Chapter Fifteen
Julian jogged down Grapevine Way that afternoon, his pace slowing when he spied the lazy-Sunday line of people on the sidewalk. But this time, they weren’t waiting outside UNCORKED. They were patiently waiting their turn to get inside Corked. Others were emerging with bottles of his family’s wine in their hands, tied up in ribbons.
He made a sound in his throat, nodded once, and moved at a faster clip to make up for lost time. After running more than a block, he finally allowed himself to smile. Finally acknowledged the somewhat unsettling flip in the dead center of his chest. Now that Lorna’s shop was on an upswing, Hallie wouldn’t worry anymore, right? She’d be happy.
Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to update some of Lorna’s indoor displays. Have the floor buffed. That line of people might be there because of the deal on the business cards he’d handed out, but what about a long-term plan? For Corked and Vos Vineyard? Instead of working on Wexler’s book this morning, he’d had a meeting with the bookkeeper and, with Corinne’s approval, had shifted some of their financial priorities. This year would be less about producing stock and more about selling what was already on shelves. Once they had the revenue in place, they could make the necessary improvements to come back better than ever.
Julian was busy making calculations in his head when he ran past the stump.
He stopped so quickly, dirt kicked up in the air.
A new letter?
His immediate instinct was to keep jogging. Don’t pick it up. Don’t open it. Hallie was not on the other end of these notes. After last night, they seemed to be at even more distinct odds than before. Just two people who’d traded heavy personal secrets in a vineyard. Two people who’d completely lost their minds one night and pleasured themselves together in his kitchen. Who couldn’t seem to stop colliding. He would almost certainly return to Stanford with the sense that he’d left behind unfinished business, but that couldn’t be helped, could it?
He’d have to simply . . . live with it.
How?
They would never again have a conversation like the one they’d had the night of the storm. Or while picking grapes on his family’s land. Exchanges he continued to replay over and over in his head, trying to make sense out of them being so different while finding it so easy to understand each other. So much so that when he’d written his letter back to the secret admirer, his words were almost a period on the end of his conversations with Hallie. It was hard not to crave a response to that, even if it wasn’t coming from her.
The letter was in his hand before he realized he’d picked it up.
“Fuck.”
Julian started running again, through the cool, twisting haze escaping down off the mountain. The sun broke through the mist in fragments and cracks, a rolling spotlight over different sections of the vines. Beneath his feet, the earth was solid, and Julian was grateful for that, because holding the letter caused anticipation and dread to war in his middle all the way back to the house. On the off chance Natalie was awake before two p.m. on a weekend, he tucked the envelope into his pocket on the way to his bedroom, making it there without incident.
After closing the door behind him, he stripped off his sweaty shirt and placed it in the hamper. Toed off his running shoes and paced the floor beside the king-size bed. Finally, he couldn’t stand the unknown anymore. He took the letter out of his pocket and broke the seal.
Dear Julian,
There was one part of your response that stuck out to me. That there are events or people in our lives that force us to become the next version of ourselves. Are we all constantly fighting that change to something new and unfamiliar? Is that why, no matter what we do in our personal or professional lives, somehow it’s never done with full confidence? There’s always the fear of being wrong. Or maybe we’re afraid to be right and make progress, because that means change. And moving forward is hard, like you said. Scary. Lately, I think moving forward as an adult means accepting that bad things happen and there’s not always something you can do to avoid or fix it. Is having that knowledge the final change? If so, what is beyond that bitter pill? No wonder we’re digging in our heels.
As I’m writing this, I’m starting to wonder if the longer we fight change in ourselves, the less time we have to live as better people. Or at least more self-aware people.
I propose that we both do something that scares us this week.
Secretly Yours
“Fuck,” Julian said again, finding himself on the edge of the bed, without remembering exactly when he’d sat down. Once again, he was completely and utterly intrigued by this person’s letter, and yet, he wanted to tear it up and burn it in the fireplace. Not only because he alternated between hearing the words in Hallie’s voice and feeling immense guilt for reading it in the first place. But more so because the letter challenged him. He hadn’t accepted or denied the challenge yet. Still, his veins felt like they’d been pumped full of static.
Something that scares us.
Julian left the letter on his bed, but mentally carried it into the shower. Then into his office, where he once again sat in front of the blinking cursor for hours. At some point, he heard Natalie stumble out of her room for sustenance, before going straight back in. Finally, he gave up attempting to concentrate on anything else and returned to his bedroom, picking up the letter and trying to find some sort of clue in the handwriting, something about the basic stationery and ink color that might identify the author. Maybe if he could just meet this person face-to-face, he could confirm whether or not that attraction ran both ways. For some reason, he hoped it wouldn’t. But nonetheless, they could be friends, right?
