Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,63

impervious to the heat and the insects and the dirt. She wondered what Mateo thought of Susan Sontag. The answer was: he didn’t.

She wondered what Mateo would be like in bed. The answer was: hot.

“Is something wrong?” Mateo said.

She had stopped clipping. She was staring at him.

“No,” she said.

After a moment—a long moment, a moment in which Sadie felt she barely breathed—Mateo said, “This can’t happen. You know that, right?”

Twenty-nine

Vivian came up for air in the deep end. Through the fog of her goggles, she spotted ridiculously high heels and crimson toenails. Bridget, teetering at the edge of the pool, peered down at her.

“Can I help you?” Vivian said.

“Sorry to interrupt your swim, but Leonard asked me to find you. There’s a meeting at the vineyard office.”

The charms on Bridget’s gold anklet made noise when she moved her feet. How on earth did that not drive her crazy?

“Please tell my husband I’ll be there in five minutes. No, make that ten.”

She waited for Bridget to trot off before pulling herself out of the pool. Why hadn’t Leonard thought to tell her himself? Then she checked her phone and saw she had several missed texts and calls.

She took a quick rinse in the pool house shower and ran a comb through her hair before changing into a linen dress and a pair of ballerina flats, all the while her stomach in knots. She was all but certain she was being summoned for official news about the closing. The day she was dreading—the day she was cast out from her home—was one step closer.

“Oh, hey, Mom. I didn’t know you were out here.” Leah had settled on a lounge chair with her book. Her skin was sun-burnished, her hair still lustrous and dark even as she approached her late forties. Those deep-set Hollander eyes. She looked so very much like Leonard.

Vivian decided right then and there that if she was going to the meeting, so was Leah. Why should Bridget be at the meeting and not her own daughter?

“I need you to throw some clothes on and come with me.”

“Where?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

Leah tugged shorts and a T-shirt out of her canvas bag, pulled them over her bathing suit, and followed Vivian down the path to the vineyard.

“Your father called a meeting, and I want you there.”

They circumnavigated the veranda—already filling with visitors—and cut through the loading dock behind the oak room. The office door was closed. Vivian knocked once before opening it. Inside, she found the usual suspects: Marty Pritchard, Harold Feld, Leonard, and Asher. Surprisingly, Bridget wasn’t there. Maybe Asher had asked her to sit this one out. Her son might not be the brightest bulb, but he was smart enough to know to keep the family problems within the family—at least until after the wedding.

The wedding. She’d been so preoccupied with thoughts of losing the winery, she’d barely had time to think about it. Or maybe she was just trying to forget.

Leonard looked up when she walked into the room, doing a double take when he saw Leah. Before he could say anything about it, Vivian said, “Leah is part of this family. She has a right to be part of this conversation.” In the past, she never would have made such a move. Maybe rereading Chances had had an effect on her. Whatever the reason, she couldn’t afford to sit on the sidelines any longer.

“Mother,” Asher said.

Leonard started to say something and then stopped, perhaps deciding he was embattled enough; he didn’t need to fight with her. “We have a problem,” he said instead. Marty Pritchard shuffled a few papers. Harold Feld steepled his fingers and looked at him intently. Asher checked his phone.

“Obviously,” Vivian said. “Our estate is for sale.”

“The buyer backed out,” Leonard continued, his jaw tense. The hand gripping his pen was white with the pressure of his grasp.

“The offer fell through?”

“Yes.” Leonard looked stricken, but Vivian couldn’t help but feel relieved. A stay of execution.

“What happened?” Vivian asked.

“They bought the brewery down the road,” Leonard said.

“See, Dad,” Asher said. “I told you we should serve beer—”

“Shut up!” Leonard snapped.

The stress was getting to him. As infuriated as she was by this whole situation, she felt a rush of empathy for her husband. She had not always agreed with him, but she knew he’d always tried his best. It was all she could ask of him.

“So now what?” Vivian asked.

“So we’re back to square one,” said Marty.

“We need to focus on whatever we can