Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,122

Peak of Literary Camp: Judith Krantz, Jackie Collins, and the Blockbuster Novels of the 1980s.’”

Once Sadie had the idea, writing the paper had been like running downhill. For the first time since she’d begun this agonizing project a year earlier, it formulated in her mind faster than she could type it. But ultimately, all that mattered was Dr. Moore’s opinion.

“I know you struggled to get this off the ground. It’s counter-logical, but I do find that some of my most talented students hit a wall at some point as undergrads, whereas students who have always struggled have a more even-keeled academic experience when they get here.”

Oh, that didn’t sound good. Dr. Moore was trying to let her down easy—as if that were even remotely possible. The coffee churned in her stomach.

“You have a distinct voice, and that’s something that can’t be taught,” Dr. Moore said.

Sadie braced herself for the “but.”

“But with this paper,” Dr. Moore said, “you’ve gone beyond intelligence and voice. You’ve found a point of view.”

“Wait—you like it?”

“I think you’ve got an excellent thesis on your hands. Keep going.”

They were the words she’d wanted to hear for months. She was back on track. She could throw herself into her schoolwork: No writer’s block. No pesky relationship. Nothing but Susan Sontag, Jackie Collins, and Judith Krantz for the foreseeable future.

Her phone chirped with a text from her mother.

I’m calling you—please pick up. Need to talk.

She looked up at Dr. Moore. “Um, can you excuse me for a minute?”

She slipped out into the hall to answer.

“Mom, I’m in a meeting. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. But I do need some help. Can you come back to the winery?”

* * *

The sun set before dinner for the first time all season. Just one of the many signs that fall was right around the corner despite the fact that it was still close to ninety degrees out. Leah pulled her hair off her neck, into a ponytail, walking with Steven to the veranda.

He put his arm around her shoulder. “For the record, I think you’re on to something. And I’m behind you one hundred percent.”

Leah squeezed his hand.

She’d told him the idea that had come to her during the wine and cheese class. Now she was going to spring it on her father over dinner. In this setting, she would at least have her mother’s support, and maybe even Asher would chime in with some of his own. Leonard would be outnumbered—not that it had ever swayed him before. But at the same time, for too long, none of them had had the nerve to stand up for new ideas.

“Having you here has made all the difference,” she said. And it had: she was freed up to consider all of her options with the winery. She was able to take professional risks because she didn’t feel like she was taking a personal risk just being there. “So . . . thank you.”

He kissed her, and as they hurried on, she had a moment of déjà vu, back to the first night they showed up at the house for their vacation and rushed to the veranda. She felt a pang, a sort of nostalgia, for her innocence in that moment. She’d believed her family home and the winery would always be there for her, something she could take for granted. Yes, ignorance was bliss. But at least now, under the threat of losing it all, she’d made room for herself. She was taking ownership in a way she never could have if things were running smoothly. For all the cracks, they did create an opening.

Her parents and brother were already seated. Leah was happily surprised to see Bridget back by Asher’s side. Maybe that was at least one family issue resolved.

The table was dressed with a blue cotton runner and set with several vases of pink and blue ranunculus. Her mother wore a white sheath dress and pearls, a pink Hermès scarf perfectly picking up the accent of the flowers. If appearances were everything, her family wouldn’t have a care in the world.

“I just opened the Viognier,” Leonard said, filling glasses. “Would you like some?”

“Sure. Thanks, Dad,” said Leah.

Peternelle set out Boston lettuce salad with blanched, salted Marcona almonds. Leah wouldn’t be able to eat until she’d had her say. Leonard stood at the head of the table:

“Cheers, everyone.”

“Cheers,” Leah murmured in chorus with the rest of the family. Then she stood as well. “I’ve been thinking about the harvest . . .”

“Leah, it’s been