“You know what? Get the bucket.” She turned as a couple came into the tasting room. “Hi, there! Welcome to Blue Heron.”
“Faith? Can I see you a minute?” Honor stood in the hall that led to the offices.
“I got this,” Ned said. “What can I pour for you guys this afternoon?”
Faith followed her sister past the conference room and offices that were kept (and seldom used) by Dad, Jack and Pru.
Honor sat behind her beautiful, frighteningly organized desk, a gorgeous piece of walnut and oak made by the same carpenters Faith had hired to do the deck for the barn.
“How are things?” her sister asked briskly.
“Great. Uh, how are things with you?”
“Just fine. Have you found Dad a suitable woman yet?”
Faith snorted. “That sounds...well, never mind. Um, not quite. I’m working on it. I’m casually introducing him to a gardener today, and I have a date set up with someone from eCommitment next week.”
“Good. We don’t want someone like Lorena taking Dad for everything he has.”
Faith felt the odd impulse to stand up for the woman. “You know, Honor, maybe it’s one of those opposites-attract situations. He seems to really like her.”
“She just asked him for a loan of ten grand, Faith. For a boob job in Mexico.”
“Mexico?”
“She knows a guy.” Honor raised her eyebrows.
“Well, maybe Dad can decide for himself. It’s his money.”
Honor sighed. “Do you know how much it takes to run this place, Faith? Let me put it this way. Two bad weather years in a row, and we’d be in the red.”
Faith chewed on her lip. “Right.”
“So you’ll try a little harder?” Honor suggested, tapping a key on her sleek Mac.
Faith wasn’t sure what else she could try, short of eBay. “I— Yeah. I’ll try harder.”
“I won’t see you till the party,” Honor said, typing in a staccato burst. “I have to be in the city for a couple days.” There was but one city if a person was from the Empire State. Or Jersey, for that matter. Or Connecticut.
“That’s nice,” Faith said. “I mean, nice that you’re getting away for a couple days.”
Honor made a noncommittal noise.
“Do you like it? Those business trips?” Faith asked.
Her sister stopped typing and looked up. “Yeah. I do,” she said. “It’s nice to...well.” She shook her head, and Faith felt the sharp knife of regret she so often felt around her sister.
“Nice to what?” she asked.
Her sister shrugged.
“Be your own person?”
Honor looked up, surprised. “Exactly.”
Faith smiled. “Not just a Holland of the Holland family, where everyone already knows everything about you.”
“Yes.” Honor stared at her for a second, then smiled, and Faith felt such a rush of love, she almost hugged her sister. Instead, she just smiled back, feeling her throat tighten a little.
“Can you keep a secret?” Honor asked.
Wow. “Sure.”
Honor hesitated. “I’ve... Well, I’ve been seeing someone. It’s getting serious.”
“What?” Faith barked, then covered her mouth with both hands at her sister’s grimace. “Honor!” she whispered. “Wow! I didn’t know that! Who is he? What’s he like?”
“He’s...he’s that guy. The one we mere mortals only get to admire from afar.”
Good heavens. Honor was actually blushing. “Except you got close up?” Faith suggested.
Her sister bit her lip and smiled. “Oh, yeah.”
“So he’s...the one?”
Another dreamy smile was her answer.
“Are you planning to introduce him to the family?”
Honor nodded. She looked so pretty, dumbstruck with love. “He’s coming to the anniversary party.”
“Wow. So it is serious, if you’re gonna...unleash the Kraken and all that.” Sure, she loved her family, but en masse, they could be a little terrifying.
“Yeah.”
Faith grinned. “This is great, Honor. I’m so happy for you.”
“Just don’t say anything yet, okay? To Dad or Jack or anyone. You’re the only one I’m telling for now.”
Faith paused. Honor, confiding in her. “I won’t say a word.”
“Thanks, Faithie.”
It had been a long time since Honor had called her that.
Her sister seemed to snap out of her fog. “I need to get back to work. I’ll see you when I get home. If you need any help with the party, let me know.” She paused. “I went up to the barn the other day, and it’s really beautiful, Faith.”
And now a compliment! Whoever this guy was, Faith would have to thank him. “Thanks,” she said, her voice a little husky. “Well. Have a good trip. Call me if you want. You know. Just to chat.”
“If I have a second, I will.” Honor smiled and began typing again.
Faith left the office and went back down the hall to the tasting room, which was now empty. She saw Ned through the window, putting a case of wine into the couple’s car. Good. A quiet moment.
That was—by far—the most intimate and friendly conversation she’d had with Honor in nineteen years. Maybe, now that Honor had more in her life than the vineyard and Dad’s care and feeding, they’d be close. Maybe...just maybe...Honor would finally forgive her for Mom.
Honor never could talk about the accident. Dad had held Faith at the hospital, rocking her, telling her she wasn’t to blame, she couldn’t help having a seizure. Jack had been horribly gentle and kind, saying at least Faith hadn’t died, too, and Pru, who’d been in her twenties at the time, did her best to fill the maternal role for Faith. Everyone seemed to recognize the terrible cost of being alone in the car with her dead mother; Faith had had nightmares for a year, had even wet the bed a time or two, hadn’t talked much for months. She didn’t have to do homework for the rest of the school year. Everyone was kind...except Honor, whose eyes held a message that Faith could read all too well. You killed our mother. And the thing was, it was true, though Honor didn’t know to what extent.
But Honor was a good daughter. A martyr, sure, but completely solid with their dad. Faith may have been Daddy’s little girl, but Honor had been Mom’s favorite, always more mature, more adult than the rest of them, despite being third out of four. She and Mom had had a special bond, and after Mom died, it seemed like Honor couldn’t bear to be in the same room with Faith.
But maybe this was a turning point. Maybe—just maybe—Faith could get her sister to like her again.
When her tasting room duties were finished, Faith spied her father, who was sampling the homemade wine Gerard Chartier had brought him for his opinion. “Not bad,” John said. “Nice with a rare steak.” Blue circled, dropping his ratty tennis ball suggestively. Dad picked it up and tossed it without pausing in his discussion of the different kinds of yeast Gerard could use. Dear old Dad. With his baseball cap, aging flannel shirt and purple-stained hands, he wasn’t the most dapper of men, but he was certainly