Josie
Thirty
After the will reading, my siblings and I moved from Graham’s offices to Sera’s home.
Now Sera moves in tight circles across the living room, her steps uneven on the hardwood as she drags a hand over her face and then lets it fall.
Her breathing catches and breaks in a way I’ve never heard from her before, raw and unguarded, and it fills the space more than her words do.
Ric stands near the window with his back toward us, one hand braced against the frame as if the glass is the only thing keeping him upright. Outside, the last of the light is slipping off the lake, but no one seems to be looking at it.
Sera stops long enough to press her palms to her eyes and then resumes pacing.
“I don’t understand how she could do this,” she says.
Then she lets out a short, humorless laugh.
“I don’t understand how she could sit there and—” She cuts herself off, turning sharply, her gaze flicking to Ric and then away again.
Ric exhales slowly and turns back toward us. But he stays where he is, anchored near the window. “The lawyer was clear,” he says. “We continue as usual. Operations don’t change. Nothing stops because of this. Nothing can happen until it goes into probate.”
Sera lets out a disbelieving sound and shakes her head. “As usual,” she repeats, the words sharp now, like she’s testing them and finding them hollow. She resumes pacing, faster this time, her boots hitting the floor in uneven beats.
“He also said we should expect counsel to get involved,” Ric adds, glancing between us. “This won’t be clean. There will be negotiations. Likely challenges.”
Sera stops and stares at him like he’s speaking a language she doesn’t recognize.
“Of course there will be,” she says, her voice rising.
“Why wouldn’t there be? She loved to pit us against each other, and even from the grave she continues to do it.
” She blows her nose. “She set all of it up so she could do exactly this.”
Ric’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt her, and Sera steps closer, closing the distance he’s been trying to maintain.
“She gave you everything,” she continues.
“Everything. Do you understand what that means? Seven years, Ric. Seven years of building that vineyard. Years of rebuilding it after every bad season, every decision she made that we had to work around. We made that place what it is. This is almost worse than giving it to Dylan and Scott.”
Her voice breaks on the last word, and she presses her lips together, swallowing whatever comes next.
I don’t think she actually means that, but I understand her disappointment and frustration.
Instead of finally being able to run our own business, now we work for our brother.
Evie has sent us one final message. We’ll never be enough.
Ric closes his eyes for a moment. “I know what you’ve done,” he says, and there’s a strain in his voice now that wasn’t there a moment ago. He looks over at me. “I know what both of you have done. This isn’t—” He stops, recalibrates, and tries again. “This isn’t me taking anything from you.”
Sera laughs again, sharper this time, and shakes her head. “That’s exactly what it is,” she says. “Whether you want it to be or not.”
I shift my weight, uncrossing my arms and letting them fall to my sides. Ric’s gaze flicks back to me, probably waiting for me to step in, the way I usually do.
But I don’t. Not yet. I want to hear what he’s thinking. He had to have some sense that this was what Evie was going to do. He talked to her all the time.
Sera turns away from him, dragging both hands through her hair. “She made promises,” she says. “To everyone. To get what she wanted. That’s what this is.” She gestures again, smaller this time, like she’s running out of space for it. “This is her getting exactly what she wanted.”
Ric presses his lips together and nods. “Which is why we don’t react right now,” he says. “We keep things steady. We don’t give anyone a reason to step in or try to force a change before we understand what we’re dealing with.”
Sera turns back to him. “Steady,” she repeats. “You keep saying that as if it means something.”
“It does mean something,” Ric counters. “It means the vineyard doesn’t fall apart because we’re fighting about this.”
She looks over at me for a moment. “We’re not the ones who set this up to fall apart.”
“I’ll stay through the end of the season,” I announce, and I hold Ric’s gaze as I continue. “Through harvest and bottling. We finish what we started. But after that, I want to make my own choices.”
Sera looks over at me immediately, her eyes wide, but Ric’s shoulders drop a fraction, as if something has fallen into place for him.
“I’m not changing anything,” he says again, his gaze moving between us.
His eyes linger on me a beat now that I’ve spoken, as if he’s decided I’m the one he can still reach.
“Not the structure, not the way we operate, not the way decisions are made. It’s all you, as it has been for the last seven years.
