The Vineyard (47 page)

D
ETERMINED TO START
separating from Simon, Olivia did not go out to the patio to meet him the next morning. She didn't even look to see if he was there, but stayed in her room making a chart of the places she had applied for jobs. Follow-up calls were in order, a paring down of the list by deleting definite nos and concentrating on the rest.

She went downstairs with Tess only when she knew that others would be awake, and indeed, they all were, strewn about the kitchen, each watching the small television set on the counter from a chosen spot. Olivia didn't have to ask whether Chloe had changed course. Clearly, she hadn't.

Just as clearly, they were praying she would. With little talk and a perfunctory downing of poached eggs over hash made from dinner leftovers, the group dispersed.

Olivia wanted to rave about the hash. She had never had hash as good. Of course, she had never before had hash made from tenderloin. But Susanne was as distracted as the others, so she let it go.

Same with talk about the storm. Apparently, the thing to do was to maintain a semblance of normalcy for as long as possible.

Jill went to the office to work. Susanne went to the market to
Shop. Tess went to the den with Sandy to read. Olivia went to the loft to organize photographs.

Natalie joined her there a short time later. She had no news of the storm and, like the others, seemed content to ignore it a bit longer. She did an effective job of it. This morning, in a single hour with Olivia, she identified every face in the photographs that Olivia didn't know, including that of Olivia's mystery woman.

Her name was June Ellenbaum. She had been a friend of Natalie's brother, more so than of Natalie herself, and had died of pneumonia in the early forties.

Olivia smiled sadly on hearing that. She stroked Achmed's elegant neck, soothed enough by the gentle purr under her hand to confess, “I used to look at her when I was working for Otis and imagine that she was my long-lost grandmother or great-aunt or whatever.”

Natalie was silent for a long moment. “And now?”

Olivia moved her hand over Achmed's silky head. “Can't do it anymore. Maybe I'm finally growing up. Pretending can be counter-productive. It keeps you from accepting things you can't change.”

There was another silence. Then Natalie said, “Stay on here, Olivia. Stay on after the wedding.”

Olivia looked up. “Excuse me?”

“Tess can go to Braemont, and you can be my assistant.”

Pretending can be counterproductive
. “You don't need an assistant. Not after the wedding, not once the book is done.” Olivia still hadn't gotten Natalie's verdict on the work so far. She was almost afraid to ask.

“But I want an assistant. I can find plenty to keep you busy.”

“You don't need me here.”

“That's not the point. I
want
you here.”

Olivia should have been ecstatic. Not so long ago she had dreamed something like this would happen. But now she was trying not to get embroiled in dreams. That was what her mother's death had taught her.

“I've been offered a job in Pittsburgh.” She told Natalie about the museum job.

Unfazed, Natalie smiled. “Now you've been offered one here, too.”

“But the one in Pittsburgh involves restoration work. I'm good at that.”

“The one here is handling people. You're good at that, too.” The older woman's smile faded, her expression grew earnest. “I need you, Olivia. I like knowing you're here. I've never had a personal assistant before. Not a
personal
one. But look what you've done for me.”

“I didn't do much. I'm not really the best writer.”

“Excuse me? I've read what you've written.”

Olivia tried to be casual. “You have?”

“Of course. Did you think I wouldn't? I've read it at every stage of the writing.”

“I didn't know that.” She held her breath, searching Natalie's face for approval.

All she saw was surprise. “I didn't tell you? I thought I had. I guess I've been busy. I've had a lot on my mind.”

It occurred to Olivia that this was what Susanne and Greg had experienced. But she wasn't blood kin, and she wasn't waiting a minute longer. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think it's
wonderful,”
Natalie said, still seeming surprised. “Did you doubt that?”

“Yes, I doubted it. I've never written anything like this before, never even come close!”

Natalie smiled. “Well, I love it. It's clear and eminently readable. It captures the time and captures the emotion. I can't imagine anyone doing a better job.”

