The Vineyard by Barbara Delinsky Page A

explained it to her …”
    A guilty look stole over Natalie’s face.
    â€œYou haven’t?” Olivia asked, startled. “Maybe if you did …”
    Natalie looked torn, as though she desperately wanted to do that but for the life of her couldn’t. “It’s easier said than done. She idolized her father, as did her brother, Greg. And that’s wonderful. I wanted that. I worked to make it so.” She studied the wall of books, seeming suddenly tired. “So now there are misconceptions that need clearing up. How to do that without speaking ill of the dead?” She kneaded her fingers. “Family dynamics are like nothing else in life. You set a pattern early on, and it’s nearly impossible to change. I’ve always had trouble talking to my children—talking
openly
to my children. Some things are hard to discuss. Some things are more easily said to a stranger.”
    â€œLike me?”
    Natalie didn’t answer at first. She put a hand on Tess’s head, seeming to take comfort as Tess stroked a loudly purring Henri. “I hope so.”
    â€œAnd it all has to do with the wedding?”
    â€œOh, no. It has to do with more. Lots more. But the one common thread is Carl.” She looked up toward the door through which Marie had gone, and her face brightened. “Ah. Two more boys. The big, mangy one on the left is Buck. He’s a Maine coon, dropped off at Pindman’s last fall by a tourist who couldn’t stand his howling in the car a second longer. The tall, lean one is Simon. He’s my vineyard manager. Simon, say hello to Olivia Jones and her daughter, Tess.”
    Olivia looked up to see the man from the vineyard—apparently not just any old worker, but the vineyard manager, no less. Well, he certainly was tall, she decided, although she wouldn’t have said he was lean from that earlier chest-and-above glimpse. She could see the whole of him now, though. His waist and hips, covered by loose work shorts, were lean indeed, as were his legs, which were as dirty as his work boots and the gray socks that protruded from the top. His sunglasses sat on the top of his head, half lost in all that auburn hair, but his sunburned nose was the only touch of warmth on his face. His eyes were a midnight blue and cold. His jaw was shadowed.
    Natalie’s vineyard manager. This could be a problem, Olivia thought as she glanced at Tess, who was staring at Simon. Although the child didn’t seem frightened, she made no effort to move awayfrom the hand Natalie had placed on her head. There was safety in that hand. Olivia could feel it even from where she stood.
    Simon nodded first toward Tess, then Olivia.
He doesn’t want us here,
Tess had said. Olivia didn’t know if it was that or if the man was simply tough.
    â€œHe’s the dark, silent type,” Natalie said with fondness, even pride. “Like his father. Speaking of whom …”
    â€œHe’s in the shed,” Simon said in a voice that was dusty and deep. “He says he’ll be over in a bit. I’m heading up to Providence.”
    Natalie’s smile faded. “Oh dear. There’s a problem.”
    â€œI’m not sure. I saw something on the reds that may be the start of mold. I want a second opinion.”
    Natalie explained to Olivia, “It’s been a wet winter and spring. We were hoping that the sun and wind would dry out the vines.” To Simon, she said, “I was planning on your joining us for dinner.”
    Olivia thought she saw a wry twist at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes held Natalie’s and his voice remained respectful. “I’m sorry. I can’t tonight.” With only the briefest glance at Olivia, he turned and left. Buck followed him out.
    The phone rang.
    Natalie sighed and said, “Since the business phone doesn’t ring here, that will most likely be my son. Susanne calls him to complain the minute