that could pick over a hundred thousand tons, or the equivalent to nearly sixty-five thousand cases of wine in a couple of days. The machines were cheaper and more reliable than training hundreds of workers to pick grapes by hand. It was the logical solution. And yet...
“It makes me sad,” she admitted. “I miss harvesting by hand.”
“Next year, when you get the vineyards in shape, you can handpick the premium grapes.” His tone gentled. “We have too many vineyards to harvest by hand. It would take too long and we’d lose acres of fruit.”
“I know. You’re right. I can’t help it, I’m a traditionalist.”
“And the best in the business.” He unlocked his Mercedes. “I’ll be at the house in a couple of hours to help you unpack.”
She knew better than to tell him yet again that he didn’t have to. She’d spent the weekend collecting her personal belongings and stacking the boxes by the back door. There weren’t very many and she was sure she could be done in a single trip. She hadn’t taken very much with her. The furniture she’d ordered for the house was being delivered that afternoon.
Mackenzie waved at Bruno and watched him drive away. She followed, trying to reconcile all the changes in her life in the past three months. She was on her way to a divorce, had bought a winery and was pregnant. While the divorce wasn’t happy news, leaving her marriage was the right decision. She should be pleased with how things were going.
But as she drove toward Bel Après, tears spilled down her cheeks. No matter how promising the future, there were elements of her past she couldn’t help missing. Living close to her sisters-in-law, hanging out with the family. She’d missed the first day of school. She always joined Four and Stephanie as they walked the kids to the bus stop. But this year she hadn’t felt right joining in.
She still missed Barbara. Not the horrible woman who yelled at her, but the kind, loving woman who had shared her dream of what Bel Après could become. Although based on recent behavior, maybe that had all been a sham.
She was starting a new adventure and longing for the past, which made her feel foolish. But the sadness was real, and she supposed she simply had to work her way through it.
“Rethinking your choice of parent?” she asked, lightly touching her stomach. “I’ll do my best to have my act together by the time you’re born.”
She turned onto the long private driveway leading to the house where she’d lived for most of her adult life, trying to grasp the fact that, as of today, she didn’t live here anymore.
She got out of her Jeep and walked to the back door. The boxes were right where she’d left them. As she worked, she half expected Stephanie or Four to stop by to tell her goodbye. Or even Rhys, who knew she was leaving today. But no one came.
It took only a few minutes to get the boxes loaded. When that was done, she went inside and walked through the house one last time. Her closet was empty, as was the dresser in her bedroom. She’d already packed up her things from the bathroom. She went across the house to Rhys’s room and started to go inside, then stopped just before the doorway. No, she thought, turning away. She couldn’t go in there. Not anymore.
Downstairs she double-checked her office. She’d left everything but the artwork her nieces and nephews had made for her along with a few personal photos. Funny how even without her things, the house looked as it always had. She was starting to wonder if she’d ever really belonged here at all.
She walked into the kitchen and stood by the island. Aside from the low hum of the refrigerator, there was only silence. It was as if she were alone in the world. Her throat tightened and her chest hurt a little—symptoms of sadness she decided to ignore. This part of her life was over—it was time to move on.
She pulled the house key from her jeans pocket and carefully put it on the counter, then went outside and started the Jeep. As she pulled out of the driveway, she had the thought that after sixteen years she should have more to show for her marriage and being a part of the Barcellona family. More than six boxes and the memories. But she didn’t, and maybe that was the hardest