Michael's Father. Melinda Curtis

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СКАЧАТЬ swung open, startling Salvatore and sending a shaft of pain through his hips and a fresh wave of tears to his eyes.

      Blake Austin peered in. “Everything okay?”

      “Fine,” Salvatore replied gruffly as the pain eased, despite the fact that nothing was right. His daughter was dying, his granddaughter had never forgiven him his unfortunate ultimatum, and both his hips were giving out on him. He carried on through each day on painkillers that did nothing to numb the torment that was his life.

      The Mustang’s splashy yellow color caught Salvatore’s eye once more, causing a different pang, albeit one just as painful, not in his hips but in his heart.

      “Manny just dropped me off from the north property. Can I help you out?”

      Salvatore wouldn’t accept pity, even from an employee as loyal as Blake Austin. “Do I look helpless?” he snapped, carefully stepping out, using the car’s frame for support as unobtrusively as possible. Standing upright was excruciating, but Salvatore Messina grappled with life as staunchly as life wrestled with him.

      He bared his teeth in a smile as he straightened, swallowing a groan of agony.

      Blake observed the process, most likely not fooled but too considerate to say anything. He nodded, as if acknowledging his employer’s strength of will.

      Shame weakened Salvatore’s anger, but anger was the only thing aside from medicine that made the pain manageable, so he gave it free rein.

      “Everything’s right in the vineyards? With the crew?”

      “Everything’s great, sir.”

      As well as being a tireless worker, Blake Austin always treated Salvatore with respect. Over the past few years, Blake had become almost one of the family, yet he still called Salvatore “sir” or “Mr. Messina.” Blake was respectful, faithful, and knew when to mind his own business. The perfect employee. Salvatore didn’t receive that kind of treatment from his own grandchildren. He glanced over his shoulder at the yellow Mustang.

      Would Corinne offer an apology as due to the head of the family? It didn’t matter who was right or wrong, the younger deferred to the elder if she wanted to make peace. He didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t ask his forgiveness.

      Salvatore Messina bid Blake good-night and moved stiffly up the steps as the spring shadows deepened the sky.

      BLAKE STEPPED into the mudroom in his house at the back of the Messina property. Lately, it seemed that every day sapped his energy, but seeing Cori had unexpectedly drained him. Blake removed his muddy boots, grateful that the day was nearly over, grateful to be on his own turf. The small, two-story house belonged to Messina Vineyards, but Blake and Jennifer called it home.

      The steamy smells of dinner drifted out to him, taunting him with the promise of welcome. He hesitated before entering the kitchen. Out in the mudroom, it was easier for Blake to believe that he and Jennifer were still close. Prepared to tackle the final duty of the day, he took a deep breath and entered the brightly lit kitchen, stocking feet treading softly on the hardwood floor.

      Jennifer bustled about the kitchen counter while MTV blared from the small television on top of the refrigerator. Blake noticed immediately that, as dinners went, it wasn’t much—hamburger with noodles, a green salad, canned pears and wheat toast. Jen wasn’t much of a cook, but at least she made a lot of food. He washed his hands with dish soap in the sink, and then he switched the television to a channel with news and lowered the volume in the hopes that they might actually have a conversation.

      “What? No vegetables?” Blake teased as he surveyed the food Jennifer dished onto foam plates.

      “Sliced bell pepper on the salad. The sauce on the noodles is red, so it must have tomato in it.” Jen rolled her gray eyes, but didn’t smile or look at him as she carried the plates to the table. She never made eye contact with Blake anymore, unless she was angry. He wished he knew what to say or do to make her smile at him again, to share that special camaraderie he’d once taken for granted.

      “Tomato is a fruit.” Blake eyed the three slices of bell pepper she’d referred to that miraculously garnished the top of his salad, not hers, before he delivered the milk to the table.

      “So you say.” She took her place on one of the old wooden kitchen chairs. The one by the telephone. Undoubtedly, she hoped it would ring during dinner.

      That’s when Blake noticed that four pear halves graced his plate. She had one. Not only that, but barely any salad or hamburger with noodles sat on her plate. He clenched his jaw. It didn’t matter that Jen thought she knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t. At this rate, the school would be calling him to say she had an eating disorder. Maybe they weren’t as close as they’d once been, but that didn’t mean Blake wasn’t still responsible for her.

      Snatching a small bag of carrots from the refrigerator, Blake poked his finger through the plastic and tossed some onto Jen’s plate. Then he ladled another helping of hamburger mixture on top of what she’d originally taken. He couldn’t stop himself from tossing a slice of bell pepper from his own salad onto her greens, as well.

      “That ought to help balance the food groups for you.”

      Jen uttered a teenage sound of disgust.

      “And make you regular,” Blake added for good measure.

      “Gross.” She prodded her food for a moment, then sighed and started to eat.

      Disaster averted, Blake slid into his seat and picked up a fork even though he was no longer hungry. Sophia’s illness was hitting him harder than he’d expected. It was as if he were losing his parents all over again—only this time he was losing Jen, too. How many more years would it be before he came home to an empty house?

      They ate in quiet efficiency, with newscasters filling the silence between them and, for once, no telephone calls. Blake wasn’t sure anymore if Jennifer’s silence was due to teenage angst or sorrow for Sophia. He just knew he couldn’t fill it.

      As they were cleaning up, Blake asked, “Want to watch some TV?” He needed a distraction; otherwise he’d worry about things he didn’t want to, like Jen, Sophia and Cori.

      Jennifer grunted.

      “I guess that means no.” Blake tried to hide his disappointment as he took a chocolate candy bar—his cure for the blues—out of the refrigerator and trudged into the living room. Maybe when Jen went up to her room, he’d flip through one of his parenting books.

      Other than the school pictures of Jennifer on the fireplace mantel, the living room hadn’t changed since they’d moved in. There was a small television on a stand, a large green sectional sofa and two glass-topped coffee tables planted on a blue carpet—all castoffs from the last time Sophia remodeled the main house.

      Blake slouched into the couch with his remote, expecting to be alone the rest of the evening. Miraculously, Jen hung out in the doorway.

      “Star Trek? ESPN?” he offered, afraid that the tiny ray of hope welling inside him would be extinguished if he put too much faith in it.

      Jen shrugged, poised awkwardly in the hall.

      With a click of a button, ESPN’s upbeat theme song filled the room. Then an announcer launched into the СКАЧАТЬ