Olivia felt giddy. “Really? Thank you. You're no doubt being kind, but I like hearing it anyway.”

“I am not being kind. I'm being honest. No one could have done better, not with my book, and not with all the other things you've done for me. I'm not getting younger. I like having someone to keep track of the details, and you're
good
at it. You could work here or over at the office. We always need help there. Or at the winery. We actually need a liaison between the winery and the office.”

Aching to believe and fighting not to, Olivia tried to make light of the offer. “Now that's a stretch.”

“Not at all. Your problem is that you don't understand your worth. You don't realize what you've done, how much easier you've made things for me. I'm seventy-six. I want help. You give it without making me feel like I'm halfway to the grave.”

“You're not. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”

“I'm serious about this, Olivia.” Her face showed it. “I wanted my children to be involved with Asquonset, but although they ought to care about the place, they don't. Neither do their children, as you can see from the number of times my grandchildren have visited this summer, which is exactly none. You've been here, and you care. I want you to stay.”

“I can't,” Olivia said.

“Why
not?”

She couldn't explain it. How to explain being terrified of something that sounded
ideal?

Natalie sighed. “Well, think about it. I have to go over to the office, but I won't let this go. You've been good for me. You've poked and prodded. You've made me talk about hard things. I needed to do that.”

“The door to Brad's room is still closed,” Olivia said, and Natalie drew back.

“I don't follow.”

“Nothing's changed. So I haven't done much after all. Susanne and Greg are still upset, and that door is still closed.”

Natalie looked away.

“Why is it closed?” Olivia asked. She had never been quite so bold before, and wasn't sure whether she wanted to hurt Natalie, or anger her into withdrawing her offer, or simply put her approval to the test.

Whatever, Olivia would rather talk about Natalie than herself any day, and Brad was unfinished business. “Is everything inside the way it was before he died?”

Natalie nodded.

“Do you go in there much?”

Natalie pursed her lips. The gesture accentuated wrinkles that were usually camouflaged by optimism. “Once in a while.”

“Is there more to his story than you've told me?”

The older woman put a hand to her mouth, moving her fingertips over those wrinkles as though she would iron them out, and indeed, when she lowered her hand to allow for a sad smile, they were gone. “There's always more to the story of a child whose life was cut short. But that story isn't for this book.”

•   •   •

B
Y LUNCHTIME
, everyone in the kitchen ringed the television more closely. The time for procrastination had passed.

A reporter was standing on a beach in nearby Newport. “As you can see,” she said with a glance over her shoulder, “the surf looks normal, but every indication is that this will shortly change. Chloe is battering Bermuda and holding to a north-northwest path. As of this hour, a hurricane watch is in effect for the southern New England coast. Latest estimates have her making landfall by noon tomorrow. She is a large storm. We expect to see the first of the cloud cover moving into this area by later today. Those of you who remember hurricanes Gloria in 1985 or Donna in 1960 know the drill. For others of you who are wondering how to prepare for this storm, we take you now to the headquarters of the local Red Cross …”

Natalie lowered the sound and turned to the others. “I remember Gloria. I remember Donna. I also remember Carol and Edna in ‘54, one right after the other. Typically, we lose electricity. We do have flashlights and hurricane lamps, but we need to make sure they're working. Greg, we'll need spare batteries and lamp fuel. Will you handle that? If there's flooding, it may contaminate our wells, so we'll need plenty of bottled water. Susanne? And powdered and canned goods, if the refrigerator goes—and speaking of the refrigerator, turn the settings to the coldest and open the doors as little as possible. The windows have shutters, so we don't have to board up, but the furniture has to come in from the patio. Mark?”

“Done,” Mark said with the ease that was his way.

