Here With Me (6 page)

It was a far cry from the corn and bean
fields of North Dakota. He struggled to know which question to ask
next. “How many people live here?”

“Bernard and Gino each have suites in the
east wing. Bernard is our winemaker and Gino manages vineyard
operations.”

“And your family lives in the rest of the
house?”

“Grandmother and Great-Aunt Genevieve share
the central quarters, although Grandmother has always chosen to
spend her time outside. You won’t find her in the kitchen. In years
past, she worked the vineyard alongside my grandfather. More
recently, she spends her time in the gardens.”

There were beds of color—all kinds of pinks
and purples—and large, practically overflowing pots on the porch. A
sudden wave of homesickness came over him and he fought to control
it. “Your great-aunt?” he asked.

“I just call her Aunt—she said the Great
makes her feel old. Anyway, Aunt Genevieve never married and she
lives on the top floor.”

“She doesn’t help your grandmother with the
gardening?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in the
garden. I mentioned before that she’s sort of a free spirit. I know
it sounds crazy but sometimes she disappears for days. She locks
the door of her bedroom and nobody goes in and she doesn’t come
out. Then, unexpectedly, she’ll join the family for dinner and act
like nothing happened. She’s sort of odd in that way.”

“And your Aunt Tilly and Uncle Louis?” he
reminded her.

“They have the run of the west wing and,” she
paused and pointed, “see that smaller building to the left of the
shed?”

It was gray like the house with a blue awning
stretched across the front. There were chairs and tables out in
front with more flowers. “Yes.”

“That’s a small gift shop. We offer tours and
wine tasting by appointment and Tilly handles that out of there.
Louis has an office in the back. He works in sales and does most of
the advertising and promotion work. When he’s not doing that, he
whittles away the day by bothering Bernard and Gino. That is,
whenever he and Tilly haven’t skipped off to Reno for a quick
weekend.”

“Reno, Nevada?”

“Yeah. Don’t play cards with them unless
you’ve got some money you want to lose. They’ve had a lot of
experience.”

Ah, gamblers. Not everything was different in
this time. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a good-sized white
building that stood another two hundred yards back from the gift
shop.

“That’s the bunkhouse. Years ago, the field
workers lived on the property in that building.”

“But not anymore?”

“No. There are still field workers, of
course. But Grandmother feels strongly that they will be more
satisfied and stay longer if they have roots in the community. She
helps them buy small houses in town. Many have been with our family
for decades. The building isn’t empty, though. We store equipment
inside and there’s a big table that we can use for meetings.”

She pointed to the bricked circle drive.
“You’ll want to park there.”

He got her car stopped and tried to pull the
keys out, wanting to make sure the machine wouldn’t lurch forward
on its own. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her reach toward
the lever between them and moved it forward, all the way to P.
“That should make it easier,” she said.

He yanked the keys out and dropped them into
her pretty little hand. He hoped like hell that was the last time
he ever had to travel like this. Because of what Sarah had told him
about cars, he’d been prepared for the shape but not the speed at
which they’d hurtled down the road. He’d watched Melody all morning
and had thought he had it figured out, but obviously he’d missed a
few things along the way.

Give him a horse any day. He liked feeling
the wind in his hair, the sun on his face. Liked knowing that with
a sharp tug on the reins, he had control.

Two brown-and-black dogs, their markings
identical, ran toward them. They were big, full of muscle, and
barking like crazy. “Do they bite?” he asked, thinking it was a
damn shame if they did. He’d just have to take his chances because
he wasn’t sitting in this car for one more minute than he had
to.

“Don’t worry. They make a lot of noise but
they’re not mean. Unless you’re in Aunt Genevieve’s face. They’re
pure blood German shepherd, and very loyal to her. She got them
when they were pups. When she’s in her room, they plant themselves
outside the door. Once I saw Louis try to get into her room and I
swear, he almost lost a leg.” She smiled at him and he was once
again struck by how pretty she was. “I think that’s why I’ve always
had a soft spot for them.”

