Four
Greyson
T he steering wheel is cool under my palms as I navigate the familiar bends leading to the vineyard. It’s been only a few days since I returned from Victoria and my MedTalk. It was a great conference, but Trinity was both a surprise and a disappointment. I don’t know what I did that ran her off before morning and then had her barking at me during my talk. Then again, I don’t know why it matters. We had an evening together, and a phenomenal one at that. Since when is there more I need?
Anyway, I’m off to see my family for the first time since I got back. Sunday dinners are sacred for us, unless the emergency department demands my presence. The ritual soothes something fundamental within me, a touchstone of normalcy in my otherwise frenetic life.
As I drive, I marvel at how so many of the farms from my childhood have been sold to developers. Homes now butt up against our five-hundred acres of land on several sides, along with some smaller vineyards.
As the car hums along the road, my thoughts drift to Trinity again, as they have often in the previous days. Her face, etched with indignation, flashes before me. I can still hear the sharpness in her voice in that crowded auditorium, the way her words seemed to cut through the applause. Did I push too hard during our night together? Did I cross a line without realizing it? Or was it something I said, or didn’t say, that made her so angry during my talk?
Her question about streamlining I expected, particularly from physicians in Canada, but her anger I did not. I worked with admin to get it done and meet their needs while helping physicians get more quickly to our requirements for treatment.
Most of all, the memory of her leaving that morning after without a word gnaws at me. She didn’t owe me an explanation, but why didn’t she stay? We didn’t exchange information, and I thought we both had a great time.
Either way, it shouldn’t matter. But for some reason, it would seem it does.
I turn onto the quiet street that leads to my childhood home, still lost in my thoughts. The path ahead constricts with a swarm of visitors to our vineyard, their cars lining the street as they meander between tasting rooms and pop-up stalls, arms laden with bottles and whimsical wine-themed trinkets. I’m annoyed by the traffic but remind myself that their enthusiasm for our wines is a gift to my family. It’s what has transformed us from a regional, family-run operation into a name whispered reverently by connoisseurs.
I finally turn onto the private gravel road that will take me to the house, leaving the tourists behind. No sooner have I killed the engine than I’m surrounded by the pack of our family dogs. Pinot, Fizz, Vinny, and Barrel bound toward me, a blur of wagging tails and excited yips .
“Hey, boys!” I exit the car and kneel to greet them, scratching behind ears and ruffling fur. Each dog vies for attention, noses nuzzling against my palms with sloppy affection.
“Looks like you’ve got quite the welcoming committee there.” My father’s drawl carries over from the porch where he stands, a pillar of rustic charm in his muddy jeans, rubber boots, and beaten straw hat shadowing his rugged features.
“Wouldn’t be home without it,” I reply, standing and brushing off the dog hair that clings to my pants.
“You’re the first to arrive. You beat your brothers this time, though not your sister, of course.” He chuckles because my sister, Tarryn, lives in a cottage on the other side of the vineyard. But then the twinkle in his eye quickly shifts to something more probing. “Saw your MedTalk on the internet. Who was that woman who called you out?”
I shift uncomfortably, taken aback by his directness. “Honestly, I’m not too sure,” I deflect with a white lie, doing my best to keep my tone light. The last thing I want is to delve into that particular sore spot, especially when I’m still parsing it out myself. “Just someone with a bone to pick about administration.”
Dad gives me a long, searching look, but then he nods and tips his hat back, a silent gesture that says he’ll let it go, for now. Grateful for the reprieve, I pat Pinot’s head one last time and follow my father into the house.
I step into the kitchen, the scent of roasting beef and herbs filling my nose. Mom stands at the counter, maneuvering between pots and pans with the grace of a conductor orchestrating a symphony. She looks up, her face lighting with a smile reserved just for these family occasions.
“Greyson! There’s my star.” She wipes her hands on her apron before pulling me into a tight hug. “I watched your MedTalk, you know. You were brilliant, as always.”
“Thanks, Mom.” I try to match her enthusiasm.
“Such a shame I couldn’t be there,” she continues, releasing me to check on something in the oven. “Did you meet anyone special?” Her eyes gleam with hope, always the matchmaker.
I chuckle as I lean against the countertop, watching her work. “It was a conference full of medical professionals. What do you think?”
“Right, right,” she says. She knows better than to pry too much but can’t help herself sometimes. She’s dying to be a grandmother.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask, eager to redirect the conversation.
“Would you set the table for nine? Everyone will be home tonight, plus your uncle Maximus and cousin Zane will join us.” She points to the dining room with a wooden spoon.
“Is this going to turn into one of those meetings disguised as dinner?” I inquire, dreading the possibility of business talk overshadowing the meal.
“Absolutely not,” she says, shaking her head. “No business until after dessert, if at all. And that’s only if it comes up naturally. Tonight is about family.”
“Good to hear.”
She always says that, but we talk about the business all the time. This is our only chance to be together.
“Go on then,” Mom urges with a gentle nudge toward the dining room.