Even though they’d only exchanged letters, he couldn’t help feeling a sort of kinship with this person who was capable of identifying the worries he’d never been able to speak aloud.
Except with Hallie.
Maybe rather than writing back, he should go talk to her, instead.
Anticipation swelled so rapidly at the thought of seeing her, hearing her voice, that he dropped the letter. From a person he’d now willingly corresponded with. A person who was not Hallie. What the hell had he gotten himself into?
* * *
“I’m sorry to drag you away from your fan club,” Hallie teased Lorna, smiling at her grandmother’s best friend across the console of her truck. They drove through town Sunday afternoon, yielding for buzzed pedestrians every fifty yards or so, Phoebe Bridgers playing gently on the radio. “Are you sure about taking a lunch break?”
“Of course I am, dear. These old feet need a rest.” Lorna smoothed the silk patterned scarf around her neck. “Besides, Nina has it under control.” Before she even finished her sentence, she’d started laughing. “Can you believe I have an employee now? A couple of weeks ago, I barely had customers. Now I’ve hired part-time help just to keep up with them all!”
Hallie’s chest expanded with relief. With gratitude. When she’d pulled up outside of Corked, patrons were gathered around her grandmother’s white wrought-iron table with glasses of wine in hand, bringing it to life. Giving it purpose again. Keeping Rebecca’s memory alive, at least for Hallie. And she owed most of this to Julian.
His name in her head was a simultaneous shot of adrenaline and a punch to the gut.
Was he writing back to his admirer again at that very moment?
I propose that we both do something that scares us this week.
Was he in the process of figuring out what scared him? At the very least, Hallie was in the process of checking that box today. Doing something uncomfortable. Fulfilling the challenge she’d laid down for herself and Julian by moving forward. She’d called Lorna about her trip to the library this morning and the wineshop owner had insisted upon coming along for moral support, despite the crowds that were now descending on Corked with Vos Vineyard discount cards and unquenchable thirsts.
“Lorna, I couldn’t be happier for you.” One of Hallie’s hands left the wheel to rub at the euphoric pressure in her chest. “I could just burst.”
“I didn’t see it coming,” breathed the older woman, staring unseeing out the windshield of the truck. “Then again, some of the best things in life happen when you least expect them.”
Sort of like Julian suddenly showing back up in St. Helena to write a book? Or the professor somehow being the chivalrous hero that lived rent free in her memory, while also being completely different than she’d imagined for the last fifteen years? Yes, he might be the quietly studious man of her imagination, but he was also intense. A keeper of painful secrets. Funny and quick to find solutions. Protective. A million times more engrossing than the person she’d crafted in her mind, and she had no choice but to leave him with some final food for thought and move on. Which is what she should have done in the beginning, before getting in too deep. “What if you spend your whole life expecting one thing . . . and get another entirely?”
“I’d say the one thing you can expect in life are thwarted plans,” said Lorna. “Fate keeps its own schedule. But sometimes fate drops a present in our lap, and we realize that if everything we’d arranged ourselves had gone according to plan, the gift from fate never would have arrived. Like you coming to live with Rebecca in St. Helena. All those attempts to get your mother on the right path didn’t work out, but in the end, those struggles are what brought you here. Rebecca was always saying that. ‘Lorna, what’s meant to be will always find a way.’”
“She loved a good saying.”
“That she did.”
Hallie shifted in the driver’s seat but couldn’t get comfortable. “What if I only belonged here in St. Helena while Rebecca was alive? That’s how it feels. Like I don’t . . . know how to be in this place anymore. As just myself.”
Lorna was quiet for a moment. Hallie could feel the shop owner gathering herself before she eventually reached out and laid a hand on Hallie’s shoulder. “When you came here, this place changed, along with Rebecca. It rearranged itself to fit you, and now . . . Hallie, you are part of the landscape. A beautiful part of it. St. Helena will always be better for having you here.”
When Hallie shook her head, a tear came loose and she swiped it away. “I’m a disaster. I’m flighty and disorganized and I don’t know how to control my impulses. She was always around to help me do that. To know who I am. I was Rebecca’s granddaughter.”
“You still are. Always will be. But you’re also Hallie—and Hallie is beautiful for all her flaws. Because the good things about you far outweigh the bad.”
Until Lorna said those words to Hallie, she didn’t know how badly she needed to hear them. Some of the density in her chest lessened, her grip loosening on the steering wheel. “Thank you, Lorna.”
