Josh Deiner. Too much time without air. Too much time underwater.
One of the victims sustained a head injury and possible anoxic brain damage. He was the last one rescued.
That had been the report on the news. Jack had watched every minute of the coverage; he’d programmed his DVR to catch every story, every mention, hoping for a hint of something positive for Josh. The kid wasn’t dead. That was it.
He wasn’t dead yet, that was. Nor had he improved.
Jack realized he was sweating, despite the coolness of the cellar. He really needed to get some sleep.
Two nights ago, he’d come home from work to find his front door wide open and every light on; yet he had a clear memory of locking the door, as he did every morning, a leftover from living in Washington, D.C. When the hell had he gone upstairs and turned lights on up there? He had no clue, and it was unnerving. Jeremy Lyon, who was a family friend and a doctor, had called Jack to check on him; maybe Jack would ask for a prescription for a sleeping pill.
His phone buzzed with a text.
Thinking of u.
Hadley. Frankie had caved and given her sister the number, then called to apologize.
Hadley was the wine that hadn’t aged enough—bright and beautiful in color, vibrant and lively at first taste, and then the lingering tannin, the cottony, unpleasant feeling. Too much, too soon.
Dinner w/ me & Frankie this week?
Playing the Frankie card so soon? Frankie sometimes came out to have dinner with Jack, sharing stories about school and herself and not mentioning her sister. She’d called right after the news of the accident hit and sent him a few texts since then. Jack had always liked her.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket, pulled the plug on the side of the barrel and inserted the sampling tube. He let it fill and then poured the wine into the glass. Swirled and inhaled the scent, getting notes of blackberry, tobacco and leather. Nice. He took a sip. Nope, not ready yet. Too cottony.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and his youngest sister came waddling down the stairs. Her giant golden retriever, Blue, followed, making a beeline for Jack’s leg.
“Hello, you horny bastard,” he said. The dog smiled up at him, happy dope that he was.
“Hey, Jack,” Faith said.
“Hey. Should you be down here in your delicate condition?”
“I have at least seven weeks to go. Also, Goggy brought in half a ton of grapes the day she went into labor with Dad, and Pru drove the grape harvester the day Ned was born, so I think I can handle the stairs.” She handed him a foil-wrapped package. “Lemon cake from Mrs. Johnson. I was told not to eat any. It’s so unfair, you being her favorite.”
“I can’t help being perfect,” he said in a pale imitation of his usual back-and-forth with his sisters. The cake was still warm. He’d eat some later, maybe. Then again, his appetite hadn’t been so good.
Faith sat at the old wooden table. “Can I smell the wine, at least?”
He handed her the glass, and she took a deep sniff of the wine. “Oh, nice. Leather and plum. This’ll be great in a few months, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
She settled back in her chair and rested her hands on her bulging stomach. “So how are you doing these days, buddy?”
“Good. Fine.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. Thanks.” He wasn’t about to burden her with tales of limp, lifeless teenagers. “I’m fine, Faithie.”
“Good. You know, we all love you, even if you’re a little prince.”
“Please. I’m head winemaker for our family dynasty. You, on the other hand, plant pretty flowers.” Faith was a landscape architect, and while he completely respected what she did, he wasn’t about to tell her. It would throw off his big-brother coolness.
“I’ll ignore that. So, Jack.”
“Yes, what’s-your-name?”
“You know Emmaline, right?”
“Sure.”
“She needs a date for her ex-fiancé’s wedding.”
“Okay.”
“It’s—wow, that was easy.” Her dog came over and sat next to her, putting his cinder-block-size head on her knee, and Faith scratched his ears. “It’s in California—that’s the thing. It’d be the whole weekend. Colleen’s going, too. She knew the bride in college.”
“No problem.” It was winter, things were slow and, man, it’d be fantastic to get out of town, somewhere warm where people didn’t want to ask what it was like to save those kids. “Who am I going with again?”
“Emmaline, dummy. The cop.”
“Right. Tell her yes.”
“Hooray! And here we thought you had no purpose in life.” Faith grinned. “Would you tell her, so this doesn’t feel so eighth grade?”
“But it is so eighth grade, Faithie. That’s what you love about it.”
“Just obey me, okay? I’m brewing you a nephew.” She stood up and rubbed her lower back. “You like her, right? I mean, you’ll be a good date and all that?”
“Sure. She’s the best right wing on the hockey team.”
“Women love to hear that kind of thing.”
“I’ll mention it, then.” He opened another barrel. “Anything else, whoever you are?”
“Yes. Will you be the baby’s godfather?”
He did a double take. “Sure. Thanks, Faith.” He went over and kissed her head. “I guess I figured it would be Jeremy. Or Tom.”
“Jeremy and Tom aren’t my beloved, much-worshiped older brothers.”
Jack smiled, and this time, it felt genuine. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you told Megan Delgado that I had roundworm.”
“Hey, I did you a favor,” she retorted.
“Did you? Because last time I looked, she was still incredibly gorgeous.”
“And speaking of gorgeous women—”
“Smooth.”
“I know. Speaking of gorgeous, I hear Hadley’s back in town.”
“Yep.”
“Is she looking to reconcile?” Faith asked.
“Yep.”