The front door opened and out stepped a
woman. Even from the distance, George could Melody’s resemblance to
her. There was the same strong bone structure, the same tilt of her
chin. The woman’s hair, thick and a brilliant white, blew around
her face. “Your grandmother?”

“Yes. Oh my gosh,” she whispered, her mouth
barely moving. “She’s lost so much weight.”

It didn’t stop the woman from practically
running to the car. “Dionysos, Hermes, that’s enough,” she said,
shushing the dogs. They stopped barking immediately. She jerked
open the door. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said. “I’ve been
wearing a rut in my living room rug.”

Once Melody was out of the car, the two women
hugged and kissed. George took the opportunity to get out of the
car. He saw the older woman pat Melody’s stomach gently. Then
suddenly, the woman turned to him. “Michael, I presume?” She
reached out her arm.

He circled around the front of the car and
returned the shake. Her fingers were small like Melody’s and he
made sure he didn’t squeeze too hard. “It’s my pleasure, ma’am.
It’s Michael George,” he added, sticking to the story, “but I
prefer George if you don’t mind.”

She looked him over. “Michael was the name of
the first young man who dumped me, left me in the middle of a dance
twiddling my thumbs. I think I prefer George myself. And please,”
she said, waving her hand, “there’s no need for formality. Call me
Grandmother or Pearl, either one is fine.” She smiled at him.

He wasn’t staying long enough to call her
Grandmother. “Pearl it is, then.”

The house door slammed and the dogs started
barking again. George looked up to see a woman walking toward them.
She had hair as black as night and it fell past her shoulders, even
longer than Melody’s. She wore a red shirt, red trousers, and a big
gold belt pulled tight around her middle.

It made him think of a fifteen-pound pig
stuffed inside a five-pound sack.

“So, you made it,” she said.

It had to be Aunt Tilly. He recognized her
voice as the one that had come out of the little machine Melody
carried in her purse. The woman’s red-painted mouth had a pinched
look and he could see the puffiness under her eyes and the skinny
blue lines, just under the surface of the skin, zigzagging across
her cheeks.

She had the same look he’d seen on cowboys
who had their noses too often in whiskey bottles. He supposed she’d
been a pretty woman at one time, although her face probably had
never had any of the softness that her niece carried so
naturally.

Melody stepped out from behind her
grandmother. “Tilly,” she said, her voice cautious. “How are
you?”

Tilly studied her niece, her gaze coming to
rest on Melody’s slightly rounded stomach. “Are you pregnant?” she
asked, her voice stiff.

George realized that Melody had been right.
The woman was not happy.

“I. . .yes. Um. . .this is my husband, George
Johnson.”

The woman folded her arms, pushing her
abundant breasts up so high that George feared they might just pop
out of her shirt. “Well, George,” she said. “You didn’t waste any
time.”

George had learned to read people, everybody
from troublemaking cowboys to lonesome saloon girls. This woman was
mean-spirited, no doubt about it. “No, ma’am. Didn’t see the
need.”

A nasty shade of purple-red crept up her
neck. She turned back to Melody. “I thought Mother said you got
married on New Year’s Eve.”

“We did,” Melody answered.

“When is your baby due?”

Melody didn’t flinch. “Early September.”

Tilly looked at her mother and smiled but
there was no joy there. “Well, I guess it’s true what they say
about babies—for most of them it takes nine months but the first
one can come anytime.”

He heard the breath leave Melody’s body.

“Tilly,” Pearl said, her voice steady. “I’m
going to have a great-grandchild and you’re going to have a
great-niece. That’s what we need to be focused on.”

The purple-red crept another two inches
higher. “Of course. Congratulations, Melody, George.” She turned,
giving them her back. “Bessie said lunch is ready.”

He didn’t think she’d probably come late to
too many meals. He looked toward Melody, but her attention was
focused on a man coming from the wine shed. He favored his right
leg when he walked and his hair was gray. George pegged him at
about sixty, give or take a couple years.

Melody met him halfway and she threw her arms
around the man. George looked at Pearl. “Uncle Louis?”

She snorted. Took him a bit by surprise, her
being such a lady. “That’s Bernard. He’s our winemaker. He’s been
here for almost thirty years. We owe much of our success to his
efforts. Melody adores him and it’s mutual.”