“I’m happy to tell you the truth any time you want to hear it.” Lorna patted her shoulder one more time before taking her hand back. “What made you decide to approach the library today about the landscaping job?”
Hallie hummed. Took a deep breath. “I want to do something she would be proud of. But . . . I think, more importantly, I have to do something I’m proud of. I have to start . . . taking pride, period. In myself and my work. It has to be for me now.”
Hallie pulled her truck up against the curb across the street from the white, U-shaped building, also known as the St. Helena Library. It stood by itself at the end of a cul-de-sac, sun-soaked vineyard vines spreading out behind the structure in endless rows.
This morning, while pondering the trip, she’d bitten her nails down to the quick.
It had been a long time coming. Some part of her never really expected to get there.
The courtyard of the library definitely needed greenery and color and warmth. As of now, it had none of those things. Just overgrown indigenous plants that would have been beautiful with a little maintaining and the addition of some perennials. It did have a big lawn in front, shaded by an oak tree. Two children sat on that lawn now, blowing bubbles with very little success, suds dripping off their wrists onto the grass. A smaller toddler nodded off in her mother’s lap, their library books spread out around them.
Hallie couldn’t help but think the library could be thriving, with a little care. If people drove past, the flowers would call to them like an invitation. Marigolds and sunflowers and water fixtures. But in order to do this particular job, she would have to come up with an exact blueprint, have it approved by the library manager, Ms. Hume, and stick to it.
With Rebecca there to guide her, Hallie would have had no problem with a plan. But she was a dress pinned to a laundry line in a windstorm these days, waving in every direction. Had the years she’d spent under her grandmother’s wing been a waste, though?
No.
As soon as Rebecca left, Hallie had gone back to being indecisive and jumbled. But it didn’t have to continue that way. She could do something spectacular, all by herself. She could be proud of herself, discombobulated chaos and all. She was the granddaughter of a community staple—a gloriously kind woman who loved routine and simple pleasures, like wind chimes on the back porch and teach-yourself-calligraphy kits. Hallie had settled down as much as she was capable, because it was important to her grandmother. She appreciated when Hallie tried, when she reined in her scattered focus and applied it to schoolwork or carried out a specific landscaping strategy. There was no one around now to appreciate those efforts.
No one but herself. That would have to be enough.
I propose that we both do something that scares us this week.
Taking on a huge project like this definitely qualified as scary. It was a job that would require structure, diligence, and a very particular librarian looking over her shoulder the entire time.
Was she up for it?
Yes.
Something had to give. Putting her anxieties on paper, writing letters to Julian, had been therapeutic. She could be totally honest about her fears and feelings. That honesty felt good. Authentic. But now she needed to be truthful with herself. To admit she’d been avoiding the library job, because she didn’t believe herself capable of the focus it would take to complete a task so large. Rebecca believed in her, though. So did Lorna. It was time to take that faith and turn it inward.
Lorna nudged her in the ribs from the passenger seat. “Go ahead, dear. You can do it. I’ll be waiting right here.”
She turned to her. “Are you sure you don’t want bottomless champagne brunch, instead?”
“Maybe next week.” Lorna laughed, shooing her into opening the driver’s-side door. “For now, I want to watch my best friend’s wild-child granddaughter learn a lesson. That she doesn’t have to change to suit anyone. Unless that anyone is herself.”
They held hands for a moment; then Hallie blew out a slow breath, climbed out of the truck, and crossed the street.
The cool brass doorknob slid against her palm, and she opened the heavy library door. Just as she remembered, the place was bright and inviting on the inside. Stained glass windows lit the stacks in reds and blues, hushed conversations took place over laptops at the tables, and the distinctive scent of old leather and floor polish drifted out to greet her.
Ms. Hume’s head popped up from behind the reception desk, her slender, deep-brown fingers pausing on the keys. She removed her glasses, letting them drop to where they were caught by a long, beaded necklace, and stood. “Hallie Welch. Rebecca told me you would show up sooner or later,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. “Are you here to apply for a library card or finally fix our garden?”
Hallie took a moment to reconnect with her grandmother. Like a whispered hello from somewhere beyond. Then she centered herself and approached the desk. “Maybe both. You wouldn’t happen to have any self-help books on staying organized, would you?”
“I’m sure I can pull a few.”
“They’re for a friend, obviously,” Hallie joked, matching the librarian’s knowing smile. “As for the garden . . . yes, I’m ready. I thought we could discuss layout today and I could get started soon.”
Ms. Hume arched an eyebrow. “When exactly?”
“Soon,” Hallie said firmly, in that moment accepting that there were some things about her she could never change.
And that . . . maybe she didn’t need to.