Forty-one

Vivian made her way through the crowd, greeting guests and stopping for selfies. Standing in the midst of dozens and dozens of people chatting, drinking, laughing, hearing the sound of corks popping against the backdrop of jazz music, she could almost forget what was happening behind the scenes.

“A little lower so I get you in the frame, Mrs. Hollander,” said a woman adjusting the angle of her phone.

Vivian bent down to get into the shot with a knitting group visiting from Connecticut. Leah had been right to market more aggressively to women on their mailing list, and the outreach to her Bailey’s Blue list had already gotten a twenty-person book club reservation for later in the week.

“Ladies, allow me to help so you can all be in the photo,” a male voice said. A male voice with a French accent.

She whirled around. What was the baron doing there? Leonard hadn’t told her he was coming back today. Was he going to be hovering over their shoulders every minute?

It was hard to believe she had once found him so compelling. Looking back on it, with the superpower of hindsight, she realized that the attraction had been more about what was wrong with herself at the time than what was right about him. Barely out of her teens, she had traded her ornamental existence in Manhattan for the promise of something more meaningful with Leonard on Long Island, only to be relegated to ornament once again. Yes, Leonard asked her opinion about some things and she oversaw a household. But she felt, by her thirties, that he took her for granted. And so, she’d let the immediate gratification of being the focal point of a strange man’s attention distract her from what really mattered. She had thought, over the years, that she could not regret it more. The past couple days had proven her wrong.

Somehow, she forced a smile for the photo. When the baron handed the phone back to the guest, she tried to drift off, but he pulled her aside.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said stiffly. “I need to take care of something back at the house.”

“I’ve seen the entire winery, but I’d like to see the house, too. That is part of the deal, is it not?”

Her stomach turned. The thought of him setting foot inside her home was bad enough. But the idea of him taking her home? Unthinkable. But she plastered a fake smile on her face.

“I’m sure Leonard can help you with that,” she said.

“I’m sure you can help me with that,” he said. “You did such an unforgettable job last time I visited. All those years ago, and still I remember it like it was yesterday.”

Was he serious? She glanced around to make sure no one could overhear them and took a few steps away from the crowd.

“That’s inappropriate,” she hissed.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you,” he said, his hand on her arm. “When I heard that this winery was for sale, it brought back so much unfinished business. And you haven’t changed one bit.”

“Yes,” she said, shaking off his hand, “I have.”

“True,” he acknowledged. “We are both older now. And so why not have some fun? At our age, what does it matter? And I would think you would want to show a little gratitude.”

She pulled away from him and rushed to the nearest door, taking refuge inside the winery. Nervous that he might follow her, she slipped into the oak room to hide among the barrels until she regained her composure. But even there she wasn’t alone: Leah stood in the middle of a row, writing on a notepad. Catching her breath, Vivian said, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure something out,” Leah replied. “But I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.”

“Not now, Leah,” she said, still shaken.

Leah moved closer. Speaking quietly, so quietly that Vivian had to lean forward to hear her, she said, “It has to be now, Mom. We’re running out of time. Dad can’t sell to that guy. He just can’t.”

“Did something happen?” Vivian’s chest seized in alarm. The baron wouldn’t have dared cross the line with Leah—would he?

“Yes, something happened: he showed up at my wine and cheese class and told me that from now on I have to consult with him about my wine pairings.”

Vivian exhaled. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I have some ideas to buy time. And it starts with producing a rosé. By the way, do you know half these barrels are empty? Chris told me, and I just can’t believe it.”

Vivian glanced to her right, at Leonard’s closed office door just beyond the last row of barrels.

“Leah, it’s done. Let it go.”

“I can’t! I don’t understand how you keep missing opportunities. Producing rosé lets us put cash right back into the business.”

“Yes, but your father can do the same fast turnaround with the whites.”

“That’s still delaying the profit on half the crop. And if you brought in more reds from an outside vineyard, there’s even more to sell. If revenue has been flat for years—and that’s what I’m hearing from Dad himself—this is a way to increase our margins immediately.”

