Page 34 of WASP

“How are things with work? Are you still juggling the winery and the country club?” her dad asked.

What was it about dads and always wanting to know how work was going? She inhaled deeply, letting out her exhale in one long breath. “Work’s okay. I was supposed to meet with the man who owns the club last week to talk about that wine expert position, but it got pushed back till after the holidays. Winery is great; I think I’m doing a good job running the tasting room, and Jack—he’s my friend I told you about, the winemaker whose parents own the vineyard—he has been showing me so much about the ins and outs of making wine.”

“That’s really great stuff, Max.” Her dad’s voice trailed off as he picked up the bird guidebook, thumbing through the yellowing pages that were older than she was. For a moment, a hurt lingered in place of the conversation she hoped they might have, of the opportunity for a deeper point of connection between them, but it was clear her dad wasn’t interested, which really shouldn’t have surprised her at all.

He hadn’t always been like that—someone who only wanted to exist at surface level with her. Max had grown accustomed to spending a great deal of time one-on-one with each of her parents as their family navigated deployments and duty stations. It wasn’t uncommon for one of them to be gone for six to twelve months out of the year, the other staying back to take care of Max, giving her ample time to really get to know her parents and who they were. To her, that had always been normal life.

It was only after her mom passed away and Max had fully moved out that she started to notice the changes in her dad. Where there was once a spirited, animated, good-natured man, there was now a shadow of that person, like the light had been extinguished from his life. For a while, Max had tried to work past that part of him, tried to find the man her dad used to be, but it was no use. That part of him died along with her mother, and the heartbreak of trying to resurrect it had been too much pressure on her shoulders.

She looked out over the water where gentle ripples emanated from a central point. A loon was carving its way across the surface. Max didn’t know what came over her, but the next thing she knew, a question was leaving her lips, soft and unsure. “When was the last time you talked to Mom’s parents?” It felt weird to refer to her grandparents in such a removed way, but it wasn’t like she had known them very well.

Her dad’s face twisted, confusion spreading as his dark brows knit together in thought behind the thin frames of his glasses. “At the funeral,” he answered, finally. “Why?”

Max sighed, suddenly unsure if she should have opened this can of worms. “Just curious. What do you know about the land they left me? The vineyard in Michigan?” she asked. Now that the conversation had been started, she might as well get what she wanted from it.

“Not a lot. Your mom wanted nothing to do with it or the family business. That’s why she joined the Navy—it was her way out of a predetermined life,” he said simply, as if that was all the information needed, but Max wanted more.

“So they saddled me with that life? How is that fair?” she asked, her voice quiet and reverent as she sought to understand, wanting a full picture before making any decisions as to what to do with the land. “Was it the fact that Mom didn’t want to go into the family business that made her leave Michigan? Or was there more? I remember seeing her parents at the funeral, but before that, I don’t really remember them aside from the occasional birthday card or Christmas gift.”

Her dad inhaled deeply, setting his empty mug aside. “They just didn’t get along. Never quite saw eye to eye on things. You know how your mom was—fiercely independent, always wanting to do things her way.”

Max smiled as she remembered all the little particular ways her mom had been about things, like the precise way the dishwasher needed to be loaded, or how the angle of the vacuum stripes on the carpet needed to be a perfect forty-five degrees, and how she only asked for help if it was absolutely necessary. They were elements Max had carried forward into her own adult life, proud of the ways she mirrored her mother—the strongest woman she had ever known.

“What do you think I should do about the land?” she finally asked with a twinge of hope in her voice. Hope that her dad could help her figure out the problem that had been weighing on her for years. “The trust keeping the vineyard running dissolves at the end of next year. I have developers hounding me, trying to purchase it for luxury condos, and I have other landowners nearby reaching out to me, begging me not to sell. I don’t have the money to sustain the vineyard myself—I’ve barely been able to scrape together enough to afford a year of the taxes. Selling feels like the most straightforward answer, the easiest solution… But I don’t know, Dad. There’s something about it that keeps telling me to hold off. What do you think I should do?”

A long moment of quiet stretched between them as Max waited for her dad to say something—anything—that might shed some light on a solution to her problem. But that was too optimistic.

With a heavy sigh, her dad spoke. “It’s your land, Max. Only you can make that decision.”

Max’s shoulders dropped in disappointment at his non-answer. “Is that the Admiral’s answer? Or my dad’s answer?” she pushed back, wanting so badly for him to understand what she really needed.

“Is there a difference?”

She studied him for a long moment, the way he was. The wrinkles that collected in the corners of his eyes, the salt and pepper streaking the dark hair they shared. Physically, they were so alike; emotionally, they were more distant, and that saddened her more than she knew how to let him know.

“I guess not,” Max said quietly, raising her mug to her lips, draining the last of the hot chocolate as the eagle across the river finished its meal, spreading its wings, taking flight.

* * *

Max let out a frustrated groan as she slammed her laptop shut harder than was probably warranted, but the damn meeting—the one scheduled for the second Friday in January, aka tomorrow, the one with Willis Windsor—had been pushed. Again. She set her computer aside, lamenting the fact that she had been stressed all week for nothing. And to top it all off, she had even gone the additional step to find someone to cover her shift at the winery today, anticipating that she could use the extra time to polish off her talking points. And with one swift email, it became all for nothing.

She inhaled a long, deep, calming breath, reminding herself that this would all be worth it. Willis Windsor was a busy man; of course it would be challenging to align their calendars, but he had given her his word that they would talk about options. She had put in the work and had the data to prove that her trial year as the country club wine expert had indeed been a boost to business.

She slouched into the vintage sofa she had rescued from the side of the road years ago, fingers drumming against her thigh as she tried to decide what she wanted to do with her day now that it was suddenly wide open.

Dani popped into her head first—they were long overdue for some one-on-one time—but being the middle of the week, she was most likely tied up seeing her dental patients. Drew and Jack were also out because of work, and Lynn spent Wednesdays volunteering at the children’s hospital in Hartford, so she was a no too.

“A run it is,” she grumbled, getting to her feet and making her way through the kitchen to her bedroom.

Moving into her closet, Max sorted through a stack of leggings—some adorned with subtle patterns, but all black—as she searched for her favorite pair. Years of running cross-country in several different climate regions of the United States had taught her the art of layering, and after a glance at her weather app and noting the balmy 22-degree temperature, she grabbed a bright pink fleece-lined, moisture-wicking headband.

She laced her sneakers and took her sweet time filling her water bottle, avoiding the inevitable dreaded first step into the cold. But she braced herself, knowing the post-run endorphin rush would be amazing.

Cold air hit her face as she opened the door, sending a prickling sensation across her cheeks. Her phone rang from the belt slung over her hips that held her water bottles. She reached for it, grinning as she read Annie’s name. Max stepped back into the warmth of her kitchen, thankful for the delay.

“Annie, hey,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “What’s up?”

“Hi!” Annie’s bubbly voice filled her ear as Max sank onto one of the stools around her kitchen island, setting her running gloves beside her. “I’m shooting my shot, and Jack may or may not have told me you might be free today, but do you want to come antiquing with me? There’s a cool place a few towns over.”