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I’m going to be late for work, but I can’t leave her here like this. “I’m here, El. We’re going to get through this, okay?”
She wipes her eyes and nods. “Yeah. Okay. Thank you.” The tears continue to fall. “I’m not sure why I’m crying. I mean, I love babies…they’re so cute, but…this isn’t what I planned on. Not yet.”
“It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to defend yourself. Do you want me to… I could call in sick and hang with you today. Would that help?”
Shaking her head, she starts to cry in earnest. Big tears spring from her eyes and roll down her face, and she makes no attempt to wipe them away. “No. Don’t do that. You need to make money, especially if…Oh gosh, Ruby, I’m so sorry.”
Pulling her in for a hug, I smooth her hair. “Sweetie, don’t apologize. I’ve got this. We’re good.” She clings to me like a koala high in a eucalyptus tree with no way down. “First things first. Let’s make an appointment with your doctor.”
Ella wipes away her tears, but new ones spring forth in their place. She nods. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I wrap her in a hug.
“You should go to work. You love your work, and you’ve spent so long trying to get to where you are. Be happy.” It’s the first time she’s ever said anything about my late nights and studying and part-time jobs at wine bars. I never knew she noticed. All this time, I’ve been wondering if she’s been half asleep when we’re in the same room, and she’s been listening. Because she’s my sister.
“Really?”
“Really.” She kisses me on the cheek, crawls back under the covers on top of the lopsided mattress, and puts a pillow over her head. The coffee cup dangles from her hand.
I pull it from her grasp and put it on the desk. Her fingers hang limply, and after a minute, I hear the telltale steady breathing that tells me she’s fallen asleep. That’s my sister for you—even when she’s freaking out about being pregnant one minute, she can fall asleep on a dime.
ChapterFifteen
Jax
A few weeks into my nannying arrangement, I’m starting to feel like a human being again. A human being who goes to work, finishes nearly everything, and comes home at the end of the day with some energy to spare. Not to say that I don’t wake up in the middle of the night plagued by problems I still can’t solve, but at least I have available brain cells now to try and solve them.
And I look forward to coming home and ending my day with my girl. Much as I hate to admit it, my siblings were right. I’m a better dad to Fiona when I’m not running on fumes. Better because I hired someone to help me out. Better because I admitted I can’t do every last damn thing myself.
The financial problems at the vineyard haven’t disappeared, but I’m starting to get a grip on them. We’re in debt to an investor, courtesy of my father, who borrowed nearly a billion dollars on behalf of the company. I still don’t understand why, but the dominoes continue to fall as I find how much our company’s business is affected in ways it shouldn’t be.
It’s a problem for tomorrow and the next day. For now, I’m happy to be walking along the footpath that leads from the farmhouse to Sweet Butter, the more casual of our two restaurants, by way of the one-mile loop around the lake.
Ducks drift on top of the water, leaving shallow trails in their wake. A mother leads a passel of babies that I wouldn’t know about if I’d driven to and from my office like I’ve done for the past year. No time to be wasted taking the scenic route.
Only now, for the first time in ages, I notice whole swaths of our property that I’ve ignored. Lily pads float at the outer rim of the lake, star-shaped pink flowers sticking up like little sentries. A frog croaks somewhere in the distance, and one of the ducks flips its tail feathers up as it dives below for a small fish.
When I was a kid, I used to ride my bike around this lake—over and over again with Dashiell hot on my heels and gaining on me. The day he proved to be faster was the day we stopped racing.
The memories feel distant now, partly because we’ve all been called into service by our dad, and we all feel obligated to do right by him, even if he doesn’t know the difference. Some inherited rule follower gene, apparently. But as I walk now and take in the evening air, ripe with the scent of grapes nearing their peak for picking, I let myself breathe deeper and have a moment of peace.
A glider passes by overhead. It usually happens in the early mornings when the winds are low, but this one is flying late afternoon. Fertilizer isn’t my purview, so I don’t pay much attention.
Even though I can’t ask my dad what he’s done and what he was thinking, life feels better right now. I try to avoid thinking about the reasons because I’d have to admit that some of my newfound joy is wrapped up in seeing Ruby every day. It’s not just the help with Fiona that I appreciate. It’sher.
Today, I told her to hold off on making dinner because she offered to take Fiona for a late horseback riding lesson. My daughter has been begging me for riding lessons, but I haven’t had the time to take her during the week. Ruby never seems to run out of energy.
As a thank you, I’m stopping at Sweet Butter to pick up food for us. I know Ruby will try to run off as soon as I’m in the door, claiming that Fiona and I should have father-daughter time, and sure enough, she does.
“Come on. You two should have some time together,” Ruby says when I plop the bags on the counter and suggest she stick around to eat with us. She starts rifling through the takeout containers, taking out an arugula salad, a caprese salad, a charcuterie platter, and a fried squash blossom appetizer before she shoots me a look.
“You expecting guests?”
I shake my head.
She’s only unpacked one of the bags, and already there’s more food here than two people could possibly eat, especially since one of them only likes noodles this week.
I take over unpacking the second bag, laying out containers of pasta arabiatta, spaghetti with meatballs, plain buttered noodles, and eggplant parm. There’s enough food for us to eat for days, but I don’t know what Ruby likes, so I erred on the side of too much.
