“Which leaves me and the Hacky Sack kid, I guess.”
“You could go kick the old beanbag around with him,” Jagger suggested, smirking.
“I’m far too uncoordinated for that.”I cringed a little on the inside remembering how I’d maimed Lennox earlier today at yoga because I had minimal spatial awareness or balance.
Jagger gave Raina a little hip squeeze, then the two of them said their goodbyes to me and took off.I tidied up in the tasting room for another ten minutes, then decided not to waste such a perfect sunny day and headed down to the water.
The vineyard was located on a southwest facing cliff.We got all the afternoon sun, but also the majority of the wind and harsh weather coming off the water, which kept our temperatures on the cooler side, and was why we couldn’t grow heat-loving grapes like Mourvèdre or Petite Sirah.
Bonn Remmen’s land was also southwest facing, and while it was much more protected from the climate, it also got hotter.So we were debating trying a more heat-tolerant grape there.Or we could just go with what we knew worked in this climate, which were several white varieties, or Merlot.
One thing that our property had that Bonn Remmen’s didn’t was a really cool cliff and sandy beach.The beach off Bonn’s land was all rocky, and once you got past the trees protecting the property, it was exposed to the elements.But our beach was protected by the cliffs around it, so it actually got pretty toasty down there.
I made my way across the parking lot now and through the gate to public land.Okay, it wasn’t “our” beach.It was public property, but it was right next to the vineyard, and tourists often tried parking in the vineyard parking lot for the beach when the side of the road and the gravel patch were full.
The path down to the sand was a bit windy and steep, but I knew it like I knew the back of my own hand, and could have easily done it with my eyes closed.I’d navigated it countless times in the fog and never tripped.There was a handrail though, and just in case my shoes decided to lose all their tread at the exact same time, I held onto the metal for good measure.
I rounded the corner, still only halfway down the trail, the orange and red cliffs looming high above me on either side, but I paused and glanced down onto the sand.It was empty.
I had the place all to myself.
That hardly ever happened when the weather was like this.
In a few weeks, the place would be packed, and not just with tourists.It was a favorite spot for locals too—particularly the Island Elders who weren’t overly fond of tan lines.Yes, this particular beach was infamous for its accepted nudity.However, as tourists would quickly learn, it wasn’t the people you necessarilywantedto see naked.
A couple of times a year, some conservative nutjob would race into the tasting room with their bloomers in a twist, ranting about the naked people on the beach.They would insist thatwedo something about it.Like it was our land, and we had a say or something.Then we’d have to let them know that the beach didn’t belong to the vineyard; it was island property, and if they didn’t like the views, they were more than welcome to leave.
I reached the sand and before I took more than two steps, I stopped and yanked off my tennis shoes and socks.Then I rolled up the cuffs of my denim overalls a few times and waded into the gently lapping water.
It was still really cold, but also invigorating.
Walking along the water’s edge, I glanced up toward the cloudless blue sky as a gull squawked overhead.
Then another, and another.They circled and rode the breeze like paratroopers until coming to a graceful stop on the shore just a few yards ahead of me.
The sand was soft between my toes, and the water cool, while the sun beat down on my back, warming me to just the right temperature.A more perfect day, I honestly couldn’t fathom.
Facing out toward the open water, I spread my arms wide, tilted my head back and closed my eyes, letting the breeze ruffle the hair that had escaped my braids and hung around my face.
I was free.
My kids were free.
We were all safe, we were all happy.
There was a time when I wasn’t sure any of us would survive.Where I thought he would kill Austin, where he’d kill me pregnant with Honor.
I put up with the abuse for too long.Just like my mother did.Just like my sisters did.Like we were told we had to do.We were women.Our role in life was to serve and obey our husbands.I almost started to believe him after a couple of years, and the hits just kept coming.That it was my fault.That I made him hurt me.But then he raised a hand to Austin.A baby who did absolutely nothing wrong.He cried when he tripped over Ephram’s shoes that he had left in the hallway and split his little lip.
But that woke Ephram from his drunken slumber, and he went after my child.He went after an eighteen-month-old with a belt.
A week later, Ephram was dead, and my son and I were free.
The night after the funeral, we were gone.Out of the house, out of the county, out of the state.
Aunt Dolores had been sending me messages since I was a teenager that if I wanted out, she’d help me.It took me longer than it should have to reach out to her, but I finally did.Austin and I drove through the night to Seattle, hopped on the ferry, and I haven’t looked back since.Honor was born in the house where Gabrielle and her kids live, never having to know the true horrors of the man who was her father.I liked to think that Austin didn’t remember much since he wasn’t even two, but sometimes at night I’d hear him whimper or cry out in his sleep and a river of ice would race down my spine.He could never remember those dreams, at least he said he couldn’t.But a part of me wondered if his subconscious was still trying to unpack the beatings and watching his mother get hit over and over again.
Voices behind me coming down the path pulled me from my thoughts, and I spun around in the water, almost losing my balance as my eyes adjusted to the sun now trying to burn a hole in my retinas.I couldn’t see them yet; things were spotty and blurry, but it sounded like two people.
