Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,121
in reaching out to book clubs, she had taken steps to make Hollander a destination for women looking for a communal experience. But if Hollander was truly going to be for women like the ones filling the room that afternoon, if the wine was really for them, then she had to make them a part of it in a real way.
And she had an idea just how to do it.
Fifty-six
“Your daughter has lost her mind,” Leonard said, bursting into the kitchen. “She’s out there telling people to expect a Hollander rosé next spring.”
Vivian and Peternelle were in the midst of trimming a bunch of bright pink ranunculus. The round, tightly petaled blossoms were one of her favorites, but they didn’t seem to have much staying power. Peternelle had just been explaining to Vivian that the soft-stem flowers needed only a little bit of water in the vase, and that was why they weren’t lasting as long when Vivian prepared them herself.
Peternelle, sensing the incoming storm, made a hasty retreat, mumbled about forgetting something from the herb garden.
“Oh, you’ve scared her off,” Vivian said. “She was just explaining to me how I’m mistreating my poor ranunculus.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes, I heard you,” Vivian said. “And I have news for you: your son has also lost his mind; he broke off his engagement over all of this.”
“I don’t see what any of this has to do with his engagement. And frankly, it’s not our business. It’s bad enough you got involved dragging Steven out here.”
As far as she could tell, that was one of the few things she’d done right. She saw the spark back in Leah’s eyes with Steven by her side at the production meeting.
“Fine. It’s not our business. But what about us? Is our relationship going to end over this, too?”
“Don’t be dramatic, Vivian.”
“Well, then please stop giving me the cold shoulder. Move back into the bedroom.”
“You put me in a terrible position. You put us in a terrible position.”
“What if I didn’t put us in a terrible position? What if this prevented us from taking the easy way out, and although it’s going to be tougher in the short term, we’ll be thankful—”
“No,” Leonard said.
She moved closer to him, looking into his eyes.
“What’s one of the first things you taught me about the plants?”
“I’m in no mood for games, Vivian.”
She held on to his arm, keeping him from moving away. “That the vines that have to struggle for resources ultimately produce the best grapes.”
His eyes softened. “I remember the first time I brought you out here to see the property. Just the empty fields. It was fall, leaves covering the ground. You looked at me like I was crazy.”
“No I did not.”
He nodded sadly. “You did. And I told you, just you wait and see. You trusted me. You gave it a shot. And I let you down. We let each other down.”
She began to protest, to tell him that no one let anyone down—that their struggle, like that of the vines, could make them stronger. But he walked out as abruptly as he had swept in, leaving her alone.
Vivian filled a vase one-third of the way with water, arranging it with flowers. She hoped this bunch would survive.
* * *
The English department offices hummed with the particular energy of the first week of classes. Office hours were populated by students wholly optimistic about the start of their new school year. No one had yet failed an exam, or run late on a paper, or doubted that they would correct any bad habits from the previous semester. No one, it seemed, except for Sadie.
She climbed the stairs to the second floor, gulping the dregs from her nearly empty coffee cup. Dr. Moore’s office door was open.
A call came in from her mother before she settled into her seat. Sadie was already nervous and fumbling; she felt like her entire academic future rested on this meeting—which in a way it did. She sent the call to voicemail.
“Good morning, Sadie,” Dr. Moore said, smiling. She looked stylish as usual, dressed a burnt-orange-colored linen suit with chocolate brown oversize beads around her neck and gold hoop earrings. Sadie, in her baggy jeans and wrinkled V-neck, her unkempt hair pulled back with a bandana, felt like a slob. But the past week had been twenty-four/seven work mode. She didn’t have time to worry about what she looked like.
“So,” Dr. Moore said, flipping through the pages in front of her. “‘The