Sylvia shrugged her shoulders as if trying to fend off unwanted weight. “I don’t need more gossip at the club.”
“You don’t want me to hold the fund-raiser because it could make some of your friends at the country club talk?”
“Is that so terrible? They’re all I have left.”
“You have me.”
Sylvia moistened dry lips. For a moment she didn’t speak and then she cleared her throat. “I plan to come to your fund-raiser.”
“Really?”
“I’m invited, aren’t I?”
Greer wrestled with the lump settling in her chest. As saddened as she was by this conversation a part of her wanted her mother to recognize what she’d accomplished. “Of course. I don’t control the invitation list. The board of directors does. It never occurred to me you’d want to support me.”
Sylvia arched a brow. “Don’t be smart.”
“I’m not being smart. I’m stating facts. You’ve not wanted any communication with me since the accident. Did we exchange five words at Aunt Lydia’s funeral?”
“I don’t do well at funerals.” She shook her head. “You are so much like Lydia. She was never happy with her life. Always wanted to strike out and make her own path. I cringe when I think of the mistakes she made.”
“What mistakes did she make?”
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
“Was loving Dad her mistake?”
Sylvia’s gaze turned icy. “Did she tell you that?”
This moment confirmed the stories about Lydia, her father, and mother were true. “No. She never said a word. All I know is she took me in after I left Shady Grove. She gave me a home and a purpose.”
“I often thought all this was to spite me. She could be willful and devious.”
Greer flexed her fingers. She’d done her best to keep her emotions in check but if they continued on this same path she’d regret what she was going to say. “You can trash me all you want, Mom, but don’t say a word against Lydia. Ever.” The sharp edge to her words had her mother straightening.
“Lydia was my sister.”
“I know. And you loved her. Like you loved me.” In the distance the black nag whinnied and swished her tail, drawing Greer’s attention away from her anger. “Thank you for coming, Mom, but I’ve a full day ahead of me. I have heard and understood your message. You are not happy with me. Again. But there is nothing I can do about it.” She smiled as well as any Austin debutante. “We’d love to have you at the event. You can get the tickets at the center. They cost a hundred dollars each but that includes a lovely afternoon here and all the wine you can drink.”
Her mother looked as if she’d say more but then thought better of it. She lowered into her car and drove away, leaving Greer standing there alone, fists clenched and more determined than ever to force herself back into the public eye.
An hour later, Greer was at her desk, trying to concentrate on a column of numbers that refused to add up. Her thoughts had been distracted by her mother’s visit and, of course, Rory. Mitch. Bragg. The list grew.
A white van drove up the driveway toward the tasting room. She pulled off her glasses, rubbed her eyes, and shut off the computer screen, grateful to leave the accounts receivable behind for today. She stretched out the stiffness in her lower back and moved outside, grateful for the day’s warmth after so many hours inside. She wouldn’t love the heat in twenty minutes but for now it warmed her bones.
She walked up to the driver, smiling. Reggie was a stocky man with short dark hair shaded by a UT ball cap. They’d never worked together before but he’d come highly recommended by her neighbor, Philip Louis.
She held out her hand. “Reggie. Right on time.”
“I hear you’re hosting a party.” His handshake was strong.
She cupped her hand over her eyes, shielding them from the bright sun. Another man climbed out of the front of the cab. He was younger, Hispanic and short. Like Reggie he wore the REGGIE’S CATERING shirt and khakis though his tennis shoes looked far more careworn. “We are. We’re hosting a fund-raiser for the Crisis Center.”
Reggie glanced around the building, his gaze appreciative. “I heard you were building out here.”
“You heard?”
“From your neighbor, Mr. Louis.” He jabbed his thumb up toward the house on the hill. “He keeps a close eye on all the changes at Bonneville.”
Louis had been an attorney by trade but ten years ago had entered the world of winemaking. He owned a large winery in Fredericksburg and bought most of her grapes at harvest time. He’d purchased the adjacent land hoping to grow grapes as succulent and sweet as Bonneville’s. “When he has a band playing at one of his parties, the music drifts my way.”
“The man knows how to throw a party and thinks he can grow grapes like you.”
She smiled. “The more, the merrier.”
He laughed. “So what have you built here?”
