“Why didn’t you let them go to the funeral?” I shouted. “For their own grandchild. What kind of a monster—” I was obviouslyvery drunk by this point, and as I’d learned from past experience, alcohol made me say things I wouldn’t dare to even think about if I were sober. This time, my drunken words pushed my mother past her breaking point.
“How dare you?” she screeched. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about what my life was like and what I went through because I protected you. I protected you from everything. I will not allow you to sit there and talk to me this way. Your life is falling apart, and it’s your own doing. Now you’re dragging up painful memories from decades ago, trying to distract yourself from your own fuckups.” Her words shocked me into a brief moment of sobriety. “I’m hanging up, Emma. Don’t call here again until you have some sense.” My parents were two of the few people in the world that still used a landline phone, and the picture in my mind of her slamming the receiver into the cradle hanging on the kitchen wall matched perfectly with the jarring sound of plastic hitting plastic that burst through my phone, making me almost drop it.
I had no idea what I’d hoped to accomplish by calling my mother and confronting her, but this horrible sinking feeling that couldn’t even be dulled by the copious amounts of wine I’d consumed over the last few days wasn’t it. I wasn’t sure if drinking more merlot was the solution, but that’s what I did.
Welcome to the second stage: anger. Yes, I was angry. I was so fucking angry. I was angry at Teddy for being such a selfish, self-entitled asshole. I was angry at Dan for running out on me like a fucking thief in the night without a conversation or an explanation. I was angry at Max for being so fucking good at her job. I was angry at Nina and her fucking twenty-five-hundred-dollar soufflé, and atclients like Blake for not being able to resist fucking up their perfect movie-star lives because they know there are people like me around to clean them up. My rage extended to my mother for always managing to make me feel like an ungrateful piece of shit, when all I wanted were answers. I was angry at Annie for dying and leaving me alone and angry at my grandparents for even believing that I could navigate this mess. Most of all, I was angry at myself. After twenty-nine years spent being absolutely perfect, I’d spent the last three months doing everything wrong.
All the red wine in the house was gone, so I switched to white. After stomping into a pair of Wellington boots Dan had bought me as a gift because my other work boots were too heavy, I teetered out of the front door and onto the porch. My robe got caught between the door and the jamb when I shut it, and I swore loudly while tugging it free. I stumbled forward, falling to my knees but managing not to spill my wine—so, success.
A few months ago, Dan and I had planted a garden here. It was fall now, but the foliage was still fragrant, and the colors were still breathtakingly beautiful. I brought the bottle to my lips and took a big gulp as I continued to stare. Something made my head tilt as I gazed at the rosebush. Something was off. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a yellowish-green vine snaking its way around the base of a shrub, winding around, and invading the branches, threatening to ruin the beautiful and perfect thing that Dan and I created.
“Hey,” I shouted at the vine, “you don’t belong there.” I jumped to my feet and stomped over to the offending weed. Without thinking, I thrust my bare hand into the middle of the bush, wrapped my fist around the vine, and yanked as hard as I could.
“Shit!” I shouted. I’d managed to remove the vine, but I also succeeded in destroying half of the bush.
“Emma? Are you all right?” Ernesto suddenly appeared at my side. When I looked around, I noticed he wasn’t alone. A few of the farm workers had congregated a few feet away and were watching me with interest. I was suddenly aware that I was standing in the middle of the garden in pajamas, a robe, and knee-high rubber boots, holding a bottle of chardonnay in one hand and a fistful of vines, dirt, and branches in the other.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I replied with more confidence than I felt, though I clearly wasn’t. “I was just doing some work in the garden.” I waved the wine bottle at the destroyed rosebush before turning my back on him so he couldn’t see the tears rolling down my cheeks.
“Emma?” a familiar female voice called to me. I whipped my head around to see Erica rushing toward me. I shot the traitorous Ernesto a glare.
“Erica, what are you doing here?”
“Well, hello to you, too!” she said with a laugh, but her expression was full of concern. “I haven’t seen you in almost a week.”
“I’ve been busy,” I sniffled and tightened my robe around my hips.
“I can see that.” She nodded. “Why don’t we go inside, and you can tell me all about it?” She smiled and took a step closer, carefully approaching me like I might explode. “I brought you some waffles.” My stomach growled traitorously, making me wonder how long it had been since I’d ingested anything besides wine.
“I can’t,” I sobbed. “I have to fix this.” I gestured to the rosebush. “I ruined it, and now I have to fix it.”
Erica took a step closer and touched my arm, making me flinchand pull away from her. “Come on, Emma. Stop this. Let’s go inside. It’s gonna be okay.”
“No!” I yelled. “It’s not going to be okay. It’s never going to be okay. It’s over. Everything is over.”
“Emma, I know Dan was upset, but he really cares about—”
“No, the farm, the town. It’s over.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Teddy. My ex-boyfriend. He knows about everything. He threatened me… everyone in town. I have to sell the farm to Preston or else he’ll… he’ll…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. Erica wrapped her arms around me, and I broke down sobbing before allowing her to lead me into the house.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Word spread quickly about my mini breakdown in the garden. It was one thing to wallow in my own self-pity, but I quickly realized that the consequences of Teddy’s plan would affect hundreds of people. Actually, lives were at stake.
When I actually had to venture into town for something, which was rare, I was met with the same cold stares and silence that had greeted me when I was a stranger three months ago, but worse somehow. All of these people were counting on me, and I had let them down. I’d let my grandparents down. I’d let myself down.
Nine days after the Harvest Festival, there was a knock on my door. Mayor Cole, Belinda, Mavis, Leonard, Erica, and her husband, Derek, in his uniform, were on the other side. I stood aside to let them in without a word and they followed me into the kitchen.
We seated ourselves at the table and Erica began brewing a pot of coffee. Mavis sighed and sandwiched one of my hands in both of hers, making my tears flow.
“So, how bad is this, Emma?” Mayor Cole asked.
I tearfully recounted my and Teddy’s conversation in the diner and our subsequent conversations. Derek silently paced back and forth in the kitchen, his expression grave.
“So, that’s it?” Leonard asked. “We just lose everything. Everything we’ve worked our asses off for, for the last twenty-and-some odd years, just stops.”
