Chapter 20
Allegra
R eaction sets in immediately. By the time I get to my car, my hands are shaking so hard, I almost can’t drive. Even just opening the door, fastening my seatbelt, and putting the car in gear is problematic. All of which is just sooo ironic. The contrast between last night, when Clay was so worried about whether I was safe to drive. And now, when I’m actually having difficulty—drifting out of my lane from time to time, nearly missing stop signs that have been in place my entire life, braking too late when lights unexpectedly turn red, and then failing to notice when they finally turn green again. And there’s no one to notice or care at all.
Well, that’s not completely true, is it? I’m sure Jimmy’s a little worried about me right now. And probably more than a little disappointed. I could read it in the set of his mouth, hear it in the way he cleared his voice—repeatedly—as he unnecessarily tapped the papers I’d signed into order…
“So that’s that?” I asked, clutching the arms of the chair so hard that my nails dug into the leather, leaving little crescent shaped marks that I could only hope would go unnoticed. I don’t know why I’d even asked the question. I already knew the answer, didn’t I? I’d walked in here today fully prepared to sign my life away, if need be; and I’d done it.I was just having a little trouble accepting it.
I shifted restlessly in my seat, anxious to leave, wondering, why am I here? It was done. It was over. There was no going back.
Oblivious to my rising panic, Jimmy spent the next few moments squaring the papers until they lined up perfectly with each other. And then arranging them on his desktop so that they were perpendicular to the edge—all prior to sliding them into an envelope, which probably undid all that work in an instant. And through it all, I sat there and watched, still in that same state of disbelieving panic.
To be honest, I felt kind of bad for him. For having put him in this position, forcing him to do something he so clearly did not want to do.
Same, bro; same, I thought to myself.
I could tell he felt like he was letting my grandmother down. I could see it. I could feel it. I recognized it instinctively. Because that’s how I was feeling, too.
Finally, after another long moment, he raised his eyes and fixed his gaze on me. “Yes,” he said in answer to my question. “That, as they say, is that.” But then he leaned forward and folded his hands on top of the envelope, and added, “I think we both know that this is not what your grandmother would have wanted, not in the slightest. All the same, I do think she’d have been proud of you right now. For having the courage to prioritize your family’s well-being above your own.”
“Th-thank you,” I said as my throat closed up and tears began to obscure my vision. “I hope you’re right.”
“I hope so, too.”
Anyway, I do make it home, eventually. Still in one piece and without killing anyone in the process. Yay me. But even as I park my car, I feel myself moving into a new stage of grief—anger.
That anger’s at full steam as I grab my purse and Jimmy’s envelope off the front passenger seat, swing myself out of the car and slam the door shut. I stride toward the house, under the startled gazes of my sisters and Jake who are gathered in a worried-looking knot on the front porch.
“Is he here?” I demand when I get close enough to be heard without raising my voice. “Have you seen him?”
“Legs…where have you been?” Rosa asks. “You can’t keep disappearing like this. We need to be able to get in touch with you.”
“Why?” I ask as I cross the porch. I plop myself down on the porch swing, toss my purse and the envelope on the bench seat beside me and regard my family’s faces. “What did I miss? Has something happened?”
“No. Nothing. But that’s not the point.”
“Okay, well…” I struggle to find the right words, finally settling on, “I had some business to attend to. Now that’s done, so I’m looking for Nico. He’s not here, is he?”
“No,” Bee answers. “We thought he was with you. That’s why we were worried.”
I frown. “Well, I don’t know why you’d think that.” Then, pointing at the open bottle chilling in the ice bucket I ask, “What’re we drinking.”
“Goldfinch,” Jake replies, naming an award-winning Take Flight Chardonnay blend from a few years back. And I don’t think I’m imagining the faint hint of sorrow in his voice. “Would you like a glass?”
“Please.”
“The reason we were concerned,” Jake says when he brings me my wine. “Is because you weren’t answering your phone and apparently, your— I mean, Nico—has checked out of his hotel. So…”
“Mm,” I reply, not really listening. “I know. I already checked there.” The wine is lovely. Pale gold in color, very bright nose. Lemon zest, dried apricot, bitter almond, wet stone. If this were my family’s wine, and I knew there’d be no more of it, I’d be inclined to hoard every last bottle. But you can’t really do that with Chardonnay, which (like so many things in life) doesn’t age well, and is best served within a few years of bottling.
