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Dad replied with ahuhand a nod. “Well, there we go. Why do we need to pay someone to advise us when we can call your sister? Get her on a video chat, and—”
“Renata doesn’t have time for our little project, my love.”
“‘Little project’?” Duncan laughed. “Understatement of the decade.”
Harry interjected, “If we hired Rowan, you all could focus on getting other things around the property into shape.”
Nate flipped his own pen in his fingers. “Your timeline for getting the bed-and-breakfast up and runningispretty ambitious, Dad, if you want to have guests here by the end of next year.”
Dad scratched his cheek. “Fine. Say, hypothetically, we wanted to hire her. How do we pay someone without a cash flow?”
Duncan shrugged. “We were planning to hire through Brady Brothers Contracting. I’ve got some wiggle room in my payroll.”
Ma turned to Nathan. “Is that going to work?”
“Well, technically yes, but aren’t we putting the plow before the horse, here?” Nate said. “We still don’t know if she would accept what we can offer.”
Dad opened his mouth to respond, but Ma laid her hand on his forearm. They shared a look, doing the thing Harry had seen thousands of times, where they conducted an entire conversation without a single spoken syllable. By Dad’s sigh and Ma’s self-satisfied smile, he could see she’d prevailed.
Dad began slowly. “Idolike the idea of asking her to consult on what she thinks needs to be done in the vineyard. Short term. And your mother needs help identifying all the plants around the property. Maybe we can get a few hours of her time to help us figure out a business model and hiring forecast.”
“Now you’re talkin’ my language.” Nate rubbed his hands together. “I’ll call her later today.”
LATER THAT MORNING,Harry stood with Duncan and Nate in front of the main house. Duncan twisted a bit of his beard between his fingers with one hand and gestured southward with his travel mug. “Carriage house is the building right as you pull onto the property. Renovation there is finishing up by the middle of next week, if all goes well. Ma and Dad haven’t had time to look in any of the other outbuildings yet. Might be some kindof animal living in that pool house, based on the smell down there. Key to that one is nonexistent, so I’m going to have to break a window.” He took an eager swig of coffee, cringing as he swallowed. “Fuck me, that’s bad.”
“Told you,” Harry said.
Duncan dumped the coffee onto the gravel driveway and gestured up the hill. “There’s also a gardener’s cottage next to that disaster of a greenhouse, but I haven’t been able to figure out which key works for it yet. And who the hell knows what we’re going to find in that bank barn.” He pointed east.
The bank barn—named for how it nestled partially into the hillside embankment—was gray stone, and enormous. It was bordered behind by dense conifer forest, the spaces between the trees still black in the morning gloom. According to Nate, the front of the barn would become a boutique tasting room, and the deeper parts would house the tanks and casks for the winery operations. Since the structure’s lower levels were half-buried under the hillside, the temperatures there would stay naturally cool year-round, ideal for crafting wine.
The bank barn dominated the lowest point on the property, while the greenhouse overlooked from the highest. Two huge structures, neglected to time, to nature. The true magnitude of work facing his family hadn’t hit Harry until that moment.
The entirety of the modest suburban Philadelphia ranch home he’d grown up in—including its postage-stamp lawn—would fit into a single one of the vineyard blocks here, with room to spare. That house had always had the loveliest landscaping in the neighborhood, despite six kids’ best attempts to destroy it with bikes and skateboards and runaway basketballs. There had been an apple tree in the backyard that always bloomed prettily, but never actually produced apples. Ma always had a little vegetable garden where she grew tomatoes for her Spanish tomato toast and homemade gazpacho.
Harry had always hated the fucking gazpacho. Soup shouldn’t ever intentionally be eaten cold.
Dad had built a little pergola over the back porch, which Ma had eventually covered in Concord grapevines. Late every summer, ripe clusters would hang down from the top and sides of it, and they’d taste like grape jelly straight from the jar. Harry and his brothers would spit the seeds at each other with as much velocity as they could muster.
As far as Harry could see, there were grapevines. After months of turtling in his little L.A. condo, this new world seemed impossibly vast. According to Dad, there were only nine acres of vineyard, but it seemed an enormous undertaking. Ma’s hobby garden in the suburbs had nothing on this.
Hell, if fresh air and hard labor really were what he needed to help him heal, he’d certainly get plenty of both here.
The brothers separated. Nate and Duncan headed off to start projects, leaving Harry to get to know the property. He walked alone down the gravel drive leading away from the main house. At the end of the lane loomed a huge double gate, its hinges rusted permanently open.
A massive weeping willow stood next to the brick building Duncan had called the carriage house. As Harry approached, the wind lifted the droopy, golden-leaved branches in welcome. The motion had a slow sensuality to it that reminded him of Rowan’s butterscotch curls.
Ornamental gardens encircled the little house, but they’d been reclaimed by nature long ago. Weeds weaved throughout the spent blooms, but Harry still recognized the innate beauty of the landscaping underneath.
The cornerstone on the carriage house read 1899. Harry removed his shoes and keyed in. An entirely open space, it had a soaring exposed-beam ceiling and new cherrywood floors, and it carried the odor of fresh paint. A granite-topped bar dividedthe small kitchen from the main living space. Along the wall were empty spaces where new appliances would fit. A small table would nestle in a nook created by a bay window overlooking a spacious deck. Beyond the window was a view of one of the vineyard blocks.
Opposite the kitchen, a rounded archway led to another room—a bedroom with a rectangular skylight nestled in the ceiling. The room was big enough for a comfortably sized bed and a chest of drawers, but not much else. Through a sliding pocket door was a small washroom. No tub, only a small pedestal sink and a glass-walled shower stall with a big rainfall-style showerhead.
Harry’s phone buzzed in his pocket with a selfie from Duncan. In the bottom corner of the foreground, his brother gave a thumbs-up and grinned, his teeth flashing white against his dark beard. The background of the picture was what Harry assumed to be the floor of the pool house, absolutely covered in little islands of animal shit. A text from Duncan followed:
Was right about the critter in the pool house. Get your ass down here.
Harry laughed and shook his head. No, it wasn’t the fresh air and hard labor here that would save him.
