Forty-three
The rain soaked through her clothes, plastering her hair to her face and neck. After texting Mateo to meet her at the barn, Sadie didn’t wait for a response before dashing out into the night.
In the downpour, the scent of every flower, every plant, even the soil, seemed intensified. She inhaled deeply, her nerve endings perking up with each step. She’d tried to put Mateo out of her mind, but now that she’d allowed herself to reach out to him, admitted to herself how much she missed him, the physical longing that had been pent up for days felt excruciating. She would say her piece, telling him she understood the stress he was under—that despite what he might think, it was affecting her family, too. She understood what was at stake for all of them. And there, in the room where they’d shared such exquisite passion, he would take her in his arms and they would pick up right where they had left off.
One thing she hadn’t factored into her impulsive non-plan was that the barn would be locked. Maybe she was spending too much time reading her grandmother’s old books and was losing touch with reality.
The rain that had been a misty blanket earlier in the day had turned to a needlelike downpour. She pulled out her phone to text Mateo to bring the keys, but it was too wet, and besides, he had enough sense to do that. She was the one who climbed locked gates and fell into potted plants.
She inched closer to the building, trying to shelter herself under the narrow overhang of the roof. She waited and waited, shivering in the breeze that blew in off the bay. What if he was ignoring her text?
Finally, she saw a shadowy figure across the field. The rain and the wind were instantly forgotten. How could she have doubted that he would come meet her?
It took effort not to run up to him, to throw herself against him. When he reached her, she could barely see his eyes under the baseball hat pulled down low. She waited for him to reprimand her for not having a hat or an umbrella, the way he did out in the field under the hot sun—any hint of tenderness. But he just crossed his arms, the rain pelting him. He didn’t even try to stand under the ledge.
“What’s this about?” he said.
“Can we go inside?” she said, wiping the water away from her mouth.
“No. Whatever you have to say, just tell me.”
He couldn’t be serious.
“You want to stand out here talking in the rain?” she said. He just looked at her. “Okay . . . I wanted to clarify something. I think you think I don’t understand the gravity of the situation here—that because my family is selling, I can’t empathize with the situation it puts you and your family in. But I do. And I want you to know that my grandparents are suffering, too. No one is happy about this. But I don’t see what this has to do with you and me as . . . people.” She almost said “as a couple,” but they hadn’t gotten to that point. They hadn’t had the time. But they could. She knew they could.
Mateo seemed unmoved. “My father had total faith in Leonard, and now everything is being pulled out from under him. It’s not personal, but in the middle of all this, I don’t want to be with you.”
Not personal? It was the definition of personal! He’d known since before they started hooking up that her grandfather was selling. He told her as much that day she ran into him at the seafood restaurant. Still, they’d found their way to each other. That first night in the vineyard he’d seemed as starved for her as she’d felt for him. What changed? Was it because the new buyer was walking around, getting in everyone’s face? That was no excuse.
She now understood why Holden had broken up with her. He’d been completely justified: she held a part of herself back. She had put her work first, her time alone first. She didn’t let him pull her out of her comfort zone in any way. But with Mateo, she couldn’t hold back if she tried. She didn’t even recognize the person she was becoming. And still, he had found a reason to end it.
“Fine,” she said, wiping the rain from her mouth as she spoke. “I don’t want to be involved with you, either. You think I have time to waste on this grape farm? I’m a writer. I’ve been published in The New Yorker!”
He shook his head, his expression not unkind. Wistful, even.
“Go back to school, Sadie. There’s nothing for you here.”
Leah sat on her bed, her window cracked just enough to let some fresh air in and keep the rain out. She pulled one of the wine logs onto her lap and flipped through it. Pages and pages of her father’s tight, precise handwriting. It was so familiar to her. Oh, how she’d always looked up to him. It was too painful to read. Setting the log aside, she picked up the copy of Mistral’s Daughter she’d taken from the library.
She glanced at her phone, silent next to her. Steven hadn’t answered her call and text from before dinner. Sometimes it felt like he was punishing her for being out here. Did she have to beg him to talk?
