Josie
Twenty-one
The last week has not been quiet long enough for anything to fall into place or make any sort of sense.
Since Evie died, the phone has barely stopped ringing. Vineyard owners, distributors, former partners, reporters, distant relatives who suddenly remember we share blood—everyone seems to believe the family should know what happens next.
Most of them ask the same question. “Who gets the vineyard?”
Our lawyer has already answered that one at least a dozen times. We’ll read the will once we’ve determined we have the correct version and everyone is in the valley. Until then, the estate remains exactly as it was the morning Evie died.
The court proceedings have also stalled.
The sheriff says paperwork takes time, and no one should expect quick answers as to what’s going to happen in the next trials.
Evie’s death is a double-edged sword. It ends her trial, but it doesn’t clear her name.
It just ensures that no court will ever decide whether she was guilty.
But the town doesn’t like waiting, and speculation spreads faster than the truth ever does.
We’ve managed to arrange for Evie’s funeral, though, and that’s happening today. As I turn onto the gravel road leading to the chapel, there are cars already filling both sides of the lot.
People stand in clusters near the entrance. Vineyard owners, restaurant managers, suppliers, and half the town seems to have come. A few reporters linger near the back, pretending they’re just mourners.
Ric spots me as I step out of the car. He excuses himself from the group he’s speaking with and walks toward me, opening his arms. “You made it through the parking circus.”
“Barely.”
When the doors open, the first few guests slip through and pause in the aisle, scanning the pews before choosing a seat.
Someone behind me whispers a greeting and the soft rustle of paper follows as programs are passed down the row.
I follow Ric and Sera to the front to greet relatives I haven’t seen in years while the soft murmur of the room grows behind us.
Evie’s photograph sits beside the casket, the one taken ten years ago during harvest when she insisted on climbing onto the tractor.
The expression on her face in that frame is exactly the one most people remember—pleased with herself and not remotely interested in whether anyone else approves.
I look at it for a long moment, trying to hold the image steady before the day begins moving again.
The picture feels too alive for a room like this, as if Evie might climb down from the frame and tell everyone they’re standing in the wrong place.
For a second I remember standing beside her in the vineyard when I was about twelve while she argued with a supplier on the phone. She ended the call, handed me the clipboard, and said, “If you ever let someone talk you out of what this land needs, you shouldn’t be running it.
Ric shifts beside me as another group approaches.
“Morning,” says Franklin, our uncle and Dylan’s father, as he steps forward with his sister, Eleanor, close behind him. “Evie still knows how to draw a crowd.”
Ric nods. “She made sure of that.”
Franklin glances toward the rows of neighbors and vineyard staff. “She certainly did.”
Eleanor squeezes my hand briefly before moving on toward their seats. Her touch is warm and steady in a way that makes the moment easier.
“Are you still hanging in there?” Ric asks quietly when the line clears again.
“I’m here. That’s about all I’ve got today.”
“Good. That’s enough.”
The doors open again and a cluster of vineyard workers steps inside to look for seats. Conversations pause as they scan the room for familiar faces.
Then Alex appears behind them with Eloise resting against his arm. Seeing him releases something in my chest that I didn’t realize I’d been holding all morning. For a second, the noise around me fades. Alex catches my eye across the aisle and gives a small nod.
He and his daughter move toward us once he finishes greeting the neighbors who stopped him at the door.
“Hey,” he says softly when he reaches me.
I give him a hug. “I didn’t expect you to come all the way out here for my grandmother.”
“I didn’t do it for her. I did it for you.” Alex reaches for my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”
I smile down at Eloise. “Hi, there. Nice to see you again.
She lifts her head slightly. “Hi. I’m sorry your gran died.”
I brush my fingers against her sleeve. “Thank you.”
“She insisted on coming,” Alex says. “Apparently funerals are very important events.”
Eloise nods solemnly. “They are.”
Ric smiles beside me. “Well then,” he says, “you came to the right place. We appreciate your kindness.”
Eloise smiles as they move over to find seats, and the room continues filling.
A few minutes later, the last few guests take their seats in the pews. Sera checks the time and exchanges a quiet look with Ric before stepping toward the aisle. “We should start.” Ric nods to the minister, and the organ plays.