Neither Susanne nor Greg had that ease, at least, not around Natalie. Olivia half expected one of them to accuse her of blowing the storm out of proportion. When neither did, she was unsettled. Apparently, they knew what it meant to be hit by a hurricane here. Either that or they were tired. Neither reacted with anything but nods. Susanne busied herself making chicken sandwiches. Greg and Mark left the room.

“What can I do?” Jill asked Natalie.

Natalie wrapped her arms around her daughter-in-law. “You,” she murmured, apparently having been brought into the loop regarding the baby-to-be, “can take care of yourself. Sit. Eat lunch. Watch television and tell us if anything changes.”

“What about me?” Tess asked. “I want to help.”

Natalie cocked her head and frowned. “You can be the runner
between Simon and us. He'll be monitoring the storm in his office. He gets bulletins on his computer. You can relay any new information.”

Olivia wouldn't have given Tess that particular job. She would have kept her as far from Simon as possible, and it wasn't Simon she was worried about.

“Simon's taking me sailing,” Tess told Natalie.

Natalie looked momentarily startled. Then she smiled. “Not today, he isn't.”

“Why are hurricanes named after girls?”

“They aren't always. Not anymore. Beau was the one right before Chloe. They started using men's names in the seventies. Now they alternate, boy, girl, boy, girl.”

“Who is ‘they'?”

“I don't know. Simon would. Ask him.”

“I
know,” Carl said, catching the question as he came in from outside. “There's a committee of people from the Caribbean islands. They have names ready to go for an entire year. The list repeats itself every six years, unless there's a bad hurricane. Then they retire the name.”

“Hel-lo,” Natalie sang with a smile and put up her cheek for a kiss.

When Carl gave it and slid a gentle hand around her waist, Olivia nearly sighed aloud. They were a wonderful couple to watch.

“I stopped at the club,” he said. “The boat's as secure as possible, short of taking it out of the water.”

Tess was at his elbow. “Why do people in the Caribbean get to name the hurricanes?”

Carl put a gentle hand on her head. “Because hurricanes in the Atlantic basin most often hit there, so the people there get first dibs on names.”

“Do hurricanes hit the vineyards in California?”

“No. They don't usually hit California at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because they move east to west. We get hurricanes here that come from storms off Africa. They have a whole ocean to build over. California only has land to its east. A hurricane won't build over land.”

“Why not?”

“Because it needs water, preferably warm. That's why most of
our hurricanes hit in August and September. The Atlantic is warmest then.”

“What's the word from town?” Natalie asked him.

“They're battening down the hatches.”

“What does that mean?” Tess asked.

Olivia stepped in. “Nailing things down so they won't blow around. Come on, sweetie. Time for lunch.” She turned to Natalie. “How about me? What can I do?”

Closing one eye, Natalie looked to be running down a list in her mind. “You can call the landscapers. I want our name at the top of the list for cleanup after the storm.” She made a tiny sound. “I do miss Joaquin. This service, that service—they'll all be swamped with calls, but I can't have leaves and whatever strewn about for the wedding. Get a promise, get a
guarantee
that they'll be here. Oh, and please call the caterer and the florist, just to make sure they don't mess something up in the to-do with Chloe. And the calligrapher.”

“I faxed her the seating plan yesterday,” Olivia said. “She'll have the place cards done in a week.”

“Good.” Natalie pressed her forehead. “Now, have I forgotten anything?”

B
Y MIDAFTERNOON
, the surf had kicked up. Tess's sailing class was canceled, along with everything else at the yacht club. A lecture at Pindman's on canning vegetables that was supposed to be held that night was postponed so that people could prepare for the storm. Same with a potluck supper at the church.

The television reporter, at Narragansett pier this time, was holding her blowing hair off her face. “The hurricane watch has now been upgraded to a hurricane warning, with Chloe expected to make landfall in less than twenty-four hours. The governor has announced that state offices will be closed tomorrow for all but emergency personnel. The national guard has been put on alert. Many businesses have also closed. We will be running through a full list of cancellations later in this broadcast.”