Vivian shook her head. “He doesn’t trust the rosé market. It’s going to bottom out, just like blush did when it was popular.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

“I don’t know.” Vivian faltered. “It’s easy for you to say because you didn’t witness the damage after our investment in blush.” Leah’s question, the body language of her hands on her hips and her glare, made her feel defensive. The truth was, she didn’t know what she believed anymore. She’d been deferring to Leonard for so long, her instinct for winemaking had atrophied like a paralyzed limb.

“So you won’t help me?” Leah said.

“What exactly do you expect me to do?” Vivian said, exasperated. “Even if I think you’re right, I can’t force your father to do anything he doesn’t want to do.” She’d been trying to get Leonard to look at things differently, to take Leah seriously as part of the team. But now she was so rattled, it was all she could do to hold herself together.

“Mom, you helped build this winery. You took a chance when you moved out here with him fifty years ago. You helped plant the fields with your own hands. You have a right to your opinion about the business.”

“What do you know about it, Leah? It was never my business. It was your father’s idea, your father’s know-how, your father’s name and legacy. I married into it, but it was always his. Why don’t you understand that?”

The door to Leonard’s office opened.

“What’s going on out here?” he said, annoyed.

“We’re talking, Dad,” Leah said.

Vivian reached out and squeezed her arm. “I’m tired. I’ll see you at dinner.”

She turned and walked into the office.

“Leah, can you find your brother?” Leonard said. “Tell him I need him at the office. He’s not answering his phone.”

With that, he closed the office door and Vivian collapsed into a chair.

Leonard crossed his arms. “Is Leah carrying on again?”

“She’s not ‘carrying on.’ She’s rightfully upset.” Vivian covered her face with her hands. She took a deep breath before looking up at him. “I’m trying hard to be supportive. To be on board with what you need to do to save us financially. But I just can’t continue to go along with this. Don’t sell to the baron. Stall. We’ll borrow money somehow. Buy some time. We can run on a skeleton staff. I’ll go back to doing the fieldwork myself . . .”

Leonard smacked his palm on his desk.

“Fieldwork at your age? Stop—just stop. You don’t understand. I’m already behind in taxes. We owe a lot, and I need to start paying in the fall. The baron’s money is the only way to make that payment.”

“But—”

“It’s done, Vivian. And I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

---

“Where have you been?” Leah asked Asher, finally locating him with Bridget sitting on a wrought iron bench in one of their mother’s flower gardens behind the house. Bridget wore a strapless turquoise sundress, her red hair sun-bleached to a softer strawberry color. Asher was dressed like he was headed to a golf course. Both of them sported fluorescent-colored sunglasses with rubber frames.

“Dad said to make ourselves scarce while the new buyer is here,” he said.

“And that’s okay with you?”

Asher shrugged.

“He can help me with some video for social,” Bridget said. “I’m a brand ambassador for these amazing sunglasses.” She adjusted the pair of brightly colored frames on her face. “They’re super lightweight and totally waterproof.” She spoke like Leah had just walked into an infomercial. “Do you want to try a pair?”

“Would you be filming me?” Leah said.

“Is that okay?” Bridget said.

“Um, maybe another time?” Leah turned to Asher. “We need to talk. Can you come out to the field with me for a few minutes?”

He followed her with surprising willingness.

“Thanks for rescuing me,” he said, glancing back just once.

“Since when do you need rescuing from Bridget?”

“Since it became clear that I’m about to be unemployed and homeless.”

Sometimes she forgot that Asher was suffering through all of this, too. That they had roamed these fields together as children, that he would sneak wine from the bottle room. They were the only two people in the world with those specific shared memories. She might be resentful of her father’s favoritism, but it wasn’t Asher’s fault. The sale of the vineyard and the family home was a loss they shared equally.

“Asher, Bridget doesn’t care about the money.”

“But I do,” he said, stopping in his tracks. “I know you think I’m lazy, but I have my pride. This isn’t a situation I want to drag her into. And I certainly don’t want to be living off her Instagram money.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I think we need some time apart.”

“Asher, don’t push her away. Let’s focus on saving the winery, okay?”

“How?” His eyes were hidden behind those ridiculous sunglasses, but the break in his voice betrayed the extent of his worry.

“I’m not sure, exactly. But we’ve both, in one way or another, been controlled—or, in my case, sidelined—by Dad our entire lives. For once, we need to push back. And we’re going to start by talking to Mateo.”