Only now you don’t have to work around Evie.
We keep everything exactly as it is.” He shifts forward. “I need you both to trust me on that.”
Sera folds her arms across her chest, hands tucked in tight against her sides, and I stay where I am, considering.
“I’m not asking you to accept what happened today,” he continues. “I’m asking you to give me time to manage it. To make sure nothing gets disrupted while we figure out what comes next.”
“That’s not how this works for me,” I tell him. “I’ll finish the season. I’ll see the harvest through, and I’ll stay for bottling. After that, I’m done.”
“Josie,” he starts, but I don’t let him continue.
“I’m not building something for someone else. That’s not what I’ve been doing, and it’s not what I’m going to start doing now.”
Ric’s mouth tightens. “That’s not what this is,” he says. “You know that’s not what this is.”
“It is,” I counter. “Whether or not you intend it doesn’t change the outcome.”
“I’m going to try to keep everything intact,” he says. “For all of us.”
I nod once, acknowledging the effort without conceding anything. “Then you need to start planning for the next season,” I say, moving the conversation forward before it circles back into justification. “Now. Not later.”
His brow furrows, confusion cutting through the tension for a second. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you need to start looking for a replacement vintner,” I answer. “Someone who can step in before the next growing cycle starts. Not after.”
Sera exhales beside me. “And a CEO,” she adds, her voice steadier than it’s been since we walked in. “You’re going to need someone to run the business side of this.”
Ric looks at her, and then back at me. “We don’t need to start replacing people before anything’s even changed.”
I shake my head. “It already has. This isn’t about reacting. It’s about not falling behind.”
“We have options,” Sera says. Her gaze flicks between us. “Dad will take us in. We can go up to his vineyard. It’s small, but it’s something. He’ll for sure be a better boss than Evie.”
“There isn’t enough work for both of us there,” I tell her gently. “Not at the level we’re working now.”
Her jaw tightens, and she nods. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll find something else,” I say. “Dad is a strong vintner but terrible with operations. He needs you. He doesn’t need me.”
Ric watches the exchange, shaking his head. “We don’t need to talk about leaving. Not when nothing has actually changed operationally.”
I look at him. “It has. You just don’t feel it yet.”
Ric steps forward and lifts his hands like he’s trying to gather the conversation back into something he can control. “Just give me some time,” he says. “I know this isn’t what any of us expected, but I can fix it. I’ll make it right.”
I look at Sera, and she’s as defiant as I am.
“I need you to be patient,” he adds. “Don’t make any decisions right now. Let me figure this out.”
I nod once, not in agreement, but in acknowledgment. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him. The words aren’t a resolution. They’re an exit.
“Josie,” Ric says, his voice following me across the room, but he doesn’t push past that. He doesn’t stop me.
I pull the door open, the cooler air outside hitting my face as I step onto the porch. The door closes behind me with a soft click that cuts off whatever might have come next.
I walk across the yard to my house. I don’t even own my home. I step up on my porch, let myself in, and look around at the house that once made me so happy.
I don’t turn on more than the light over the kitchen sink, letting the rest of the house stay in shadow as I cross the room and drop my keys on the counter. I don’t think about what to make or whether I’m hungry. I just open the freezer and pull out the cheesecake I tucked in there weeks ago.
I peel back the lid and set it aside. I pop the dessert into the microwave and set it to defrost for three minutes. I stare as the plate inside rotates in a circle. When it beeps, I grab a fork from the drawer and cut into the edge.
I take the first bite standing there, not moving from the counter.
My phone sits where I left it earlier, evidence of how frazzled I was when I stopped off here between the lawyer’s office and Sera’s.
I pick it up, and the screen lights as I turn it over, a missed call notification sitting at the top with a number I don’t recognize.
I stare at it for a second, and then swipe to open it, my thumb hovering before I tap into the voicemail.
The message begins with a brief pause before a man’s voice comes through, professional and measured.
“Hello, Ms. Dempsey. My name is Frederick Reynolds. I represent a vineyard in Napa Valley. We were given your name by the sommelier at The French Laundry, and we’d love the opportunity to speak with you regarding an opportunity.
Please give me a call when it’s convenient. ”