Charlotte was in the living room, folding the blanket I'd half slept under the night before. Glancing out the window, I muttered, "They're all wasting their time. I despise this place. Even if I had a way to make it successful, I wouldn't bother now. I'd rather tear it apart like my father did. There's only misery to be found here—misery, lies, and bad memories."
"If that's what you believe, then I guess it's true."
I narrowed my eyes. "I do believe it. I know it."
"Okay."
I pressed my lips together, angry that Charlotte could still aggravate me with only a few words.
Apparently she wasn't done. "Walter's out there, too, you know," she said as I bent to the liquor cabinet. "I just hope his back doesn't give out. And of course, he has trouble seeing well now, too. I hope he's plucking the right grapes . . ." I halted, rolling my eyes.
"Walter's the picture of health," I said.
She shrugged. "I didn't mean to disturb you. You go right back to drinking yourself into oblivion. Maybe give the men a little wave now and again if you think about it. I'm sure it will boost their spirits as they do hard manual labor for less than minimum wage in the hot sun all day."
"Jesus," I mumbled, "it's not even that hot." I was fully aware she was attempting to guilt-trip me. The truth was, maybe a day of hard labor would be a better way to clear my mind than alcohol. And at least it wouldn't leave me feeling as if there was a ten-ton boulder sitting on my head.
"If it means not listening to you a second longer, I'll go out there and work my fingers to the bone," I grumbled.
Charlotte shrugged, but I saw her lips curve up into a smile before she turned away.
Damn her.
**********
When I came in that evening, dirty and sweat-soaked, every muscle in my body ached. Apparently, Harley had contacted every ex-con he knew in the northern hemisphere and they were all working at my vineyard. I didn't know if it would amount to anything, but the sick feeling I'd had in my stomach when I thought of the fruit I'd cared for so carefully rotting and dropping to the ground, had abated. At the very least, it would be in barrels, and I'd be able to start bottling the wine. And when I sold this vineyard, I'd get a higher price if it were a working winery and not one that was back on its way to ruin. I'd divorce Kira, make a little money off the sale of Hawthorn Vineyard, and go somewhere and do . . . something. But what? What did I know apart from winemaking? Precious little. The business degree I'd earned long ago in college was a waste now. Plus, no one wanted to hire a felon. Misery threatened. The thoughts that had taken a backseat in my mind as I'd worked all day were back again to torture me.
I took a quick shower and started to head downstairs, pausing in front of the room Kira had stayed in before she'd moved into what I still thought of as our room. Pain squeezed my heart as I looked around the empty space. I opened the closet, but she hadn't left anything behind. Pulling the top drawer of the dresser open, I discovered two forgotten nightshirts. Shamefully, I brought them to my nose and inhaled, breathing in the lingering scent of her, sweet and delicate. I held back the tormented groan that rose in my throat and placed them back where they'd been. That's when I spotted what looked like a small ring box. I picked it up and opened it slowly, inhaling a deep gulp of air when I saw a platinum men's wedding band. I pulled it from the dark blue velvet and held it up to the light.
My Dragon. My Love.
The words inscribed inside the ring felt like a blow to my already aching heart. I stood there for what felt like a long time, confusion swirling through me. Finally, I put the ring back in the box and placed it in the drawer, heading downstairs to greet Harley, Virgil, and José who Charlotte had asked to stay for dinner. They were just arriving, all looking dirty, tired, but somehow happy. Guilt piled on top of my heartache. Despite all their work, in the end, I wouldn't be able to offer them much. They'd have to find a job somewhere else.
Fist-bumping Harley, I thanked him again.
"Man, you didn't think I'd stop looking out for you just because we're on the outside now, did you?" He smiled, massaging his tanned, beefy arms. I was sure he was as sore as me, maybe more. He'd been working since sunrise.
"I don't deserve it, Harley," I said, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Maybe, maybe not. That's not for me to judge. I only know who my friends are, and I help my friends. Owe you my life—owe Kira my life, too. Anything either of you ask, and I'm all in."
I cleared my throat, emotion suddenly surprising me. I was just so damned tired.
"My woman feels the same, too. You got me?"
"Uh . . ."
Harley chuckled. "Priscilla's one hell of a woman." He grinned.
Virgil lumbered in, interrupting us. "Hey Virgil," I said. Sugie was behind him.
"Hi, Mr. Hawthorn, sir." He smiled happily. "Picking grapes, making wine."
I smiled back. "Thank you, Virgil." I reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "You're a good man."
"José," I greeted when he, too, came through the door. "Let's eat."
As we headed toward the kitchen, Walter was coming down the stairs. He didn't look well, and the fact that he’d worked all day for me caused a wave of guilt to consume me. Christ, he was twice my age. I frowned as he grabbed for the railing, bringing one hand to his chest. "Walter?" I asked.