Whisper Beach (18 page)

Dana snorted. “Sure, just try to get Bud to go to one.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Why would I go to one?”

“I don't know. Maybe because it takes two of you to make an argument.”

“You don't know Bud.”

And Van was glad she didn't. “When is he going to stop, Dana? When he breaks your bones, when he kills you?”

Dana finally looked up. “Joe says the same thing, but Bud wouldn't kill me, would he?”

“I have no idea. I lived with an abusive father, but he stopped at yelling at my mother. I don't think he ever hit her. I never was aware of it if he did.”

“You told everybody that he killed her.”

“Well, he did in a way. She wanted him to pick her up from work, but he was drunk and told her to get a ride. She walked home instead. It was rainy, the streets were slick, and a car slid into her when she was only two blocks away. She almost made
it home.” Van sucked in air as the pain of that night filled her.

Dana stared. “That's it?”

“You need more?”

“Why didn't she just get a ride?”

It was Van's turn to stare. It was just what Nate had said. And for the first time in her life, Van asked herself,
Why hadn't she gotten a ride home? If she had . . . if she had, what?
Life would have gone on, all of them miserable and trapped in a cold, unloving family. As it was, the family dissolved. She didn't know what had happened to her father, and she didn't care.

Her mother's death had driven Van and her father apart. They struggled along for a couple of years, living in the same space, ignoring each other. Instead of being happy that the wife he didn't love was dead, her father spiraled down to a place that Van couldn't imagine, locking his bedroom door and not communicating. Van went to school and work, came home, and left the money she made on the kitchen table.

Then the rest of her life fell apart, and it was the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“I think you have to leave him permanently, Dana.”

Dana nodded, and Van looked away as the tears started to fall.

She pulled back into traffic and drove back to the beach. She was totally out of her area of expertise. She might not have helped Dana, but she'd made things clearer for herself. No more expecting the worst—from people or from life. She'd drop Dana off and then go to the marina and apologize.

V
AN STOPPED AT
Dorie's and went inside. She knew it was stupid, but even though she was just going to the marina long enough to
apologize, she didn't want to look thrown together. A little light makeup was in order.

She stuck her head into the kitchen before she left.

“I'm going to apologize, Dorie. When I get back, if you want, we can start going over some ideas for the Crab.”

“Okay. Just so you know. Gigi was here.”

“Oh damn, I forgot about Gigi.”

“I told her Suze was out for the day and you had business to take care of and we'd see her tomorrow. I think we could all use a break. And, besides, I think we should have a little chat about her. But it can wait. Get going. And don't hurry back.”

Van gave her a look that made Dorie shrug innocently.

S
HE ARRIVED AT
the marina much too quickly. She had tried to think of a way to apologize that would sound intelligent and sincere, and that she would still come out unscathed. She wasn't having much success.

She saw Joe standing on the bow of a fishing boat, giving instructions to another person. They were laughing. Joe's rich baritone and a higher tenor.

She couldn't see the other person, and for one mortifying second she was afraid she'd interrupted something she shouldn't.

Then a head appeared from the cabin. It was a young boy. He tossed some rope to Joe. Joe reeled it in and climbed down to stow it in the utility hutch. The boy leaned over, looking in, and Van could tell Joe was explaining to him how to keep the coils from tangling.

And the image burned into her heart. This is the way she had always imagined Joe, his son beside him working at the dairy or,
she guessed now, the vineyard, with her inside with dinner ready, waiting for their return home.

But that had been then. And here he was with a child. What about the wife? She hadn't thought that Joe had been married. Surely someone would have mentioned it.

There was a cold, rapidly growing pit in her stomach. She wished she could just back up and drive away. But she knew she couldn't until she'd apologized.

Joe looked up and saw her car. Said something to the boy, who had stopped to look, too.

Reluctantly Van got out. She wasn't sure of her reception. She watched Joe say something else to the boy, who went back to work, then Joe jumped to the ground and started toward her.

She met him halfway across the yard.

“Hey,” he said.

She looked past him. “Who's your helper?”

Joe looked back. “Owen. And I'm not exactly sure what his story is, but Bud caught him clamming one night; the others got away.”

“Leave it to Bud to pick on a kid.”

“Yeah; anyway, I told Bud that he was working for me. He didn't believe me but there wasn't much he could do. And damn if the kid didn't show up the next day, ready to work.”

“Lucky kid.”

Joe shrugged.

“No, really. This was always such a great place to hang out.”

“When the tide was in,” he said.

“When the tide was in,” she agreed. They had all sat on the old pier with sodas, sometimes beer, waiting for a breeze, or for the next round of friends to show up.

Sometimes they'd pile into someone's truck or walk down to the Dairy Queen.

“It's gotten a little shabby. Well, a lot shabby. Grandy's been sick.”

“Dorie told me. Is it serious?”

“Yes, but things are looking better now. He's coming back next week. And I have to get back home.”

