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“I’m working on that,” she says. “You’ve helped. Last night helped. But right now, in this moment, I’m consumed by the same demon I’ve been consumed by since my mother died. I go back and forth between anger and gut-wrenching guilt. But never grief, and that starts the guilt all over again.”
I hand her another glass of whiskey.
“I shouldn’t drink this,” she says.
“Why not? Are you driving?”
“Right,” she says. “Why? I’ll just go slower.”
“And as for your current demon,” I say when she sips from the glass, “I predict that once we get the chaos your mother created under control, you’ll find the grief. Or not. Maybe you’ll find out things about her that make that grief impossible.”
“Is that what happened with your father?”
“Yes,” I say. “It is, but I feel like I should remind you of what I just said. I came to terms with what I felt for my father many years before he died. And he wasn’t in my life; therefore, there wasn’t anything to change those terms.”
“And you really feel no grief?”
“I really feel no grief,” I say without hesitation. “But you asked me if I feel alone now.”
“You said that you don’t.”
“And I don’t,” I confirm, and when I would offer nothing more to anyone else, I do with Faith. “But, on some level, I have moments when I’m aware that I have no blood ties left in this world, and that stirs an empty sensation inside me. Maybe that is feeling alone. I just don’t name it that.”
“You have no family at all?”
“My mother’s family has been gone for many years. My uncle on my father’s side died a few years back, but I hadn’t seen the man in a decade and, as far as I know, neither had my father.”
“We live odd parallels,” she says. “My father and my uncle hadn’t spoken for about that long when my father died, either.” She sinks back against the cushion. “And I’m feeling all the alcohol now.” She shifts to her side to face me. “I’m not drunk,” she adds. “Just kind of numb again, which is a good thing. It’s better than guilt.”
“How many employees do you have?”
“Is this a sobriety test?”
“If it is, will you pass?”
“Yes,” she says. “I told you. I’m numb, not drunk. And I have fifty employees, at least part of the year.”
“And your mother’s mishandling put all of those jobs on the line. You had to protect the winery.”
“I know. Especially Kasey’s job, and another ten or so key people who have been with the winery for their entire careers.”
“And yet you still feel guilt for fighting for them?”
“I feel guilt for not finding a way to fight for my motherandthem.”
“Your mother didn’t want help.”
“But she needed it,” she argues. “She was clearly an addict, both with alcohol and sex.”
“You said you hired an attorney?”
“Yes. An expensive one, too. That’s what happened to part of my inheritance.”
“Who?”
“Cameron Lemon. Do you know him?”
“In passing and by reputation. He’s good. What happened with him?”
