In His Eyes. Emmie Dark

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      Zoe gave an inner shrug—she could understand why he hadn’t wanted the judgmental, gossipy town at his farewell. Neither did she.

      Thankfully, the minister kept the service short. One of the anonymous churchgoers read a short passage from the bible. Again, Zoe had no idea why. The minister’s eulogy was polite and for the most part accurate—praise for Mack’s wine making, including a glowing quote from a prestigious wine reviewer, a short note about the tragic loss of his wife and then his daughter, an unexpected mention of his pride in his granddaughter’s success in the California wine industry. Zoe guessed the minister had to say something about her, since she was sitting right there.

      So far, so good. The first promise she’d made to Mack—to give him a private, low-key funeral—was almost over. Pity it was the easiest promise of them all.

      When she walked outside into pale sunlight, following his coffin, she realized she should have known better. Dozens of people stood around, women with grim smiles aimed at her, men with hats held to their chests.

      Tangawarra was an impossible place to keep a secret—she should have learned that years ago. It was also an impossible place to tell the truth, but then that was the dichotomy of small-town life.

      “Zoe?”

      A woman in a pale blue fleece windbreaker stepped closer as the undertakers pushed her grandfather’s coffin into the hearse. She appeared to be in her mid-fifties, and had the sun-weathered look of someone who worked outside. Zoe frowned, searching her memory to try to put a name to the face.

      “My condolences,” the woman said. “Mack was a stubborn old coot, but it’s always hard to lose a loved one.”

      Loved one? She and her grandfather had tolerated each other; that was about as far as it went. Zoe just nodded. “Thank you.”

      She wished, once again, that she’d thought to pack a winter-weight coat. The morning’s chill still hung in the air. She’d clearly acclimatized to the California weather far more than she’d thought. Zoe was finding the valley colder than she’d ever remembered—a deep, gnawing ache that had gone away only last night when she’d soaked herself in a steaming hot bath. Of course, she’d had to clean the tub first, which had helped warm her up a little, too.

      “I’m Patricia Owens. From Long Track Estate—just up the road from Waterford.”

      Zoe had seen the sign to the vineyard, neighbors to Waterford on the side opposite to the Lawson Estate, but the woman still didn’t seem familiar.

      “We bought the property about eight years ago. Mack was a good neighbor. We used to chat—sometimes

      shared pickers and the like. I liked to look out for him—especially in the past year or so when he was beginning to get frail.”

      Zoe tried to push away a stab of unwanted guilt. Mack hadn’t phoned her until it was too late—there was no way she could have known that she needed to be home. And even if she had…

      At least she’d come back in time, so he hadn’t been alone at the end. She’d given the old man that much, at least.

      “Thank you,” she said, giving the other woman a genuine smile. “I really appreciate that.”

      Patricia gave her arm a squeeze. “Mack talked about you—he was so proud of what you were doing. You must come by and visit us—are you staying at Waterford?”

      Zoe nodded, holding her surprise inside at the unexpected repetition of the words the minister had used in the eulogy. Mack? Proud of her? Zoe was an award-winning winemaker with a reputation—spanning two continents—for quality, perfectionism and an innate talent for bringing out the best in grapes. But she’d never considered what people back in Tangawarra—including her grandfather—thought of her. She’d run so fast to get away from the tiny town, in her mind it was still just as it had been ten years ago. Complete with her own starring role as the town’s one and only teen rebel. She’d never stopped to think that they might see her differently now.

      “Come around for dinner one night, then. It would be lovely to get to know you.”

      Zoe battled a sudden swell of emotion. “That’s very nice of you. Thanks.”

      The funeral directors motioned to Zoe—the procession was ready to head to the cemetery. Zoe would ride in one of their cars. She stepped forward, but Patricia reached out again to place a tentative hand on Zoe’s arm.

      “Um, Zoe, would it be okay if we came to the cemetery to pay our respects?”

      Zoe looked around; several people in the small crowd were hanging on every word she and Patricia exchanged. Her grandfather couldn’t have been more explicit in his wishes for privacy at the funeral. She figured he meant the interment, as well, but the cemetery was a public place. Zoe couldn’t exactly lock everyone out.

      Maybe if she explained.

      “Mack was pretty clear—” she began. She stopped short when the slam of the hearse door made the flowers on top of the coffin shudder, as if Mack himself was banging on the lid in protest. Zoe bit back a peculiarly hysterical urge to laugh. A little of her old rebellious streak reared up inside her. You know what, old man? These people want to say goodbye. I’m gonna let them and there’s nothing you can do about it.

      She shrugged. “Sure. If you want to.” Although a quick look around the crowd had her instantly regretting her capitulation. It wasn’t just about what Mack would have wanted—or not. She didn’t particularly want to spend a great deal of time with the Tangawarra townsfolk.

      Patricia gave her a small hug and pulled back with a sweet, sympathetic look. “Thank you. I’ll see you there.”

      From the plush interior of the car, Zoe watched as the small town passed by. She had plenty of time to take in the details; the car was travelling slowly, following the hearse, and the guy from the funeral home made no attempt to speak. Everything seemed unreal, like a David Lynch movie—the colors somehow wrong, some things too bright, others unfocused, as though she existed in a fissure in reality that kept her remote from the world.

      Nothing much about the township had changed. Some of the shop fronts were different; a few buildings seemed more modern. The milk bar where Zoe had bought cigarettes—old Mr. Bond sold them to underage teenagers if they paid extra—had become a café with tables and chairs set out on the footpath. The chemist’s where she’d been caught shoplifting was the same, only its sign was brighter and louder, and it had expanded to take over the next-door premises.

      An old council building was now the most well-tended and attractive store on the main street—it had become the winemakers’ center, a tourist information spot to help visitors find the various wineries in the valley. The Lawson Estate logo was prominent, and Zoe turned away.

      All the worst things that had happened in her life had happened in, or because of, Tangawarra. She didn’t want to notice the changes in the town, the fact that it seemed prosperous, the people friendly, the buildings neat and well maintained. No, she wanted it to still be the dark, miserable place she’d found it as a teenager—it was easier to hang on to those old impressions than integrate new ones. Then it was easier to understand why she’d never wanted to come back.

      Just before they left what passed as Tangawarra’s city center, Zoe spied СКАЧАТЬ