She nodded. “Joe, I'm sorry about the way I acted last night. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was a stupid thing to do. It was just . . . I . . . preconceived ideas . . . stupid . . . uncalled for.”

He was smiling at her.

“What?”

“I don't think I've ever known you to stumble for words.”

“Especially last night, you mean.”

“Well, appearances did lean toward your analysis. It just happened to be wrong.”

“Well, I'm sorry. Truly. That's all.” She turned to go.

“Wait.”

She stopped.

“You didn't give me my turn.”

She turned resolutely around. She should have known she wouldn't get off this easy.

“I'm sorry I lashed out at you. I just got so angry that you would think— Well, I take those words back. If I can.”

“No need. I know I'm an uptight bitch. Well, not a bitch most of the time. But I like to be in control.”

“You always did.”

“Because there was so much that I couldn't.”

“I know. I always admired that about you.”

There was a pause in the conversation, a perfect time for Van to
turn around and leave. But she didn't. “Dorie says you've planted a vineyard.”

“Hence all the wine bottles. They're local wines that I've been studying.”

“Why wine?”

He shrugged.

Standing face-to-face, Van finally took the time to look at Joe. In spite of his bruises from the previous night, she could tell that he'd matured well, filled out but not too much. He was trim and fit and still had his hair as far as she could tell. Close shaved. Even with all that dark hair, he'd never had much of a beard when they were young. And he'd grown into the determined jawline and the sun-crinkled eyes of the older Enthorpes.

“I needed something that could compete with other farms when I only had twenty acres to play with.”

“Is that enough to compete?”

“Well, I decided to go organic. That was the best chance we had of turning enough profit to, you know, to live comfortably. Plus, I like the idea of organic. Get the real flavor of the wine, not just the additives.

“I should be able to hold my own if the vines are productive and barring any disasters.

“Sorry, your eyes are probably glazing over. It's something that I don't get to enthuse about too much. The guys at Mike's aren't exactly connoisseurs.”

“I think it sounds fascinating. Really. I was just wondering . . . how you went from dairy farming to vintnering. Is that what it's called?”

“Viniculture. Growing grapes for wine. When Dad and Granddad sold the dairy farm, I looked around for some way to
make the land productive. Actually, first I got really angry. I'd just spent three years learning how to streamline the dairy. Then it was gone.”

“Oh, Joe, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I was pretty pissed, there were a few scenes, then I packed up and left home.”

“You? Left home?”

“Well, I packed up and went back to school. Where I began studying viniculture. I'd already taken some courses. It's kind of fascinating.”

“So you learned how to grow grapes and came home and planted them?”

“Granddad and Dad thought I was crazy. There were a few rough years. So I went to work at a New York State vineyard. Learned the ropes. Spent a year and a half in California, same thing. I even went to France and Italy.”

“You're kidding.”

“I know; crazy, right? Joe Enthorpe in Europe.”

“Not crazy. Did you learn the language?”

“Sure I did.” He smiled. “
Tres bien
and
arrivederci
.”

She punched his arm.

“Well, I did learn a bit more than that. By the time I came home, they were willing to listen. I think my mother had something to do with it.”

Van smiled. Mrs. Enthorpe was quiet and never even raised her voice, but she ruled the roost in that household.

“That's so great, Joe. When I heard you'd sold the farm, I was afraid—”

“That I had gone to work at the marina, became a drunk, and started fights in bars.”

She blushed.

“It's okay. If I had been more coherent last night, I could have explained. You want to see the vineyards? I have photos on my computer upstairs.”

“I'd love to.” Awkwardness and disappointment had morphed into a kind of comfortable familiarity.

They went up the steps and Joe opened the door for her.

“Sorry about the mess. All my stuff is living on top of Grandy's stuff.”

The room was definitely crowded. Last night Van had only been aware of Joe and all the wine bottles. In the daylight without the drama, the room appeared just as it had years ago. The counter. The shelves of fishing gear and emergency angler and boating supplies. A case of new and used rods and reels. A wall mount of fishing nets, bags of lures, hooks, coils of nylon rope, plastic containers of wax, oil, and sealant, and a display of candies and chips that looked like they might have been the same ones from years ago.

To that Joe had added a desk and chair that abutted the glass window, a bookshelf filled with books. An easy chair had been shoved into a far corner. He must sleep in the tiny office whose door Van could see over the counter.

Joe led her over to the desk where his laptop was set up. “Have a seat.”

He closed the book he must have been reading, tossed it to the side, then turned the desk chair toward her. She sat down. Joe dragged a plastic molded chair over and sat beside her, rummaged through some papers on the desk, and found a pair of horn-rimmed glasses.

She looked over to him and smiled. “You wear glasses?”

Joe held them up and looked at them as if this was a surprise to him, too. “For a few years, for reading.” He put them on.

He reached across her and opened a file. The screen was filled with rows of lush green grapevines.

“Is that your land?”

“Yep. Renzo, that's my foreman, just sent these photos over a few days ago. This is our third year, so the vines are producing their first real crop.”