Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,8

tasting room, followed by dinner on the veranda. Only eighty miles from Manhattan, but a world away.

“We’re barely ten minutes later than we told them we’d be. I built in time,” Steven said.

Still, they rushed to the winery’s back deck, which overlooked the vineyard. During the day, it served as an extension of the tasting room. On weekends, it was often reserved for weddings. At night, it was one of the family’s favorite spots for dinner, overlooking the endless greenery of the vineyard.

“There she is!” her mother called out, standing from her seat at one end of the table long enough to seat twenty. It was their “picnic” table, made of plank cherrywood. Tonight, it was set for six, with a crisp white runner down the center, cobalt blue wine goblets, and bunches of blue hydrangeas and coral tea roses in short Murano glass vases. Leah knew that inside the house she would find every room filled with flowers.

As a girl, Leah had taken the simple elegance of life at the estate for granted. During the week, there were three formal meals a day. Vivian maintained a chef’s garden, and every morning after breakfast Peternelle would pick vegetables and thyme, basil, rosemary, or mint for that evening’s dinner preparation.

Her parents had hosted lavish parties nearly every weekend. She would watch them plunk fresh strawberries from the garden into flutes of sparkling white wine, her mother dressed in Halston or Ungaro, with a wildflower tucked behind one ear.

Tonight, her mother looked beautiful as always, her carefully maintained silver-blond hair coiffed and just reaching her shoulders. She wore a white linen dress and ropes of black pearls around her neck. Her manicured nails, kept short enough to be functional, were a glossy coral that matched her lipstick.

Beside her, her father poured a glass of red wine. He wore a powder blue polo shirt and his usual khakis, his white hair striking against his tan. While he had once been handsome in a young-Marlon-Brando sort of way, now his features appeared blunt and almost brutish in his creased face. But his intense dark eyes flashed with brilliant intensity, and when he gave a rare smile of approval, it had the force of a stadium light.

He waved them over, and Leah could tell by the set of his jaw that he was annoyed by their late arrival. Leah had learned, by following her mother’s example, not to get caught up in her father’s moods.

Across from them, on the opposite side of the table, was her brother, Asher. Looking at Asher was like looking at a male version of herself; she and Asher had their father’s dark coloring. In the summer, they tanned no matter how much they hid under hats and used sunblock. It was their Sephardic roots—Argentina via Ukraine via someplace long forgotten. Now in his late forties, Asher still had the youthful appearance of a much younger man. They had their shared forebears to thank for good skin and thick hair.

Next to him, a pretty redhead wearing a low-cut halter top. Ah, yes—the girlfriend du jour, Bridget.

“I’m so sorry we’re late. The traffic . . . ,” Leah said, kissing her mother and father and taking a seat next to her brother. Asher raised his hand for her to high-five him hello.

Steven shook her father’s hand and kissed her mother on the cheek, gestures that reflected relationships that had mellowed into mutual respect after some rocky early years.

“I was just telling your mother to start without you, but she wouldn’t hear of it,” her father said, summoning one of the food servers, who appeared with trays of cucumber cups stuffed with crab meat and seared scallops.

“Do we have salad? Bridget’s not eating fish,” Asher said.

“I thought you’re pescatarian,” Vivian said. Then, to Leah, “Have you met Bridget?”

“No, I haven’t.” Leah smiled at the young woman. The very young woman. When would her brother grow up?

Her father stood and uncorked a fresh bottle of wine. “We’re having steak for the main course, so I’m going to recommend the Cabernet.” Cabernet Sauvignon was one of the grapes her parents had their earliest success growing. The fruit had thick skins and the vines were hardy, so the climate was not an issue. It was one of the first grapes her father taught her about when she was a girl. It was the world’s most widely planted grape, but it hadn’t even existed before the 1600s, when it was produced by a cross between Cabernet Franc