Season of Change(28)

                They worked efficiently until about halfway through the row when Truman called, “Grace, break time!”

                Grace didn’t have to be asked twice. She whooped and scampered off.

                “That brings back memories.” Christine was twenty feet ahead of him, the snap of her clippers his cue to get back to work.

                “Spent a lot of time in the vineyard as a kid, did you?”

                “It was the only place I felt normal.” He couldn’t see her face, but knew she was smiling. It was there in her voice. He’d never met anyone who smiled as much as Christine, not even Flynn. “Kids running through a vineyard. You can’t buy that experience at an amusement park.”

                Silently, he agreed. “Should I remind you I had to buy the vineyard?”

                She chuckled, her enjoyment giving him respite from the hot sun. “Too bad days like that don’t last.”

                “What? You grew up too soon?”

                “No. My dad was always moving on. Somehow the kids I made friends with didn’t stay friends when my dad no longer worked for their family.” She paused in her cutting, her gaze wistful. “And I wasn’t one to make friends easily in school.”

                “How could anyone resist that smile?”

                “When you’re younger than everyone else and earning scores that skew the grading curve, you have to develop survival skills. Like smiling. And when that failed, I became good at blending in with the crowd and being a good listener.” Her customary sparkle didn’t reach her eyes. She blinked and glanced away. “You’ll have to master the twist tie now that you’ve lost your partner.”

                He tried, but his mind kept drifting to the image of a young blonde girl carrying a big stack of books while she walked the school halls alone. Soon he experienced misery of another kind. His shirtsleeves were streaked with juice from broken foliage. His face felt grimy. His loafers were encased in dirt and scuffed from when he slipped on some drainage rocks. The back of his shirt was wet and clung to him uncomfortably.

                At the end of the row he gladly traded jobs with Christine.

                She looked him up and down, an impersonal perusal that felt personal nonetheless. “Go home and change.”

                He shook his head.

                “Not even blue jeans and sneakers? I’ll let you keep your dress shirt and tie, although I’m telling you, even though you might win the best-dressed award, inside I’m crying over the certain loss of what looks like a fine Italian tie. Azure-blue basket weave.” She removed one worn glove and reached over to stroke his tie. “It is Italian,” she said reverently.

                The image of her palm anywhere near the evidence of his horrendous mistake ignited a flash fire of fear in his gut. Could she see the truth? That his success was a facade? That his failures had sent his dad over the edge? Nearly dragging him into the chasm with him?

                Her innocent blue eyes widened as if recognizing he was upset. She touched his biceps gently. “Have you always lived here?”

                “No. I went to school on the East Coast and worked in New York until my dad died.” He shifted closer to the bushy vine and the slim bit of shade it offered. “My marriage fell apart at the same time.”

                “You moved back then?”

                He shook his head, surprising himself by admitting, “I kind of lost myself for a while. I drove cross-country from New York, intending to come here. It took longer than I planned.” Three years. He’d worked odd jobs along the way, never staying in any one place too long. “The day I made it here—” he didn’t say home “—I met up with Will and Flynn.”