They resumed walking, Asher muttering something under his breath. Outside the barn, Javier piled equipment on the back of a truck. Leah called out, asking if Mateo was inside.

“He’s in the reds,” Javier said, pointing to the farthest outskirts of the vineyard.

Leah and Asher continued walking under the high morning sun. As bad as things were at the moment, it was hard to lose hope surrounded by the lush new life, the sugar-rich grapes. Veraison—the process of the grapes turning colors—never failed to amaze her; the Malbec was changing from green to red, the white grapes from dark green to golden yellow.

She spotted Mateo among the Malbec vines.

“Hey there,” she said.

He looked up at the two of them and stopped what he was doing. The sun had burnished his complexion, making the chiseled angles of his face even more striking. She wondered what was going on between him and Sadie. She’d been waiting since the night of book club for another clue, or even for Sadie to confide in her. But nothing.

“Oh wow; this Merlot is still really green,” she said, looking at the fruit. Beside her, Asher shifted impatiently.

“It’s old,” Mateo said. “The older plants go through veraison more slowly.”

Leah knew that. She’d been thinking about it—and the fact that the older plants produced fewer fruit but the fruit they did produce was higher quality. Maybe she should take something from that. And so should her mother.

This was no time to give up.

“Mateo, I don’t mean to interrupt your work, but I have some questions I’m hoping you can help me with. Chris said if we wanted to produce rosé this year we have enough reds. Do you agree?”

“Oh, come on, Leah,” Asher said. Mateo looked at him, hesitating.

“Don’t pay attention to him,” Leah said with a wave.

“We have the grapes. The question is how your father allocates the use of the reds and the tank space.”

“When does that have to be decided?” Leah said.

“Before Labor Day.”

August was the calm before the harvest storm. It was a time of waiting, letting the vines do their work. It was also the window before decisions about production would be made, a window that would be closing quickly. In a month, her father would start pulling fruit to test sugar and pH to see when it was time to begin harvest. Leonard would be deciding what fruit was suitable for what wines.

As hard as she’d tried to leave the winery behind her, to start a new life in New York City, the rhythm of the vineyard was like muscle memory. It was a part of her. There was little Mateo could tell her that she didn’t already know. She wasn’t sure what she was searching for out in the field today.

“Mateo,” she said, “I’m going to ask my father to earmark some of the reds for rosé. I don’t know if he’ll listen to me, but I’m going to try. I asked you once before, but now I need to know even more urgently: Is there anything else you would recommend?”

“There’s a more efficient way to do the netting,” Mateo said.

Putting protective netting around the grapes was a labor-intensive process that took weeks. Once the fruit hit a certain sugar level, it attracted predators. The vineyard was on a major migratory path for songbirds. Leah had seen blocks of starlings descend, and it was biblical. One year, her parents lost an entire Cabernet Franc crop to deer. Vivian had recounted seeing a wild turkey swallow an entire grape cluster, gulping it down like a pelican.

“Oh? What is it?”

“Instead of covering the entire tree and needing to be installed every August and then removed for harvest, there’s a perennial netting that only covers the fruit. We wouldn’t have to remove it. You just undo the ties and pull it down and it doesn’t bother anything and you can hedge the crop—you can do anything.”

“Why hasn’t my father switched to this yet?” She glanced at Asher.

“It’s too expensive,” Asher said.

“Well, the initial investment is expensive,” Mateo said. “But in the long run you save a lot of time and money. It’s becoming industry standard.”

“I hate to be the naysayer here, but are the two of you forgetting that this is all moot—the winery is selling. The buyer is here this week. Leah, don’t get his hopes up”—Asher nodded toward Mateo—“and don’t act like there’s something I should be doing that I’m not. It’s over.”

With that, he trudged off toward the house. Leah turned back to Mateo, who looked impatient.

“Is that what you think, too?” she said.

Mateo began to speak, then stopped. He looked around at the vineyard.

“Leah, my concern is my father. I have to take care of him, and if that means accepting what’s going on and moving forward, that’s what I have to do. I know this is hard on you and your mom. But I’m afraid your brother’s right. It’s over.”