Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,26
No need to tell her how bad their money problems might be. She would spare her at least that. She contemplated, for a moment, how to ease into the news. The more she thought about it, the more anxious she felt. Best to just rip off the Band-Aid.
“Your father is selling the winery,” Vivian said.
“What? Why?” Leah looked stricken.
“It’s time.”
“Time? It’s our family business. Dad lives for this place.”
Vivian shifted uncomfortably. “Well, things change.”
“Dad always says winemaking is in his blood. That’s not something that changes. Is he sick?”
“No! He’s healthy as a horse.”
“Are you sick?”
“Leah, stop. Your father is fine, I’m fine. It’s just . . . this is for the best.”
“What does Asher say about this?”
“Asher supports this decision.”
Leah jumped up from the bench. “Well, I don’t.”
Surprised by the vehemence of her response, Vivian said, “I know it’s a big change.”
Leah stepped forward and grabbed her hands. “Mom, are you really okay with this? You built this place, too. It’s just as much your business as it is Dad’s.”
Vivian took a moment before saying, “I trust your father.”
She wondered if her daughter noticed the break in her voice.
* * *
Leah marched into her father’s office and found Asher sitting on the worn leather couch. His feet were up as he scrolled through his phone.
The walls of the office were filled with framed press clippings about the vineyard and her parents, including her favorite, her mother on the cover of Town & Country magazine in the spring of 1990. She had been photographed in the vineyard, dressed in Escada. The cover read “Earth Mother: Vivian Hollander and the Rise of the Modern Matriarch.”
“Oh, hey, Lee,” Asher said, not looking up.
“How could you not tell me about selling the winery?” she said.
Asher looked up. His expression seemed puzzled. “Tell you? I thought you knew.”
“How would I know?”
He shrugged. “Mom? Dad? Why would I be the one to tell you?”
“I saw you this morning at breakfast. You never thought to mention what’s going on?”
Asher sighed. “Okay, look—I didn’t tell you because I knew it would start a whole big thing and I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, I’d say it’s a whole big thing. A very big thing!”
“Why are you getting hysterical? You don’t live here. You don’t work here.”
“Are you joking? You think just because I don’t live here anymore I’m not upset to lose this place?”
“Leah, come on. This had to happen at some point. Dad’s getting old.”
She sat next to him. “I thought that was what you’re here for. You’re supposed to be helping him—take some of the pressure off.”
Asher pulled a stress ball out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and tossed it into the air, catching it. “This is what Dad wants. I guess nothing lasts forever.”
“This winery could have lasted a long time. I’m sure Grandpa Samuel would agree with me if he were still here.”
“Why? Gelleh Estates doesn’t exist anymore.”
“But Hollander does—his son’s winery. We’re still a winemaking family.”
“You’re getting all emotional about it. And then you wonder why Dad doesn’t hire more women.”
“Oh, my god, you didn’t really just say that.”
“Say what?” Bridget appeared in the doorway. She wore cutoff denim shorts and a bikini top, her brassy red hair loose and wet, evidently from the swimming pool. Leah glanced at her ring finger.
“Bridget, hi. Congrats on the engagement,” she said, trying to smile.
“Thanks . . . sis.” Bridget winked. “Are you having a fun vacay?” She took a seat in the chair behind Leonard’s desk, her hair dripping onto it. Leah felt her breath catch in her throat. She wouldn’t dare sit at the desk, and she was his daughter.
She exhaled. “I am. But Asher and I are just in the middle of something. Can you excuse us for a few minutes?”
“Sure. No prob,” Bridget said, jumping up. She leaned over and gave Asher a kiss before strolling out of the office.
“Was that necessary?” he said.
“Yes. Unless you want me to say, in front of your new fiancée, that I think you’re dropping the ball.”
He threw the stress ball into the air again and this time caught it with an exaggerated flourish.
“Very funny,” she said. “Asher, you should be fighting to keep the winery in the family.”
“And again, I ask, what do you care?”
“Fine, forget about me. Think about Mom. Whether she admits it or not, I can tell she’s devastated.”
His hand stilled, no longer tossing the ball. For a moment, he said nothing. And then: “She’ll come around. Selling