Zoe
about what happened? Don’t you mean what you DID?!
WARNING, it’s that bitch Rachel
Just give me a chance to explain.
Zoe
No, thank you. Unless you’re going to tell me you’ll fix everything so that my family’s vineyard won’t be driven to financial ruin, I’m not interested.
WARNING, it’s that bitch Rachel
I’m going to fix everything so that your family’s vineyard won’t be driven to financial ruin.
I blink at my phone’s screen, trying to process the words, then give up and thumbs-up her message instead.
“If I don’t come back in twenty minutes, call the cops,” I say to the feasting people camped on our patio. A few grunt in acknowledgment, which is good enough for me.
This time of day, the October sunlight hits the woods at an angle, illuminating the autumn foliage like it’s lit from within. I follow the old trail through the burning orange, until I find the remains of our wooden playhouse, Fort Queens. Its planks are gray and splintered from rain, and I run my finger across the fine rind of lichen coating its door.
“Hey.”
I nearly jump out of my skin. “Jesus, Rachel!” I spin to find her, sitting in her vineyard’s old golf cart where it’s parked/crashed ten feet behind me off the trail, its fender in full contact with a tree.
Rachel takes a deep breath. “First of all, it was an accident. I didn’t even piece together what happened until Mom and Dad got your text this morning. I know it looks bad—”
“You’re on camera frantically stirring the infested wine like a witch at her cauldron.” I cross my arms. “It looksrealbad.”
“Just listen!” She groans. “Earlier that day, when Chance, Mom, and Dad voted Charlaine back into the family business, they also promised her the money set aside for my expansion project.”
“The brewery?”
“Yes. Well, a microbrewery,” Rachel amends. “It’d be a restaurant, too, with a board game menu where folks could order beer and what games they’d like to play at their table. We’d even have a sommelier, but for games, where you’d tell them what you’re in the mood for, and they’d bring you the perfect game.” Rachel’s eyes have gone a bit starry talking about it, and my gut twinges for her on reflex. It’s a good idea. A great idea, even. And kudos to her because for once, it wasn’tmy idea.
“After the meeting, I stopped by my brewer Ethan’s workshop to tell him everything was off. We were upset, and we started drinking all the beers he’d been working on for our microbrewery, and you saw the—the aftermath.”
“When you were shit-faced.”
“Well. Yes.” Rachel clears her throat. “I got a ride back to Into the Woods, thinking I’d beg Mom and Dad to change their minds, but then I remembered how Charlaine kissed you that morning at the soccer game, and I realized—you must not know about her plans to leave. You’dneverendanger your vineyard by having a fling with your vintner, which meant you must’ve gone and fallen in love with her, not knowing all the while she was planning toleaveyou! I couldn’t believe she was screwing you over like that.” Rachel grips the cart’s steering wheel so hard her knuckles turn white. Her eyes flicker to mine. “You weren’t listening to my warnings, so I decided to tell you myself.”
That’s why Rachel came over, to warn me out ofconcernfor my heart? My throat tightens.
“I had noclueEthan had been experimenting with Brettanomyces in his workshop. If I’d gone looking for Chance or Mom and Dad like I’dplanned, I would’ve infested our own winery instead. I just—happened to go to yours.”
“Then why the stirring? What were you doing to our wine, Rachel?”
Rachel covers her face with her hands. “I lost my keys, remember? When I dropped my purse?”
“In ourwine?”
Rachel nods. “At least, I thought so. I’d stumbled into that tote and knocked the cover off by accident, and when I went to put it back on, my keys slipped out of my purse into the wine. I was trying to find them with the stirring rod when y’all showed up.” She gestures at the parked golf cart she’s sitting in. “Carterella is stranded here until I do.”
I stare at her, trying to parse out the emotions on her face. Is that guilt or a convincing replica, meant to fool me into not suing her ass?
“Oh, comeon, Zoe,” Rachel says, exasperated. “If I truly wanted to sabotage you, don’t you think I’d have done a better job at it? I’m notsloppy.”
Honestly, that’s occurred to me, too. From a childhood playing board games together, I know Rachel is cunning and ruthless, but that night, she literally knocked on all my doorsbeforeshe let herself into the winery. The work of an amateur. Not Rachel.