“Got it,” I say, pushing away from the counter to gather the necessary utensils. Setting the table gives me a moment to clear my head before the rest of the clan arrives, each with their own dynamic and drama.
I shuffle the silverware in my hands, laying each piece with meticulous care. As I straighten a knife, my gaze drifts through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the pinot vines are stubbornly refusing to bloom. Summer fires last year, extreme temperatures, and an early frost have taken their toll on these old plants. Though the lush greenery of the rest of the vineyard still forms a beautiful backdrop, and Black Bear Lake lies cradled at the valley’s base, shimmering amidst our cultivated rows of chardonnay, pinot gris, and riesling vines.
For a moment, I’m a child again, racing through those vines with my brothers, laughter pealing louder than any bell. We were invincible then, kings of our verdant domain.
“Greyson!” Ryker’s voice snaps me back to the present as he strides into the dining room. “You’re going to make a great wife one of these days.”
“Not likely,” I reply, turning from the window as he heads into the kitchen. I catch snippets of his conversation with Mom, the serious tone that always accompanies talk of their patients, as Ryker is yet another doctor in our family. Mom’s trying to retire, and Ryker is going to take over her practice. His latest charge is a brittle diabetic, and Mom’s input seems invaluable as they bounce ideas off one another. Their dedication to the people in this valley is inspiring.
I hear Beckett before I see him. “Just so you all know,” he announces, “I’m on call tonight.”
“Seriously?” I ask, smirking. “How do you plan to fight your way through the tourist traffic over the bridge to the hospital if they need you?”
As if on cue, the distant whir of helicopter blades cuts through the air. That’s likely Kingston making his grand entrance. We step outside to watch, and a few moments later, his two-seater bird touches down with precision on the back lawn where we used to play soccer.
Beckett’s grin stretches wide. “Like that,” he boasts, jerking his thumb toward the settling dust.
Our sister, Tarryn, strolls up and leans against the porch railing, rolling her eyes dramatically. “And what about your car? You plan on abandoning it here?”
“Please…” Beckett scoffs. “The ladies will be lining up to drive me back here to get my car. They’re always eager to show their gratitude. ”
Tarryn mimes gagging, her disgust theatrically overdone. “You better hope you haven’t slept with anyone I know, Beckett. Despite what you think, you’re not God’s gift to women.”
“Maybe I have,” Beckett shoots back, a wicked glint in his eye. “Maybe I’ve already charmed them all.”
Her glare could slice through steel. “Gross.”
I shake my head, amused despite myself, and return inside to finish the task at hand. The family dynamic never changes, but it’s these moments—the teasing, the laughter, the debates over medicine and wine—that bind us together.
I step back into the house just as Dad strides in with Maximus and Zane in tow. He’s lost the muddy boots, but he still smells like he’s been working in the fields. Mom declares dinner is ready, and I glance over the spread she’s put on the table. A giant roast beef commands center stage, surrounded by an array of vibrant vegetable side dishes and golden roasted potatoes.
“Ah, someone’s opened the cabernet,” Dad says, his eyes lighting up at the sight of a dark red liquid breathing in the glass decanter.
“Magnum bottle,” I offer with a nod.
Glasses find their way into every hand, and Dad raises his with a proud smile. “Let’s toast to Tarryn, for all her hard work with the International Wine and Spirits Competition. We’re going to shine in London come November.”
We all raise our glasses, but Maximus’s toast comes out half-hearted at best. “The best wines are my blends,” he mutters under his breath.
I catch Tarryn’s eye and give her a subtle nod of solidarity. She’s more than earned this moment. She’s worked so hard to market our wines internationally. If she didn’t, Maximus would only be able to work here part time, and Zane would only work during the picking season.
“Thank you, Dad. And thanks to everyone. It’s been a team effort, through and through,” Tarryn responds graciously.
As we dig into the feast, I watch Kingston, who sits quietly at the far end of the table. He’s living alone in that grand house on the Black Bear land that he built for his wife, but then she left him for his best friend a few years ago. I worry about him. He wasn’t always like this. I remember when Kingston was the loudest voice at this table, debating Dad about grape varieties or challenging Beckett to impromptu soccer matches on the lawn. Now, he sits at the edges, his thoughts seemingly a world away.
I make a mental note to visit him soon, but the thought comes with a pang of guilt. How many times have I vowed that before and let life get in the way? Kingston doesn’t ask for help, but maybe that’s the problem. He shouldn’t have to.
A new voice breaks my train of thought. Zane, ever the opportunist, leans close to Tarryn, likely pitching some venture or another. “It could really put us ahead of the curve,” he insists.
Tarryn folds her arms, her brow furrowing. “I’m not convinced it aligns with our current business strategy. We’ve spent the last two years stabilizing after the frost nearly wiped out the Bordeaux yield. I won’t gamble on a risky venture when we’re still recovering.”
Zane’s smile falters for a moment, but he presses on. “Recovery is exactly why we need this. Playing it safe won’t get us ahead.” His voice carries a hint of impatience, his eyes darting toward Maximus as if seeking reinforcement.