The minister clears his throat, and the last whispers fade. Once everyone is called to order, the minister speaks about Evie’s life. A woman in the third row dabs her eyes with a tissue while the rest of the room sits still.
I can feel Alex’s presence a few rows behind me. No doubt Eloise sits beside him, swinging her feet as she studies the program with careful attention.
After his homily, when the minister invites anyone who wishes to share a memory to do so, several people stand.
When it’s his turn, the mayor of Paradise tries hard to say good things about Evie.
Just when it looks like everyone is finished, my father, Henry, stands.
He was Evelyn Dempsey’s eldest son and the one she leaned on until he made a grave mistake.
My father moves slowly to the front, his shoulders straight despite the long years of history that stand behind this moment. He rests his hands against the edge of the podium before speaking.
“Long before my father died, Evie had built the vineyard into a thriving business with a level of determination that most people only pretend to have,” he says. “She believed deeply in the land and in the people who worked it. Though sometimes that belief came with a sharp edge.”
A ripple of laughter moves through the room.
“She also believed that family was meant to remain connected, even when the bonds between us became complicated. That belief is the reason we are all here today.”
He pauses, his gaze sweeping across the room.
“She would have enjoyed seeing her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren all gathered together. Thank you all for coming today. It means the world to us.” He turns his eyes upward.
“Evie, you’re home with Pop. Smile and know you’ll never be far from our thoughts. ”
As my father returns to his seat, the minister closes his binder and the organ begins again. People rise slowly, the quiet notes filling the space as neighbors approach the family to offer condolences.
Alex waits until the first wave of guests has passed before stepping forward again. “You handled that well,” he says.
I look around the room, surprised to find so many people watching us. “I mostly avoided falling over.”
He nods. “Standing here takes more out of you than people think.”
Eloise tugs at his sleeve. “Can we get cookies now?”
Leave it to a child to remind a room full of adults that the world keeps moving. Alex huffs a soft laugh.
I carefully squat down and look her in the eyes. “I think there might be some at the reception.”
“That’s good,” she says with a nod.
Someone opens the side doors to the reception hall, and the smell of coffee drifts into the chapel.
Ric starts directing relatives toward the buffet while Sera moves over to check the coffee urn without breaking her conversation.
They greet neighbors, answer practical questions about the vineyard schedule, and guide relatives toward the seating without ever quite stopping their motion.
“You two look like air traffic controllers,” I say when Ric passes near me again.
“That’s basically what this is,” he agrees. “Except the planes are all family, friends, enemies, and neighbors.”
Alex stands beside me, and Eloise has moved across the room to talk to my distant cousin, who she seems to know from school. The room buzzes with polite conversation as people refill their cups and exchange stories about Evie’s long presence in the community.
“She sounds like someone people didn’t argue with,” Alex says.
I chuckle. “You’re being generous.”
He glances toward Ric and Sera as they direct another group of guests to the buffet table.
“They seem steady.”
“They do,” I agree. “They’ve been preparing for today longer than any of us realized.”
Eloise selects a cookie from the tray with deep concentration.
“Funerals have good snacks,” I hear her announce.
I laugh quietly despite the heaviness sitting behind my ribs. “Don’t feel like you have to stay long,” I tell Alex after a moment. “She looks tired.”
Alex looks over at her. “Yeah,” he says. “We probably should go.”
“Do you want to come over later?” I ask.
He smiles before looking back at me. “Let me check with Zara, but I’d like that.”
“Let me know. We have a family burial next, so I’ll be a while.”
“Who will be coming to that?”
“Evie’s immediate family—mostly my aunts and uncles and their kids. And we’re all meeting tonight at the main house for dinner.”
He grimaces faintly. “That sounds intense.”
“That’s one word for it.” I look over at each family sitting together as if they’re shoring up for a fight. They probably are.
Eloise returns and leans against Alex with a small sigh. The simple warmth of the moment squeezes my heart.
“Thank you for coming,” I tell them.
“Call me later,” Alex says quietly.
“I will.”
He touches my arm before turning toward the door. I watch them cross the room. He accepts a few quick handshakes on the way out while Eloise waves at anyone who meets her eyes.
