Page 79 of Wine & Dine

“Whatever for, girl?”

“For running away.” For leaving her when she needed me most after my mother’s death, after her child’s death. For escaping across the country and hardly having any contact for weeks. For not telling her how overwhelmed I felt.

“Honey, you think I didn’t want to run away from life on more than one occasion?”

Actually, I didn’t ever think that. A pillar of strength, my grandmother owned her own business before women did such a thing, and without a man by her side as he had died young, leaving her with two small girls. They were spoiled and unappreciative of their mother—one running after a preacher man and the other marrying the future town mayor. She lived through the Great Depression, wars, and controversy in this town, supporting most of it with her businesses.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a break. We all deserve one. And we all need one once in a while if we are going to survive life in general.”

I sigh. She’s right. I’ve just never known how to slow down. I don’t know how to relax. There was always the diner. My mother. Her. Rusty. Everything else came first.

“I heard about the diner although I haven’t seen it. I don’t think Denton was in the right, but his heart was. He’s trying to make up for things beyond his control. At least you came back.” She chuckles, and I find the humor in her words, though she isn’t joking. When Denton left, he never looked back. Not for twenty-some-odd years, leaving me with our horrid father and our sick mother. Leaving me to hold things together while he followed a dream and saw the world. I didn’t dream outside my own backyard, so I couldn’t fault him for the wanderlust of a rock band, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to get out of Blue Ridge once in a while and live a little.

“It’s a huge mess,” I say, running fingers over my hair, which I pulled into a knot on top of my head. I hold the steaming mug of tea in my other hand.

“Messes are what men make, and that’s why God created women. To clean them up.” She leans forward and pats my knee.

“I don’t really know where to start with this one.” I lightly chuckle with nerves.

“How about the one upstairs?”

It takes me a moment to realize what she means—or rather who?

“Oh, he’s not a mess.” I chuckle, this time with more humor. Garrett’s one of the most pulled together people I know, but then I think of his face buried in my neck as we lay on the floor of my room. Did he shed a tear?

“That man’s all kinds of messed up over you,” Magnolia states, her head lowering, and she glares at me through those pop-bottle glasses. “He flew across the country, chasing you.”

Chasing you. It’s like an echo in my head. No man has ever chased me, yet Garrett did.

“I don’t know what he wants from me.”

Land, whispers through my thoughts, but so does the word, together.

“Your heart,” Magnolia says softly. “And it’s about time someone does.” She never liked Rusty Miller, though he hardly came around here, and she knows all about my heartbreak over James Harrington.

“I guess I don’t understand why,” I return quietly, thinking of the diner and the project before me. Garrett is a successful businessman in his own right. He lives in California. And he wants a vineyard here with you. “Nothing makes sense lately.”

“Nothing ever does when you love someone. You’ll do things you never thought you’d do and say things you never meant to say. You’ll feel heartache like you’ve never felt before and joy like your heart might burst. And you’ll never make sense of any of it. That’s the great thing about love. It doesn’t need to make sense. It just happens.”

My grandmother has been alone for almost six decades. I’ve never known a man in her life, yet she speaks like her husband, who died so long ago, still lives as the love of her life.

“How’d you get so smart, Magnolia?” I tease, never finding it strange to call her by her first name as I became an adult. This woman is one of my best friends, and I have the honor to call her family as well.

“Always have been,” she teases. “I listened to both here”—she taps her temple—“and here.” She pats her chest near her heart. “Sometimes one wins over the other, but it all evens out eventually.”

I chuckle, and she reaches down to pat Wally snoozing over her feet.

“He’s a good dog,” she says without the mocking tone I use, and Wally wags once as if he agrees.

+ + +

I excuse myself from Magnolia and head back upstairs. Garrett is still crashed under the ancient quilt and two blankets on the bed. His California blood runs thin, and he looks peaceful tucked under the old bed coverings. I kiss his temple and mutter that I’m going to take a bath. I decide a soak will help me relax. He murmurs in his sleep, and I leave the room.

The bathroom is down the hall, and something Denton should consider if he’s going to renovate the whole house. My mother’s room was the back bedroom, and I always thought it would make a beautiful master bedroom with a view overlooking the fields beyond. My room is a front room, and the one next door has a boarded-up window. Even though the tandem door between the rooms remains closed and a towel rests at the seam on the floor, the room stays chilly.

Once the tub is filled, I sink into the claw foot porcelain, resting under an etched glass window. The draft doesn’t deter me as the heat of the water fills the room. I lay my head back and close my eyes.

Garrett wants to own a vineyard. Here. The idea plays on repeat in my head. What does that even mean? I let my thoughts drift until I hear the quiet click of the latch on the door. Turning my head, I see Garrett entering with a ratty bathrobe of mine over his body.