Family Tree (24 page)

“Good for you. I hope it works out.”

“Me, too. The trouble is, I can't leave the distillery. We're so small,
I have to be here all the time. And much as I love Switchback, I'm not seeing a lot of opportunities for a sommelier here in town.”

“Gran would tell you the heart will find a way.”

“Ah, that's nice. How's she doing? I mean, is she comfortable?”

“I think so.” Annie drank the rest of her whiskey, the liquor trickling through the thickness of tears in her throat. “She drifts in and out. It's terrible, losing her, but she seems to be at peace. We've had lots of good talks.” Annie took a deep breath. “And she wouldn't want me mooning about her. More gossip, please.”

“Let's see. The health department shut down Sly's Burgers and Fries for code violations.”

“Oh my gosh, I love their burgers and fries.”

“Sly promises to clean up his act and reopen. His new slant will be local ingredients, grass-fed beef, organic produce.”

“Good for him. It's good for all of us.”

“Ginnie Watson caught her husband cheating on her with a woman from his twelve-step group. I think it's known as the thirteenth step.”

“Whoa.” Annie remembered Ginnie from high school—quiet, well behaved, devoted to her boyfriend, whom she'd married the week after graduation. “I feel bad for her.”

“She'll be all right after she gets over the shock. There ought to be a rule that no one gets married until they're at least old enough to drink.”

“Hear, hear.”

“Oh, and Celia Swank was engaged to this rich guy—he's a partner from the resort at Stowe—and then he dumped her.”

“I bet she didn't take that well.” Celia had never been quiet or well behaved, just wildly beautiful and obsessed with money and shopping. Her notorious moment in high school came about senior year, when she made out with a student teacher from the U, thus ending his career before it began.

“My guess is, she misses the money more than the guy,” Pam said.

Everyone had a friend like that, Annie reflected. Even in this day and age, there were women who didn't trust themselves to be their own support. They looked to a man to take care of them. Annie was glad she came from a long line of strong women who knew how to navigate the world on their own.

“We always hear money doesn't buy happiness, but we keep thinking that it will,” she observed. “The richest guy in town, old Mr. Baron, is one of the most miserable people I've ever known.”

The kids in Switchback had all been scared of him, she recalled. The lumber millionaire was angry and stingy, waving people off his porch when they came to raise money for 4-H or the school band. He lived in a historic mansion filled with art and treasures, but his wife had left him long ago and his kids never went to see him.

Annie thought now of the steady stream of family and friends who came to see Gran, and she knew one thing for sure. Money was
never
the key ingredient.

“I agree,” Pam said. “If money was important to me, I wouldn't be making artisanal whiskey. And by the way,” she added, “just so you know, Mr. Baron is not the richest man in town.”

“No? Who is it, then?”

“Sanford Wyndham—your old flame's father.”

Annie's gut lurched. Just the name roused a flurry of emotion. “How's that?”

“That lawsuit, remember? Over that horrible accident? Apparently, it's finally been settled, and he was awarded a fortune. Still runs his garage, though.”

“Wow. No kidding.” She thought of how driven and obsessed Fletcher had been about the case. For a long time, she had assumed that was the reason they'd parted ways. Now she knew better. Like poor Ginnie and her cheating twelve-stepper, they'd simply been too young.

“You should look Fletcher up,” Pam said.

Annie smiled. “Sure. I'll tell him now that he's from a rich family, I want him for my boyfriend again.”

When Annie got home, a car she didn't recognize was parked in the driveway. She headed inside, where Kyle was helping the kids with homework.

“Dad's here,” Kyle said, looking up from the kitchen table. “He's in with Gran.”

Annie felt a buzz of nervousness in her gut. The whiskey samples she'd had with Pam had worn off, and she wished they hadn't. Dad was here. She slipped into the room. It was dim and quiet, with music softly playing on the radio. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey, yourself.” He looked tan and fit in khaki trousers and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled back. He stood up and held out his arms.

