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This is all new. It’s fresh. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to her in person.
It’s better this way.
This way, I don’t have to see the disappointment in her eyes. Or maybe I’m making it even harder by picturing what that looks like. Maybe the reality isn’t as bad. Maybe this was only ever a marriage of convenience to her—a way for her to get her vineyard, and then she’d be done with me after a year.
I don’t believe that for a second.
Still, the words in my head are my soundtrack today. The only sounds in my periphery are the water as it rushes and retreats from the shore, my feet slapping on the wet sand, and the birds as they call just before they dive toward the water.
Eventually I stop my sprint and slow to a jog, and then I slow to a walk.
And then I stop.
I sink down onto the sand, my knees perched up and my feet flat, and I wrap my arms around my knees as I stare out at the water.
It’s only been two days.
I’m the one who left.
It’ll get easier. Time heals all wounds. I can hear the sage advice from my brothers and my mother now. My dad would have something to say, too, I’m sure, but it’s not anything that would comfort or heal me in this moment.
But if time heals all wounds, I think my clock might be broken.
In the last two days, it hasn’t. It’s only gotten harder.
I force myself up after my ass starts to fall asleep from the hard sand, and I walk slowly the rest of the way back toward my slides. I rinse my feet and head home.
I finally check my phone. I see a missed call from her from last night, but no voicemail. I also have an email from her father that was sent late last night.
Spencer:
Can you review the document attached? I don’t know what to do with my two girls, and you’re probably the wrong person to ask since you’re involved, but I just want to try to settle this thing between them. I hate when they’re constantly fighting. I’ll eventually have my lawyer look at it, too, but I trust your sense for these things and your duty to responsibility. And I figured you’ll get back to me faster than my lawyer will anyway. It’s all a bunch of legal mumbo jumbo to me and I can’t stand even thinking about what my mother’s intentions are with this place in the event of her death. I know you’re busy, but I’m hoping I caught you at a good time.
Thanks,
Steve
I download the document he attached, and as it turns out…it’s Maggie’s will.
I scroll through it until I find the clause regarding the vineyard.
Newlywed Vineyard of Cedar Creek, Minnesota, including land, buildings, equipment, and all subsidiaries, are hereby bequeathed to whichever of my granddaughters [Amelia Newman or Grace Newman] first maintains a successful marriage free from infidelity for a minimum period of one year. If neither granddaughter is married upon my passing, I hereby bequeath the vineyard to my sons, Steven and James Newman, at fifty percent each.
It is my intention that whoever is bequeathed the vineyard:
Preserves the title “Newlywed Vineyard” for the life of the vineyard.
Continues to operate the vineyard for the commercial production of wine.
Agrees to bequeath the vineyard to a blood relative in the event of her death or in the event that she no longer is willing or able to manage the vineyard.
Additionally, the Newman Winery of Temecula, California, currently under the management of Theodore Monroe, is bequeathed to whichever granddaughter maintains a successful marriage free from infidelity for five years, or whichever granddaughter produces the first grandchild within a faithful marriage, or whichever granddaughter is willing to move to Temecula to manage the vineyard there, whichever event comes first. In the event that neither Amelia nor Grace meet these conditions within the first ten years upon my death, the vineyard is hereby bequeathed to Theodore Monroe. The same intentions labeled 1-3 above apply, with the exception to the title being preserved as either “Newman” as it currently stands or being changed to the “Newlywed” brand, whichever the new owner prefers.
I glance up into space for a beat, questions swirling around my mind…starting with the first one. Who in the hell is Theodore Monroe?
Chapter 57: Spencer Nash
What the Fuck is in Temecula
