Ryan Phillips was tall, gangly, and claimed to be calm as a rock in a crisis. He was willing to work the bench, testing and recording the sugar levels in the fruit that would determine when they harvested, sending soil in for analysis, and researching the heritage of their vines, since no one knew their lineage or when they’d been planted. His presence allowed Christine to focus on the installation of equipment and the continued search for a harvesting crew.
Her father hadn’t found another job. To ease her mother’s mind, Christine would have offered him a position working in Harmony Valley, except she couldn’t afford his salary.
Of Slade, she’d seen very little since they’d been bowling, which was for the best. For a while there, they’d seemed like one big, happy family. The joy on Slade’s face while they’d bowled went beyond papa-bear adorable. She hoped he continued making progress with the girls, but for the sake of her career, she was glad he was keeping his distance. She liked him, but she didn’t want anything between them to go beyond liking him as a boss and a friend.
One day, after listening to Christine complain one time too many about how much hotter it was up in the office than downstairs, Nana showed up with bolts of fabric, curtain rods, and a portable sewing machine. Her machine was old, but it did the job and sent mild vibrations through the floor all afternoon.
Christine had been going at such a fast pace and her grandmother had such a busy social life that she hadn’t had a moment to ask her grandmother about Slade’s parents. She hung up the phone, saw a sticky note Slade had left her about finalizing their design for the website, and turned to her grandmother.
“So heartbreaking.” Nana carefully cut the lining for the curtains on a card table she’d set up in a corner. “His mother died of skin cancer years ago, right before the mill fire. She hung on a lot longer than they thought she would. Died at home in her own bed, which is really the best place to go. That’s how I want to do it. Don’t let anyone take me away.”
Ryan very carefully did not look up from his computer screen.
“I’ll do my best to let you die at home, like Grandpa did.” Christine prayed that was a long time away. “And Slade’s dad?”
“Daniel...Daniel is a more complicated story.” Her grandmother paused again, clearly not of the generation able to multitask. She finished cutting and folded the panel before saying any more. “He was a foreman at the grain mill and a volunteer fireman. He was one of the first on the scene when the grain mill exploded. Four people died. The condition of the bodies was said to be quite horrific. And they were his friends, his employees. He told me once he felt responsible for their deaths.” She tsked.
“Slade said he hadn’t opened any windows in the house in eight years.”
“That would be about the time Daniel hung himself.” Nana looked out the window, her face drawn, as if she couldn’t bear to think of the tragedy. “Slade was home visiting. I think he was the one who found his father upstairs. Daniel did it in the bedroom closet, although I never could figure out how. I suppose it’d be rude to ask Slade.”
“Nana.” Christine recalled how unsettled Slade had seemed in her bedroom after she’d opened her closet. And here she’d fantasized his discomfort was due to an attraction between them. That misconception had spawned some smarmy dreams involving lace and wedding dresses. Who was she kidding? They were polar opposites. She was cutoffs and flip-flops. He was leather loafers and ties.
Nana smoothed the already smooth fabric. “I would’ve thought Slade would sell that house long ago, not that any of us would buy it.” She met Christine’s gaze. “Something binds him here. We all have our reasons for staying places, I suppose.”