Page 233 of Taken Away

For a little while, Aubrey let herself have it.

The table.

The food.

The sound of Anne’s laughter.

The strange, impossible feeling of being in the same room with her mother without having to brace for impact.

Anne surprised them both by asking thoughtful questions about the vineyard, and Bennett gradually relaxed as he answered.

Bennett spoke carefully at first.

Then more easily.

Aubrey watched him explain the land to Anne, his hands moving once or twice when words weren’t enough. There was something in his voice when he talked about Blackwood that softened the whole room.

And Anne noticed.

“Harold used to talk that way,” Anne said.

Aubrey looked at her mother.

Anne’s face had changed. The charm slipped. Something real moved beneath it.

“About the mountain,” Anne said. “About the vines. About what it could all become.”

No one spoke.

Then Anne smiled too quickly and reached for the green beans.

“But Harold also thought he could fix a tractor with a butter knife and a prayer, so there were limits to his genius.”

Bennett gave a small laugh.

Aubrey looked down at her plate.

For a moment, she had seen something.

Then Anne was Anne again, bright and restless and determined not to sit too long with anything that hurt.

It happened after the cobbler.

Small.

So small, Bennett might have missed it if he hadn’t been watching Aubrey.

Anne set her spoon down and smiled at him.

“You should have seen Aubrey at twelve. Lord, she was dramatic.”

Aubrey’s shoulders tightened.

Anne laughed, already warming to the story.

“She once locked herself in a bathroom at a wedding because I told her she couldn’t wear combat boots with a lavender dress.”

Aubrey looked at her.