But the damn goat just butts my hand to keep the rubs coming, no answers in sight. I’m still scratching his bristly fur when beyond the fenceline, a figure appears in the trees, walking down the old trail between properties toward us.
I raise a hand over my eyes. “Mrs. Woods? Is that you, or some malevolent specter?”
“Hey there, Zoe!” Molly calls out. “No, it’s me—left Rachel at home!”
We both belly laugh at that as she draws closer, an envelope tucked under her arm. “Laine left this at the house the other day, so I thought I’d drop it by. Is she in?”
“She just left for the back fields, but I’ll give it to her for you.”
“I bet you will.” Mrs. Woods passes me the envelope, smiling. “You know, you’ve always been a part of my family, Zoe, one way or the other. First as Rachel’s closest friend, and now as Laine’s sweetheart, which Ezra and I cannot be happier about.”
My brows flicker together. “I—I’m touched to hear that, but at the soccer game, when y’all found out we’re together, why did you look so …” I struggle to find a word that’s not accusatory.
“Unhappy?” Molly smiles wistfully. “I’m sorry that’s how it appeared. We were more surprised than anything. It’s just, we know how tied you are to your mama’s vineyard. But if anyone can make long distance work, it’ll be you two! It sure is a beautiful property. Once she gets the new vineyard up and running, who knows? Maybe—”
But Molly’s words fade against the loud buzz filling my head. I rush through some excuses about needing to get back to work, accepting her hugs and promises to return for another family dinner soon. I’m barely inside my office when I undo the clasp of the envelope, slipping the documents out. The first is a legal description of a plot of land for sale, with pictures attached. A small vineyard rolls out before me on gentle green slopes, its address in Dundee, Oregon. The vines are shabby and unkempt, long neglected, but the property is beautiful. A rehab project, then. Notes are scribbled in the margins in Laine’s blocky, precise handwriting, includingan amount circled with the wordsdown payment?beside it, thenearnest money paid September 15, which was weeks ago.
I blink down at the words, willing them to disappear. I check the date against my memory. September 15th … that would have been a few days after we found Rachel in the winery, a few days after she’d promised me there was nothing planned yet, that I had nothing to worry about.
A few days after sheliedto me.
Does she think she can convince me to leave everything behind? That I can just walk away from my vineyards, my dreams, my family?
A worse thought hits me in the stomach, taking my breath away.
Or does she know that I can’t, and she’s going to leave me anyway.
A vibration in my back pocket interrupts my increasing panic, but the calling number is unavailable. I almost let it go to voicemail, but a niggling sense of dread makes me answer.
“Hello?”
“Ciao, Zoe? It’s your uncle Paolo.”
I scramble to hold the phone up to my ear better, as though that will make the overseas connection clearer. Anxiety drums against my insides, tapping relentlessly against my pulse points, the back of my neck, my sternum. “Uncle Paolo! Is everything okay?”
The line is quiet for a beat, then Uncle Paolo’s words hit me in tall, rushing waves.
Nonna passed away this morning, Zoe Nicoletta.
Your father—he needs you.
You must come as soon as possible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The cell phone drops from my hand. A steady stream of sound rises around me, filling my ears, blocking everything else out. Laine rushes in from outside, and only after her arms wrap around me do I realize that great, tearless sobs are barreling out of me. She’s cooing soft, soothing questions at me, asking what’s wrong and promising she’ll make it better without even knowing what’s happened.
But she’s leaving, isn’t she? After all her promises to include me in her decision, she’s taking her family’s money and leaving. I break free from her embrace, still gasping for breath.
“Zoe,please. Talk to me!” Laine reaches for my face, taking it between her hands. “I wanna be there for you, baby, tell me what’s going on!”
Her words sting like a rubber band snapping against my tender heart.
“How are you going to be there for me in Oregon?” I hoarse out, my vision narrowing down to her. My Laine, who’s been planning her escape from Blue Ridge all summer, who lied to me. Who, it turns out, was nevermy Laineat all.
Laine’s eyes widen, confusion and more telling, dismay settling on her face. “What do you mean?”
“You’re buying a vineyard.”