As the door closes behind them, Ric appears beside me with his clipboard tucked under one arm. “The crowd’s thinning,” he says. “Franklin’s already on the way to the cemetery.”
I roll my eyes. “Does he think there’s a prize for being there first?”
“He very well might.”
Sera joins us with a stack of folded programs in her hands. “Looks like we’re down to family,” she says. “I told everyone dinner would start around six.”
Ric nods. “Alright,” he says quietly. “Time for round two.”
Fortunately everyone behaves appropriately at the burial, and I’m able to focus mostly on Evie as my grandmother, not as all the other things she definitely was as well.
By the time we turn down the drive back at the vineyard, cars line the drive as everyone parks, and voices drift from the open windows as everyone crowds inside.
Inside, the dining table has been expanded to stretch the full length of the room.
Henry sits near the center while his siblings, Franklin and Eleanor, take their places across from him. Plates move slowly down the table as the first round of conversation begins with familiar stories about Evie.
“She once fired a vineyard manager for pruning too early,” Eleanor says with a faint smile.
Franklin laughs under his breath. “That sounds exactly like her.”
“She rehired him the next week,” Henry adds.
“Of course she did,” Eleanor says.
Someone passes the breadbasket while Eleanor starts another story about how she remembers Evie’s first harvest when she was little.
It was just after Evie and our grandfather took over the vineyard from his father.
Memories surface easily as glasses are filled and the quiet comfort of routine flows over the table.
Then Dylan clears his throat. “So,” he says, leaning forward, “when does the family hear about the will?”
There it is. The question everyone has been politely pretending not to think about.
Ric’s fork stops halfway to his mouth, and all eyes turn to him, as de facto leader. I can only hope he’s actually going to be the executor. He sets his fork down calmly. “The lawyer expects to have everything ready in a few weeks.”
Franklin scoffs across the table. “That long?”
“That’s normal,” Sera replies.
“And until then?” Dylan asks.
I know his bags are packed and he’s ready, along with my cousin Matt, to move in and assume control.
“Nothing changes,” Ric says. “We are in the heart of the growing season. Grapes are budding, and Sera and Josie have it under control.”
Franklin leans back in his chair. “That’s convenient.”
“You find it convenient that the head of our family is dead?” Sera’s voice remains steady. “This is what the lawyer told us to do. We keep working on Evie’s business.”
No one reaches for the wine after that, the earlier warmth thinning beneath the weight of questions no one can answer. Voices rise and fall as speculation circles the table.
I lean closer to my father beside me. “This is exhausting.”
He huffs quietly. “Family always is.”
Voices begin overlapping down the table as Franklin leans forward again, clearly not finished. The arguments have only begun. Evie is gone, and the gravity she created for this family now lacks a center.
“And then what?” Dylan demands. “What happens after the harvest?”
Ric picks up his water. “That depends on the will.”
Franklin taps his glass with one finger. “You must have some idea.”
Ric holds his gaze. “I don’t. I told Evie a long time ago that I never wanted to discuss her will. So we never did.”
A quiet tension gathers around the table. Several cousins shift in their chairs while others pretend to focus on their plates.
“It’s a sizable estate,” Eleanor says carefully. “Naturally people are curious.”
“That’s understandable,” Sera says. “But speculation won’t change anything tonight.”
Franklin offers a thin smile. “No,” he agrees. “It rarely does.”
I glance toward my father. He has been silent through most of the exchange, his hand around his glass as he watches the conversation unfold.
“Dad?” I say quietly.
He turns to look at me. “You alright?”
“I will be,” I answer. “You?”
He nods, and across the table Ric continues answering questions with careful patience. Each response lands calmly, though the current running through the room grows stronger with every passing minute.
Franklin eventually pushes his chair back. “Well,” he says, “at least we know the waiting has officially begun.”
The conversation drifts after that, though the warmth from earlier doesn’t entirely return. People speak about travel plans and vineyard schedules while the unspoken questions hover just beneath the surface.
Eventually the plates are cleared and everyone leaves the dining room and heads into the night, dissipating the weight of the day. For the moment, the arguments have paused. But everyone who was at this table knows they haven’t ended.