Blush - Jamie Brenner

Prologue—1985

Cutchogue, New York

Spring

It was the time of year known as bud break, that late-spring moment when the entire vineyard turned green.

She looked out at the orderly rows of plants as far as the eye could see. The knotty wood trunk of the vines gave way to a lush canopy of leaves that her father tamed with wire, and little nubs of the fruit poked through with the promise of abundance. It was Leah’s favorite season, the moment before everything changed.

The sun began to set, but her father showed no sign of slowing down. Her older brother had lost interest and wandered off long ago. Her father patted her head, saying, “At least one of my children is paying attention to what’s important.” The praise thrilled her. “See here, Leah—we don’t need all these shoots,” he said, indicating where he had clipped away at the plant tied to the trellis wire. “This is the primary shoot, and we can’t have others competing for the plant’s resources.”

Her father had been bringing her out into the fields from the time she could walk. The winery was her home, and the acres of surrounding fields were her secret garden. This made her feel special; it made her feel like she had a destiny, and no matter what happened at school or with her friends, she had something bigger to hold on to. Here, she belonged.

A young man emerged from the row of Syrah plants. Javier was her father’s most trusted field hand.

“Javier, tomorrow we’ll start at five thirty,” her father called out to him.

“Yes, Senõr Hollander.”

Javier had black hair and black eyes and long limbs that made her watch his every move with fascination. When he disappeared into the distance, the fields suddenly felt a little less alive. She was twelve years old, Javier was her first crush, and her feelings made the vineyard seem even more magical.

At dusk, she and her father walked silently back toward the sprawling eighteenth-century farmhouse that her parents had converted into a winery. She heard laughter from the back deck, an assembly of women in which her mother held center court.

It was the last Tuesday of the month, and that meant book club.

Her father walked past the group with a small wave to Leah’s mother, following a path around to the front of the building. Leah lingered, hoping to remain unnoticed for even just a few moments so she could watch them. The women all looked glamorous, in their dresses by Halston, Nolan Miller, and Escada, their hair teased and sprayed into style, their lips bright with gloss. But the standout in any crowd was always her mother, with her ash blond hair, blue eyes, and sharp cheekbones. She looked like the actress who played Krystle Carrington on their favorite television show, Dynasty.

Their glasses bubbled with the sparkling version of Hollander Estates Winery’s pale pink wine, the one called blush. Leah’s brother, Asher, had snuck a sample for them both one day when they were helping out in the bottling room. It was sweeter than she’d expected, better than she’d expected—especially since her father dismissed it as “swill.”

“Then why do you make it?” she’d asked him. Her father was the winemaker, and if it was swill, it was swill he had created on purpose. He was a third-generation vintner, a family tradition that had begun in 1910, when her great-grandfather was gifted a winery in Mendoza, Argentina, as payment for a debt. Her father had told her the story many times.

“Because it sells,” her father said.

It was a calm, windless evening, and a honey-like scent hung in the air, a promise of the summer to come. The women took seats around one of the cherrywood tables, carrying their wine and books. They were already flipping through pages, whispering and pointing at certain passages. Occasionally, one of the women would glance over to make sure Leah didn’t hear what they were saying.

“Leah, time to run along,” her mother said. “We’re going to begin.”

Leah did not want to run along. She yearned to be included in the group, to get dressed up and sit by her mother’s side and talk about books.

“When you’re older,” her mother had said when Leah shared this with her. What she hadn’t confessed was that she’d been reading the books with them all along, sneaking her mother’s copy when she wasn’t around. The pages were filled with sex.

Leah had been tempted to admit her secret to the winery’s sales rep, Delphine, who had recently joined the