it, and three acres of grapevines. The farmhouse was the only home she had; she was determined to both live, and die, in it. Over the last few years, as her health problems worsened, she fell behind on the general upkeep of the house, forcing her son out to Prosser more than he would have liked.
Behind where Sal was working, there was a tree swing, just a slab of wood and a couple of lengths of rope. One of the workers had surprised Sal with it when he was a little boy. Perhaps the worker had built it to curry favor with the boss, or perhaps he did it to distract Sal from the fact that his mother was often covered in bruises. Whatever the reason, Sal had been delighted, and he once told Marin that it was one of his happier childhood memories. There weren’t many.
“He really is a good boy.” Marin looked through the window, watching her old friend work. She didn’t often see this version of Sal, the one who’d grown up here, the one chopping branches and getting dirty and working with his hands. To her, he was a city boy, running his bar, living his bachelor lifestyle in the condo he owned in Belltown. Admittedly, she found this version of Sal—farm boy Sal, the exact opposite of the boy she’d met and dated in college and had been friends with for two decades—kind of attractive.
“Why didn’t you ever marry him?” There was no accusation in Lorna’s voice, just disappointment. “He loved you so much.”
They always seemed to have this conversation whenever Marin came to visit, and she answered the question the way she always did. “It just wasn’t meant to be. We were so young,” she added, neglecting to mention that she’d gotten together with Derek barely a week after she and Sal had broken up.
“You love your husband?”
“Of course,” she said, surprised. Lorna had never asked her that before. “Derek and I have been together a long time.”
“He’s a good husband to you?” the older woman pressed. “And a good father to your boy?”
“Of course he is.” Marin buttered a couple of scones and brought them over to the table. She took a seat beside Lorna. “Why, what did Sal tell you?”
Lorna watched her son through the window. “He don’t like your husband.”
No surprise there.
“He says he’s not good to you.” Lorna’s gaze flicked over Marin briefly. “He says he cheat on you.”
Marin closed her eyes, holding back a sigh. Derek had only been unfaithful that one time, early on in the pregnancy, and she can’t believe Sal actually told his mother about that. It was barely his business, let alone Lorna’s.
“Derek made a mistake.” Marin felt her face flush. “It won’t happen again.”
“I believe in forgiveness,” Lorna said with a decisive nod. “You’re a good girl, too, Marin. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned after being married for so long, it’s that you must always protect your children. Always. That comes before everything, and I didn’t do that with my son. He protected me, when it should have been the other way around. I think it’s why he don’t trust people now. Why he won’t let himself get close to anyone. Except you,” she added with a small smile. “You have to look out for him, back in the city. Make sure he don’t get lonely.”
Marin squeezed her arm. “We look out for each other.”
An hour later, she was packed and ready to head home. A case of assorted Palermo wines was nestled in the trunk next to her overnight bag. Sal would never let her leave Prosser without wine.
“Don’t work too hard,” she said to Sal, having already said her goodbyes to Lorna. She felt bad leaving them at the farmhouse, but she was eager to get back to Seattle. The farmhouse was surrounded by thousands of rows of grapevines and nothing else, no neighbors for half a mile of rolling hills in any direction, and cell reception was poor. Marin craved the hustle and bustle of the city, the comforts of her own house. And, of course, she missed her boys.
Sal gave her a warm embrace. He smelled great, like grass and fresh air. “Thanks for coming. You were a big help.”
“See you in a week?”
He shook his head. “I’ve got too much to do, and I need to get it all done before the snow comes. I’ll be here through the holidays. But I’ll see you in the new