and on top of that had lost their mother.
My parents are our saviors. Donny and I make sure they never forget that.
Even now, I sometimes wonder why they did it. My dad and Uncle Ry rescued us, got us away from the horror, but they didn’t have to make a lifetime commitment.
I’ve asked my father many times, and his answer is always the same.
Because I could give you what you needed.
He has. He gave me a home, a family, food to eat, and all the money in the world. But he could have given any child those same things.
Why Donny?
And why me?
Because I could give you what you needed.
A home? Check. A mother and father? Check. Therapy? Check. Many others could have given us that much. Maybe not such a lavish home, but a home nonetheless.
My father’s words have a hidden meaning. I’m sure of it. I’ve asked Aunt Mel, but she always says I need to ask my father. And when I do, the words are always the same.
Because I could give you what you needed.
My father hides behind his words. There’s something he’s not telling me. I always thought he’d come clean once I hit adulthood, but I’m thirty-five now, and he hasn’t.
Thirty-five—the same age he was when Donny and I came here.
Our lives have come full circle, it seems.
I check my phone. I was only asleep for a half hour. Funny that I can go into a dream state so quickly, but it sometimes happens that way.
Diana and Ashley are probably in the hot tub, finishing the sparkling wine and chattering about who knows what.
The stars above are shining down upon them as they are on me.
And suddenly the world seems small.
Chapter Fifteen
Ashley
“Your brother is a tough nut to crack,” I say to Diana after finishing my flute of champagne—err, sparkling wine.
“I was wondering how long it would take for you to bring him up.” Dee laughs. “It’s been nearly a half hour since we got in the tub.”
“He’s…”
He’s…what? Magnificent to look at? He is, but he’s her brother. She doesn’t think of him that way. He’s brilliant? She already knows that. He’s a rude pain in the ass? She may not know that, but it’s hardly something a sister wants to hear about a big brother she adores.
I finally decide on, “…interesting.”
“He’s just a loner. You’ll get used to it.”
“He pretty much told me I’m not needed here. He thinks this internship is a waste of his time.”
“Yeah, he made that pretty clear. I’m sorry about that.”
“Why is your uncle forcing him to work with me, then? Why doesn’t he work with me himself or assign someone else?”
Diana wrinkles her forehead. “Honestly? I don’t know. Uncle Ry must have something up his sleeve.”
“Dale told me his uncle said he needs to improve his people skills.”
Diana spits her mouthful of wine into the tub. “Shit! Sorry about that.”
“No problem. I’ve always wanted to bathe in champagne. Fuck! Sparkling wine! Why do I keep doing that? I’m an oenologist, for God’s sake.”
“Dale actually told you that?”
“He did, and I told him he had to actually have people skills in the first place to improve them.”
“Oh my God. What did he say to that?”
What had he said? Something about having plenty of people skills but only using them when necessary. Hell, I was so enamored with the sound and color of his voice, some of it’s a blur. “He defended himself, of course.”
“Of course.” Diana reaches for a bottle of water and swallows a long drink.
“The funny thing is, I know I can learn a lot from your brother. Already he’s showing me I need to be more specific in my language and particularly in my tasting notes.”
“Oh, yeah. Dale’s always been precise. It’s a pet peeve of his when things are too vague.”
“Obviously. But I need to watch myself. I’m almost a doctor of oenology, and I’m using the word champagne as a blanket term. I fucking know better, Dee.”
“Why do you do it, then?”
“I don’t know. Laziness?”
“You’re hardly lazy, Ash.”
She’s right. I’m not lazy. I work hard. “Just in language, I guess. And language is very important to a sommelier. If I can’t adequately describe the wines I taste, how can I convince a diner to purchase them?”
“So you’re not a writer. Not many are.”
“But I need to be. Tasting notes are written, and they have to be precise.”
“Then you’re in the right place. Dale will teach you precision better than any wine professor.”
I smile. “I have