She hooked her arm through his. “They’ll want
to catch up and it’s been a good long time since a handsome young
man walked me to my door. Come along. They’ll follow soon
enough.”

He did as instructed, being careful to keep
his stride short and his pace slow. The woman felt frail on his
arm, as if a good, strong wind could blow her away.

When they got to the house, she opened the
door of her home with a flourish. If he’d been surprised at the
outside, the inside damn near stunned him. It was huge, with fancy
wood flooring and floor-to-ceiling windows. There were hanging
chandeliers and all kinds of pictures on the walls. She led him
through the foyer into another room. The furniture was big and
soft- looking and it seemed as if ten people could be in the room
and not be crowded. A big black piano sat in front of the bay
window and to the left of it were double doors, which led outside
onto another porch.

“Have a seat,” she said. “I’ll check on
lunch.”

He was glad he’d put on the new, clean
clothes. He’d have been afraid to sit if he’d had his old trousers
on. He lowered himself down onto the edge of the sofa.

He’d been there less than a minute when an
old woman, stick-thin with dark brown hair cut so short she could
have been a man, entered the room. She wore a blue dress that
dragged on the floor and she carried a black cat in her arms. “So
you’re the husband?” she asked, her voice husky with age.

He stood up, feeling off-kilter. Her lips
were painted bright orange, her eyes rimmed with black, and she had
two yellow feathers stuck behind one ear. “I am.”

“My great-niece is a special woman,” she
said. “I expect you know that.”

He nodded.

“Don’t disappoint her,” she said, her voice
suddenly hard. “If you do, you’ll have me to answer to.” She bent
down and placed the cat on the floor. It walked toward him, its
tail high in the air. Two feet away, it stopped and let out a sharp
hiss.

“Oh for goodness sakes, Genevieve. Call off
your cat.” Pearl stood in the doorway. “The poor man needs a chance
to catch his breath. He’s had a journey.” She turned toward him.
“George, this is my sister, Genevieve. Melody’s great-aunt.”

Sort of odd
.
That’s how Melody had described her. It was nice to know that his
new wife wasn’t prone to exaggeration. He extended his hand. “It’s
a pleasure, ma’am.”

She stared at his hand long enough to make
him uncomfortable. Then she extended her own thin arm. Her hand was
bony and spotted from the sun. It reminded him of. . .

He jerked his hand back. Christ, he’d seen a
similar hand not so long ago. It had wrapped around his arm and
pulled. She smiled at him and he felt the chill run up his spine.
He swiveled toward Pearl. She had her own hand in the air, waving
it toward the hallway. Her hand was thin like the rest of her, and
it looked very much like her sister’s.

“This way,” Pearl said. “Lunch is ready.”

His stomach growled. Lunch would be the first
food he’d had in a very long time.

Aunt Genevieve walked over to stand next to
her sister. “Well, George?” she asked, her head tilted to the side,
as if in challenge.

The absurdity of the situation didn’t pass
him by. He’d faced down bank robbers, cattle rustlers, and more
liquored-up cowboys waving their guns than he cared to remember.
And he’d never run from any of it. But now, two old women, one
sick, the other half-crazy, had him about to tuck his tail under
and run for the hills. Or in his case, the damn beach.

He’d never thought of himself as a coward. It
wasn’t an appealing picture. He looked them both in the eye.
Neither woman flinched nor seemed overly aware of the panic that
threatened to overtake him.

Of course not
. They’d had nothing to
do with getting him here. Any minute now he’d be seeing ghosts in
the corners. He squared his shoulders. “I’m looking forward to the
meal,” he said. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

“It’s our pleasure,” Pearl said, as she
walked out of the room. He followed her and as he walked past Aunt
Genevieve, she said, “Welcome to the family, George.”

When they got to the dining room, there was
already a man sitting at the table, a half-eaten piece of buttered
bread in front of him. “What a surprise,” said Aunt Genevieve, her
voice edgy with sarcasm. “George, this is Tilly’s husband,
Louis.”