She explained about the tasting room and the winery she planned to build.
“Well, that’s just great. Be sure to keep ol’ Reggie in mind when you host that grand opening party.”
“I will.”
“According to my order you’re hosting one hundred people.”
“That’s right.”
“Will be good publicity for the vineyard.” He handed her a clipboard with an inventory. “If it’s those fancy folks from Austin, then this will be a good event for you. I hear they’re a wine-drinking bunch.”
She signed her signature on the bottom of the form, refusing to feel nervous about facing folks connected to her past. “Let’s hope.”
“So where do you want the food tables and chairs set up?”
“In the main tasting room. I’ve installed the wine shelves but not furnished it yet so you have a blank canvas.” Greer had worried her wine racks would be empty but finally had to let the worry go. Next year she’d have wine and for now settled with small battery-operated votive candles in the bottle spaces, which created a glittering effect.
“Great. Shouldn’t take Manny and me long. The food truck is about an hour behind us.”
“In this heat you’re right not to bring it all at the same time.”
“One big melted mess.”
She spent the next half hour helping the two unload and setting up the tables in the tasting room. She covered each table with linens and in lieu of flowers decorated each table with a cluster of wine bottles and candles. As promised the food truck arrived right as they were putting the final details on the food table.
Reggie unloaded the food, which meant Greer had about a half hour to shower and dress for the event. As she headed out of the tasting room, she spotted Reggie and his assistant unloading a dove ice sculpture. She’d not seen an ice sculpture since the night of Jeff’s party—the night he died.
Despite the afternoon heat a chill ran down her spine as she watched the men wrestle the sculpture onto a pushcart. Years ago, her mother had insisted on the sculpture for her brother’s birthday party. “A touch of class,” her mother had said. Jeff hadn’t cared less about the fancy detail but Greer remembered being jealous of her brother and the dazzling party her mother had created to celebrate his birthday.
Greer cleared her throat. “Reggie, I don’t remember ordering an ice sculpture.”
He settled the sculpture on the cart. “One of the folks at the center ordered and paid for it. Thought it would be a nice touch for the event.”
He pushed the cart toward the air-conditioned room knowing no block of ice would last long in the heat. “Do you know who?”
The cart’s wheels rolled heavily in the graveled driveway. “Not off the top of my head, but I can check when I get back to the office. I made it myself this morning. Is there a problem?”
“No. It’s beautiful. I was just curious.” She summoned a smile. “I need to change. I’ll be back in a half hour.”
“Will do. We should just about be set up by then.”
“Great.”
She sprinted to her house, pushing through the main door. The main room had the same polished wood floor her aunt had laid with her own hands and a large wool Indian rug warming it. A leather couch, two chairs, and an ottoman circled a large, round coffee table made of an old wagon wheel now set under glass. There was a fireplace used often on chilly winter nights and paintings of the Texas sunset. Her aunt never would say who had painted the pictures but she’d cherished the pieces.
She ducked into her room furnished with a simple double bed, a quilt comforter, and a chair by the window for reading. Stripping as she moved, she made her way to the bathroom off her bedroom and turned on the showerhead in the single stall. Soon hot water steamed, and she climbed in under the spray.
The water splashed against her skin, washing away the dirt and the grime from the day’s work. She closed her eyes, savoring this last quiet moment before the people from town arrived.
She understood that many coming didn’t support the Crisis Center but wanted to see her. Many wanted to know what had happened to her after she’d deliberately dropped off the radar a dozen years ago. She’d barely moved fifty miles from her home, but she’d effectively dropped out of sight.
And now she was about to step back into it. She was about to show Austin that she was alive and well and ready to face the past and all its ugliness.
She shut off the hot tap, toweled quickly, and hurried into her room. When she’d been in town days ago, she’d ducked into a dress shop to find a dress for the evening. There’d been a time when shopping had been her mission in life and her day centered on all the right stores and the best designers. But in Zoe’s dress shop she might as well have landed on an alien planet. She’d lost her knack and had wandered through the racks simply lost. Thankfully, the owner had taken pity and chosen a simple blue sheath dress that skimmed her body to her knees, gold sandals, and gold hoop earrings to match. She’d been grateful and not noticed all the items had been on sale until later.