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“Fuck that. Yes, you are, Julian.” She clasped her hands together beneath her chin. “Please let me help? I am so bored.”
“No.” He shook his head, the bitterness in his stomach turning even more acidic. “I’m here to work. I don’t have time for some sort of ridiculous pen pal.”
Natalie’s shoulders slumped. “I officially hate your guts.”
Guilt trickled in slowly. Why was he denying his sister something that might serve as a distraction from whatever was causing her to drink too much and hibernate in her dark bedroom? Anyway, maybe he should write back to the admirer. If for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity. Obviously at some point he would have to put the gardener out of his mind. He could either do it now or when he inevitably returned to Stanford. If he could stop picturing Hallie when he read those words, moving on eventually would be a lot easier.
Still didn’t feel right, no matter which way he sliced it. Damn, she’d gotten to him.
Although, writing the return letter didn’t necessarily mean he had to send it. But having a mutual project might create an opening for Natalie to confide in him. He wanted that, didn’t he? “All right, since we have some time to kill before we leave, you can help me write a response,” he said grudgingly, already regretting the decision. At least until his sister started fist pumping her way around the kitchen, more animated than he’d seen her since she’d come home.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, Julian and Natalie trudged up the path to the main house. Natalie walked to his right, freshly written letter in hand, rows of grapes extending out past her like outstretched arms into the evening. Light from his mother’s windows beckoned ahead, crickets chirped in the near distance, and that elusive vineyard smell hung in the air. Kind of like a three-day-old floral arrangement. He’d forgotten how familiar it could be.
“Where are we supposed to leave the letter again?”
Julian bit back a sigh and pointed at the tree stump about twenty yards away, shaking his head when Natalie skipped toward it gleefully. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he would come out later tonight and take it back. Nor could he regret the time they’d spent together writing the response. Such a simple activity had loosened something between him and his sister. Enough for him to pry?
“You mentioned that you’re bored in St. Helena,” he said slowly. “So why aren’t you back in New York, Natalie?”
She finished tucking the letter into the stump, turned, and rolled her eyes. “I know. I’m intruding on your solitude.”
“No, I’m . . . I’m glad you’re here with me.” Her step faltered as they started up the path again, side by side. And Julian must have meant what he said about being glad, because she didn’t call him a liar. In that moment, he had the most pressing urge to tell Hallie what was happening. To call her right in the middle of it, although she probably wouldn’t even answer.
“I guess you could say that I’m . . . worried,” he tacked on around the goose egg in his throat. “About you. That’s all.”
Several seconds ticked past before she laughed, turned, and carried on up the path. “You’re worried about me? You haven’t called me in a year.”
His stomach sank. “Has it really been that long?”
“Give or take.”
“Well.” Following her, he clasped his hands behind his back. Unclasped them. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let so much time pass.”
He felt her considering him from the corner of her eye. “I guess it’s not that hard to understand why. After everything that happened . . .”
“I’d rather . . .” He avoided looking at the vineyard. “Do we have to talk about the fire?”
“Do we have to talk about the fact that you were a total hero and saved my life?” She let out an exasperated laugh. “No, I guess not. I guess we can ignore the fact that you were incredible that night, but our father only saw what happened afterward. He had no right to judge you like that, Julian. To call you unfit to be involved with your family vineyard. He was wrong.”
Julian couldn’t unclench his jaw to respond. He could only see images from that night. The nighttime sky lit up like something from the apocalypse, putting the people he loved in danger. People he was supposed to protect. Needles digging into his chest. His fingers curling into his palms and remaining that way. Stuck. Everyone watching him come apart.
That slow slide into nothingness afterward that he couldn’t break free from, no matter how much he commanded himself to focus, to pull it together. No, instead, he’d gone dark. Left everyone else to sort out the mess while he navigated his mental fallout.