She leaned briefly in for a hug. No matter how much time had passed, he still had the dad-smell, the one she'd snuggled up to when she was little and he read her stories in bed. “I didn't know you were coming.”

“I wanted to see her.”

Annie took a seat on the opposite side of the bed. Gran seemed to be deeply asleep.

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart,” Dad said. “You and your gran have such a special bond.”

Annie nodded, at a loss for words.

“I'm staying with my folks,” he said. “They sent their love, and this.” He produced a wicker gift basket overflowing with gourmet food.

“That's nice,” said Annie. “I'll give them a call tomorrow.”

They sat in silence, one on one side of the bed, one on the other, Gran in between, eyes closed, scarcely breathing. Annie studied the beloved face, now pale and gaunt. She wondered what Gran was dreaming about.
The past and the people she'd loved? Or had she moved on to some other place, the next place you didn't get to see until it was your time?

“I loved your grandmother,” Dad told Annie. “I like to think she loved me, too.”

“She never said,” Annie bluntly replied.

“I hope it means she held me in her regard.” He smoothed the blanket over Gran's shoulder. “I don't blame you for being hard on me. I wish we were closer.”

She watched his hand, stroking so gently over the soft blanket. “I wish that, too.”

Annie didn't say anything more. She was thinking about the fact that men left. She knew it wasn't a hard-and-fast rule, but that was what happened in Annie's world. Her grandfather had left one day, had an accident in the woods, and never came back. Her father had left, and he returned twice a year to see his kids. People asked Annie's mother why she almost never went out with guys, but Annie knew the reason. Mom didn't want to get tangled up with a man only to watch him leave. It seemed like a good enough plan to Annie. She didn't plan on getting involved, or if she did because she couldn't help it, she intended to leave before the guy left.

She stood up, feeling oppressed by the atmosphere in the room and by her own dark thoughts. “I'll see you later, okay? Send me a text if you want to go for coffee or something while you're here.”

“Sure. See you around.”

She left, leaving the door slightly ajar and feeling awkward.

Turning back, she saw her father bow his head and let loose with great, gusting sobs that racked his tall, slim body. Annie froze, trying to decide whether to go back into the room and comfort him, or to give him his privacy. Maybe if she knew him better, she'd know what to do.

But she didn't. She didn't know him. And she didn't know what to do.

The next day, Annie went to see her father and his parents in a town twenty miles away. The visit was predictably stiff, with long gaps of silence broken by the smallest of small talk. That was what happened, she realized, when you lost touch with someone.

Afterward, she decided to stop in Switchback for a bite to eat before heading back up the mountain. She parked near the Starlight Café and stepped out of the car, catching her breath at the sudden drop in the temperature. It was early evening by then, the cold a brutal sluice of air from the north. As the wind skirled down from the heights, she felt a light stinging sensation on her face. Tilting back her head, she glared at the purple sky. “Oh, no way,” she said aloud. “No freaking way.”

But this was Vermont, and the weather didn't care that it was May. The snow flurries quickly turned to flakes, blanketing the emerging crocuses and tulips in the flower beds of the courthouse park.

She shoved her hands in her pockets and walked on, thinking about what Gran had said. No regrets.

Annie suddenly forgot she was hungry. The GreenTree Garage was two blocks away. As she passed the town's familiar shops and businesses and restaurants, she tried to figure out whether this was a good idea, or an ill-considered impulse, the kind that seemed brilliant until she thought it through.

No regrets, she reminded herself. If she didn't look Fletcher up, she would never know.

Know what?

She spotted him in the main bay of the shop, working next to his father on a car with its hood propped open. Watching the two of them working in tandem reminded her of how close they had always been. Two against the world, Fletcher had once said. Even doing mundane
tasks, they were a team, passing tools back and forth, chatting together. The intimacy of their bond was a palpable thing. Fletcher had seen his father through one of life's most horrific ordeals, and Annie suspected they had grown even closer than ever because of it.

