Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,16

It had been a long time since Hollander Estates had been “home” to her. She was a different person than the young woman who had left all those years earlier. “So tell me about the Auxerrois Blanc,” Leah said.

“It’s a cousin of Chardonnay. We’re the only ones growing it on the North Fork. Your father hasn’t lost one ounce of his ambition,” Javier told her.

“Speaking of ambition,” Vivian said to Leah, adjusting her oversize straw sun hat, “we solved our vineyard management problem thanks to Mateo. And he’s doing an excellent job.”

Vivian had told her months earlier that their previous vineyard manager had been caught sampling a little too much of the product he was making. Javier’s son, Mateo, stepped up to fill the position. It was a big job, one that involved crop cultivation, thinning, pruning, tying, suckering, managing the canopy, planting and replanting, irrigating and harvesting. At most vineyards, the position would also entail making recommendations related to crop planting and fruit quality. But Leonard had never delegated those duties.

Javier hadn’t wanted the job; after nearly forty years at the winery, he was ready to pass the torch. At the end of each day he retired to the three-bedroom house at the entrance to the winery, a place called Field House. The property dated back to 1710 and was part of the historic registry; Vivian and Leonard had learned this the hard way when they tried to renovate it back in the 1980s. When they learned they couldn’t tear it down or integrate it into the winery building, Leonard decided to give it to the young Argueta family so Javier didn’t have to travel after his long workdays.

“Thank you, Señora Vivian,” Javier said. “I need to go speak to him now. Leah, wonderful to see you.”

Leah watched him head farther into the field, wondering how it was possible that Javier had a twenty-seven-year-old son. But then, she had her own grown child. They were no longer young. Time was passing too quickly.

“It’s great that Mateo got promoted,” Leah said.

“I only wish your brother put in half the work that Javier’s son puts in. Now he’s distracted with that nightmare girlfriend.”

“Oh, she seems nice enough,” Leah said.

Her mother shot her a look. “Don’t get me started.”

“Why do you still let his girlfriends bother you? Asher is never going to change, but on the plus side, he’s also never going to settle down. Next summer it will be some other Bridget.”

Her mother smiled at her. “Enough about that. Tell me what’s new with you.”

Now was the chance to discuss how difficult she was finding it to have Steven in the cheese shop alongside her every day. Having navigated the family business all these years with her own husband, maybe Vivian would have some advice. Still, she didn’t want to be overly negative. She didn’t want her mother to get the wrong idea—her marriage was fine.

While she searched for the right words, her mother’s phone rang.

“It’s your father,” she said to Leah. Then, into the phone, “Leonard, I’m showing Leah the new vines . . . What? Now?”

She ended the call, put her phone back in her bag, and sighed.

“I’m needed at the house.” She kissed Leah on the cheek. “You stay. Relax. I’m so happy you’re home.”

Eight

Vivian couldn’t imagine why her husband was calling her back to the house for a meeting. She wasn’t usually consulted on business matters.

To be fair to Leonard, this hadn’t entirely been his decision. When they first bought the winery in 1971 and before they had their winery license, a federal ordinance allowed only a “head of household”—a man—to make wine for private use.

“That’s absurd,” Vivian had said at the time. She hadn’t left everything behind in Manhattan and followed Leonard to the middle of nowhere to be relegated to the sidelines. But winemaking was a man’s world. When she complained to her mother about this, her mother admonished her to “support your husband.” Even though her parents hadn’t approved of Leonard, that hadn’t meant they hadn’t raised Vivian to be a proper wife.

And so she turned her attention to the house. Even before the renovation of the 1980s, she had been filling the house with antique furniture. It began with her fascination with nineteenth-century hunting prints, a way to bring horse imagery into her home décor since she didn’t have time to ride anymore. Working with the architects to design the expansion, she’d requested they build stables; they remained empty to that day.

When her