapter Seven

  “You can only do so much when they’re adults. I taught him everything I could. Tardiness is not to be tolerated.” Mark Van Tress’s eyes sparkled with the joke. He sat in the front room of Kelli’s real estate office, a can of sparkling water in hand and one very expensive shoe placed delicately across his knee. He and Kelli had been waiting for the arrival of his son, Xander Van Tress, for nearly twenty minutes. He was a developer with more money than God, apparently, with recent projects in Nantucket and an island off the coast of Seattle.

  “I understand,” Kelli flashed him a smile. “My children are grown up these days. I have to admit; I don’t think I instilled in them every life lesson I could have.”

  “Ah well. At the end of the day, I suppose we are only human.”

  “Isn’t that a tragedy?” Kelli laughed. “How I longed for perfection back in the old days. I thought I would have achieved it by now.”

  The bell from the front door rang as a stranger entered. The man was in his late forties, a sort of rugged Brad Pitt type, during the shaggier era. Kelli’s heart stopped beating for a split second before it cranked up again. She stood up as the man gave her a delicious, crooked grin.

  “There he is. The man of the hour.” Mark stood and greeted his son with a firm nod.

  “My ferry was a few minutes late,” Xander Van Tress explained, taking a few strides forward. His eyes remained locked on Kelli’s.

  She was unaccustomed to any sort of attention from men. Not like she’d put herself out there since Mike’s departure, but even still. Once you were a woman of a certain age— it’s not like that attention came your way any longer. Unless you were a Sheridan sister, that is.

  She quickly told herself that his attention was all business-related. After all, he potentially wanted to buy the property on the cliffside. She built up a boundary around her heart to fight off any kind of disappointment. So many others had come before these men. Still, the property remained barren.

  “I’m Kelli. Kelli Montgomery,” she greeted brightly, in that real-estate tone she’d taken on several years before— the one that rang false and strange in her own ears. She shook Xander’s hand firmly.

  “Good to meet you,” Xander smiled. “My father has told me a great deal already about this property. It sounds right up our alley. I’ve had dreams about something like this. A kind of mystical, haunted land with a story of its own.”

  Kelli’s heart twitched. “I see you’re a dreamer.”

  “It’s the reason I got into all of this developer stuff,” he told her. “I wanted to make these dreams come to life. There’s something about the air of a place, of a piece of land— an aura, maybe, if you want to get esoteric about it. I feel it in my bones, and then I try to build a place with that aura in mind. In this way, my properties are known to be incredibly diverse.”

  “It’s true. There’s no way like the Van Tress way,” Mark affirmed. “My son is quite taken with the multitudes of paths that architecture al
lows.”

  Again, Kelli was reminded of those blueprints, which she wanted to take to the antiquarian to investigate further. If the Van Tress father-son duo really went forward with this project, those blueprints would come in handy. She had a hunch that Xander was the sort of man to appreciate them.

  Or perhaps she’d already given him too much credit, simply due to the handsomeness of his face, his square chin, the broadness of his chest, and that unique cologne he wore— was it sandalwood? Her heart felt squeezed.

  “Shall we drive to the property, then?”

  They made their way outside. Mark jumped in the back of her vehicle to allow Xander space in front. Kelli was self-conscious about everything. The radio DJ played an obnoxious number of commercials during the first five minutes of their route, and she found herself apologizing, as though she’d planned the schedule herself.

  “Nothing like capitalism, huh?” Xander joked.

  At this, Kelli let out a laugh that sounded a bit too nervous for her liking. She again cursed herself. But what did it mean to flirt, anyway? How had she scored Mike? Then again, her instincts had obviously been horrific in that case. Could she even trust herself?

  Xander stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and his hands on his hips. The July sunlight cascaded beautifully across his dark blonde beard, and his blue eyes scanned the property, the craggy Cliffside, and then the mansion itself, or what was left of it. Kelli was captivated by his captivation; she sensed in a flash that he was truly mesmerized by the old place. He heard its song.

  “1943, huh?”

  “The year of the hurricane,” she affirmed. “It was devastating.”

  Xander’s steps were long and confident. He strode forward without her, something the other potential buyers had never done, and headed directly toward what was left of the front door. He peered through the shadows. Kelli walked up the stone staircase behind him and followed his gaze. The foyer’s marble floors were cracked but still very much intact, proof of the immaculate state of the old place.