Her filmmaker's eye framed the shot of the two men silhouetted against the glowing shop light. It gave them the look of an Edward Hopper painting, an ordinary moment, frozen in time. Fletcher and Sanford would have made an interesting topic for her documentary. Maybe she should have . . . no. Just no.

She took a deep breath and rummaged in her bag for a lipstick. The best she could do was lip balm. Piña colada–flavored. Who thought that flavor was a good idea? She put the lip balm away and hastily chewed on a breath mint. Then she approached the open door of the garage bay, steadying herself on the slippery pavement.

A flutter of nerves erupted in her stomach, but she forced herself to keep going. “Hi, guys,” she said, stepping into the garage. A filament heater on the wall provided a welcome blast of warmth.

“Annie! Long time no see.” Fletcher turned to her with a grin of surprise and delight. He looked incredible, even in his coveralls and safety boots. The long rebel hair of his high school days was gone. Yet somehow, the haircut made him even better-looking.

Fletcher appeared . . . the same, but different. He was bigger. More solid than the boy she had known in high school, or the driven young man who had sent her away because he had no time for her. As he hung up a tool, then said something and grinned at his father, she felt a twist of yearning deep inside. That smile. It was the same one that had regularly set her heart on fire. The memory had never quite left her.

“Hey there, stranger.” Sanford stepped forward with a slight swagger. “Get on in here where it's warm. Now, we'd both like to give you a proper bear hug, but that'd ruin your pretty outfit.”

“I'll take a rain check.” She went into the cluttered office area to wait while they peeled off their coveralls and washed the grease from their hands at a big utility sink. She took in the smell of lubricant and new tires, the calendar and posters on the walls of girls in bikinis, modeling tires and tools.

“I just turned off the coffeemaker,” Sanford said. “It's still hot. I can fix you a cup.”

“Oh! Thanks, I'll help myself.” She poured the sludgelike substance into a mug at the coffee station. Living in the city and working at a high-end restaurant had turned her into a coffee snob, but she gamely took a sip. “I wanted to stop by and see how you're doing.”

“Absolutely fine,” Sanford said, wiping his hands on a towel. “And I'd love to stay and chat, but I'm off to meet a lady friend.”

“Really? That's nice.” She noticed a flush of color in his face.

He put on a parka and gloves, and turned the sign on the door to read
Closed
.

“Yep,” he agreed. “It sure is. Fletch, don't forget to set the alarm when you lock up.”

“Will do.”

She watched Sanford go, unable to avoid focusing on the way he walked. His gait was smooth and sure, and when he got into his car, she realized she couldn't tell the difference in his legs.

“Is he as good as he looks?” she asked Fletcher.

“Yep. The prosthesis is state-of-the-art. Microprocessor in his knee. He's doing great. Spends more time at his girlfriend's than he does at home these days.”

“Well, I'm glad. I mean, I'm happy for him.” She leaned back against a counter stacked with paperwork. The feeling inside her tightened and intensified. “How are
you
doing?”

He hung his coveralls on a hook behind the door. “I'm good. You?”

“I'm . . . not so okay.” She felt a tingle of tears in her throat. “My grandmother is sick.”

“Oh, no.” He turned and sent her a soft look. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

She shivered. Hugged herself. “She's home, but in hospice care now. I'm . . . We're all just trying not to be sad all the time.”

“She wouldn't want you to be sad.”

“I know. It's so damned hard. When Gran leaves us, the world will be totally different. I just love her so much, Fletcher.”

He flipped some switches on the wall, activating the alarm. “Let's go get a real drink.”

She poured the coffee down the drain and rinsed the cup and carafe. The idea of drinking with Fletcher was irresistible. “Good plan.”

The snow was coming down hard as they walked the two blocks to the town center. The Switchback Brewpub was warm and cozy, with a nice fire going in the potbellied stove, a few guys shooting pool. They ordered two pints on tap and sat in a booth, both on the same side of the table. His thigh brushed against hers, and she shifted, feeling a curious warmth. A familiar warmth. Being next to Fletcher was like putting on her softest, most comfortable sweater.

He took a sip of beer and turned to face her. “How's school?”