“Is it worth endangering the family legacy?” Tarryn’s response is calm but steely. She folds her arms, meeting Zane’s gaze head-on. “If you’re so confident, Zane, why not back it yourself?”
Maximus clears his throat, the sound deliberate. “That’s enough,” he interjects smoothly, though his tone is anything but neutral. “We’re here to discuss ideas, not to shoot them down before they’ve been explored.”
I catch Tarryn’s jaw tightening, along with her grip on the silverware. Maximus’s words carry weight, but not the kind that earns respect. It’s a warning, thinly veiled as reason.
“Yeah, come on,” Zane adds. “If you’re going to take over managing the vineyard, you have to explore all options.” He waves a dismissive hand toward the window and the flowerless pinot vines. “Especially with twenty-seven percent of our yield at stake.”
“Zane, I—”
“Maybe we need to discuss whether you’re the right fit for the job,” he interrupts, his voice laced with challenge.
“Enough, Zane,” I cut in sharply, unable to mask my irritation. “Tarryn knows more about these vines and this land than any of us. She was chosen to take over for our dad for a reason.”
Zane’s face tightens, but he falls silent. For now.
“There’s no business talk at this table until dessert,” Mom says as she glares at our father.
I sit back, feeling the weight of the disagreement as I observe the dynamics at play around the dinner table. Tarryn’s eyes tighten every time Max cuts her off mid-sentence. Her smile never wavers, but her eyes are alight with a fire that’s all too familiar. Zane, ever the self-appointed savior, leans into the conversation with a confidence that grates on me. He speaks as if he’s the linchpin holding the vineyard together, and it sets my teeth on edge.
Tarryn manages this tension with more grace than I ever could, but that doesn’t make it fair. Every time Max needles her or Zane questions her competence, I feel the pull to step in, to help. But there’s only so much I can do. I’ve always wanted to be a doctor like our mother. So I come over on my days off, and I’m here when Tarryn needs me—a shoulder to cry on, a person to throw ideas at, and a helping hand when someone doesn’t show up for a shift and I’m not working.
Eventually, Mom brings in the dessert. It’s a decadent chocolate torte that momentarily distracts us from our conversations. But the reprieve is short-lived. Max announces, with a flourish, that he’s enlisted an outside consultant to assess our operations, a blatant jab at Tarryn’s competency .
She doesn’t miss a beat. “How thoughtful of you, Max. We’ll be eager to hear their insights.”
I stifle a laugh, disguising it as a cough into my napkin. The audacity is almost admirable. Dad, however, doesn’t share my amusement. “Decisions like that are for Tarryn and me to make, but thank you, Maximus, for your…generosity.” His look toward my uncle holds a finality that everyone at the table understands.
Without a doubt this “generous contribution” will evaporate by morning, filed away with the rest of Max’s ill-fated suggestions. Uncle Max has always felt slighted that his father didn’t give the vineyard to my dad and him. Family history dictates that it’s always been passed to the firstborn son. Dad’s always shared it with Max and made him an important part of the business but as an employee.
As for my generation, my oldest brother, Kingston, made it clear that he was going into medicine when we were very young, and my two other brothers have done the same, as have I. Consequently, after Tarryn graduated with a degree in viticulture from the University of British Columbia, Dad announced that she would be the heir to the vineyard. That was quite the dust up, but it was a happy surprise. She’ll be the first female CEO of Paradise Hill Family Estate Winery.
Once the dessert has been consumed, Max’s departure is swift, with Zane trailing after him like a shadow. No sooner are they out the door than I move to Tarryn, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “You’re doing an incredible job.” I pull her in tight. “Don’t let Max or Zane rattle you. You’ve got Dad’s savvy, and all of us are backing you up.”
From the kitchen, Mom’s voice carries through, “And don’t forget about me!” Her tone is light-hearted, but the undertone of fierce protectiveness is unmistakable.
The room erupts in laughter, and Tarryn’s posture relaxes ever so slightly. “Thanks, Grey.” She gives me a grateful squeeze. “ I won’t forget.”
“Good,” I say, releasing her to stand. “I’ve got the six a.m. shift. I need to get some rest.”
“Drive safe,” Dad says, his eyes following me as I collect my jacket from the hook by the door.
“Sleep well, dear,” Mom adds, emerging from the kitchen with a tea towel in hand.
I step over and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Will do,” I reply, pulling on my jacket and opening the front door to step into the cool night air.
I slide into the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. As the engine purrs to life, Trinity moves once again to the forefront of my mind, as if she’s just been here in the car waiting for me. But right now, I need rest. Tomorrow’s early shift looms over me, a twelve-hour dance with fate in the emergency department.
As I roll back down the quiet road, the vineyard fades in the rearview mirror. “Let’s hope for an uneventful drive,” I murmur to myself, the road stretching out before me as I head back to my condo and the world I’ve chosen to navigate on my own terms.