Across the hall, Sadie’s bedroom door slammed shut. She must be back from her “walk.” Maybe after the visit with her new boyfriend she’d be more open to a conversation. Leah smiled, thinking of her girlhood crush on Mateo’s father. Amazing how life could come full circle.
She remembered coming home from college one summer to find Javier walking around with a dark-haired beauty by his side. When Leah learned the woman was his fiancée, she was jealous. It wasn’t the fact that he was taken, but more that she felt so far from love in her own life. College dating had been a frustrating merry-go-round of casual hookups and short-lived relationships. Looking back on it, she wished her twenty-year-old self could have known that Steven Bailey was just around the corner.
With a pang, she looked again at her phone. She decided she’d say a quick goodnight to Sadie and then try calling Steven one more time.
As soon as she opened her bedroom door, she heard the sobs coming from Sadie’s room. She rushed over and knocked with urgency.
“Sadie? Open up.”
“I’m fine,” her daughter called out.
“You’re not fine.”
Sadie must have known that of course Leah wouldn’t leave, that she might as well let her in. Sure enough, she cracked the door, and Leah saw that her hair was soaking wet and her eyes were swollen. Moving into the room, she closed the door behind her and steered Sadie to the edge of the bed, where she put her arm around her shoulders. Her clothes were wet, too.
“What’s wrong?”
“Earlier, when you asked me where I went the night of the book club? I think you know.”
“I don’t know anything. I just suspected maybe it was to see Mateo. I don’t mean to pry, but I can’t help but wonder. Is that what’s wrong? Did something happen with him?”
Sadie nodded, sniffling into a crumpled tissue.
“We hooked up,” she said. “And I really like him. I thought he felt the same way, but now he’s mad about the sale, about what’s happening to Javier. He doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
Leah hugged her, murmuring that she was sorry even as a part of her was relieved to see Sadie so emotionally invested in someone. She never seemed to take any of her relationships to heart. Leah and Steven had heard about the boy she was seeing at school for months, but then she showed up at the winery announcing it was over and hadn’t seemed to miss a step. Better for her to experience strong feelings, both good and bad, than to do nothing but write all the time.
“I know you’re hurting now,” Leah said. “But you’ll feel this way again. Maybe about someone at school. It won’t be as complicated as things are here. And you have to go back next semester anyway. Try to see the positive in this: the good moments you had with him are something you will always remember. And the next time you experience this, it will hopefully last longer. I was only a few years older than you when I met your father.”
Someone knocked on the door. Sadie jumped up.
“Do you think it’s Gran?” she whispered. “I don’t want to see her. I’m a mess.”
“I’ll handle it,” Leah said, moving to the door. She opened it a hair. It wasn’t her mother; it was Bridget.
“Oh, Leah—I was looking for you. Can you talk?”
“I thought you were in the city tonight.”
“Yeah, well—I’m back. And I need to talk to you.”
Leah had wondered if Asher had told her that they should take time apart after all. But she could only deal with one crisis of the heart at a time.
“Now’s not a great time, Bridget. Tomorrow I’ll be up early and we can—”
“Um, I think now is better.”
Leah glanced back at Sadie, who was waving her hand like, Not in here. Leah stepped out into the hall. “Bridget, look—Asher is under a lot of stress. Don’t take anything he says right now too seriously. He cares about you.”
“Thanks, Leah. I appreciate that. But I didn’t come back from the city tonight to talk about my relationship. I came to talk about yours.”
Leah wasn’t following. Her relationship?
“I saw Steven on my way to dinner,” Bridget said.
“Really?” They hadn’t spoken since earlier that day. It was odd that he hadn’t at least texted her that he’d seen Bridget. “He didn’t mention it.”
“That’s because he didn’t notice me.”
“And you didn’t say hi?”
Bridget hesitated a beat—just long enough for Leah to sense that whatever was coming, it wasn’t good.
“Leah, he wasn’t alone. He was with a woman. A beautiful woman.”