And it occurs to me that Jake and I are in similar boats, right now. That, down the road, he might be a good mentor for me, someone to show me the ropes. But then his words finally register. “Wait. How did you know that Nico had checked out?”
“Well, when we couldn’t reach you…”
“Of course, we checked!” Rosa glares at me.
“Why? What did you think we were going to do?” I glance around, meeting blank faces. “Run off to Reno to get re-hitched? Really?”
“No. Not that.” She shakes her head. “We didn’t know what to think. Except that…that maybe he had hurt you?”
A snarky, ‘sorry to disappoint,’ is already lined up on my tongue, when the hint of a tremor in my sister’s voice cuts through my own self-pity. “Oh. No. Sorry, Rosy-posey, I’m fine. I promise. I’m just frustrated that no one seems to know where he’s gone. I’ve been looking forward to finally kicking his gold-digging butt out of here.”
“Can you do that?” Bee asks, eyes widening with interest.
I nod and drain my glass as my anger deserts me, sliding back into panicked denial. Oh, I can, dear sister. I so can. But at what cost? I hold out my glass. “This is delicious. Can I get a refill pleases? Or are you saving it?”
Jake shrugs. “No. Not much point in that, is there?” This time he fills my glass almost to the brim. “Enjoy.”
I take a small sip and try again. “So. I just came from seeing Jimmy. Davenport.”
“Oh, did he find something?” Rosa asks eagerly. “Is there a plan? When I talked to him yesterday, he didn’t sound optimistic at all.”
“A plan?” I shake my head and snort derisively. “We don’t need no stinking plan.”
“Legs!”
“C’mon, now,” Jake says frowning. “That’s not nice.”
“Sorry,” I say, flashing a conciliatory smile. Or something that’s supposed to be a smile. Another L. “What I mean is, we came up with a solution. That’s better than a plan—right?”
“What kind of solution?”
My lips twist, an involuntary reaction that I try to hide by gulping more wine. “We don’t really have to talk about this now, do we?”
“I think we should,” Rosa says. “Don’t you?”
“No. I think we should all have some wine and enjoy this lovely day. Look around you; look where we are! Could life get any better?” I drain my glass, glance up at Jake and say, “Mm. What else d’we got? I don’t want to be drinking up all your memories, Jake. They’re too precious. You should cherish them.”
Jake’s eyes widen. “Well…there’s always the Carleo,” he suggests.
“Perfect!” I tell him. “Bring it on.”
Jake exchanges a worried glance with Rosa, then turns and goes into the house. As the screen door slams behind him, my sisters converge on me.
“You know, alcohol is a solution,” Bee says as she joins me on the swing. “So, is your solution to just keep drinking until you pass out?”
I’m surprised into laughing. “Yeah, maybe. That’s an idea, isn’t it?”
“Legs.” Rosa has dragged one of the wicker chairs over, so that she’s seated on my left, catty-corner to me, on the opposite side from Bee. “Talk to me. What’s going on?” And she reaches for my hands and holds them captive, giving serious mother hen.
Once upon a time, back when we were kids, we experienced one of those rare to seriously-kids-this-never-happens-here summer thunderstorms. Some people find that sort of thing exciting. It scared the living shit out of me. Rosa found me in my room, cowering under the bed and coaxed me out. We passed the time until the storm blew itself out, seated cross-legged on the braided rug, facing each other, holding hands just like this, while Rosa told silly stories to distract me.
I’m not sure where Bee was at the time, but given her love of science, she was probably busy somewhere setting up gadgets to measure rainfall and windspeed, and calculating how far away the storm was by counting the seconds between each flash and boom.
I loved my big sisters, and I admired their bravery. So, so much. But sometimes, they were impossible to live up to. I’m not sure that’s ever changed.
“Nothing’s going on,” I tell Rosa now, pasting a brittle smile on my face, slipping one hand free of her grasp to accept my new glass of wine when Jake hands it to me. “We had a problem, now it’s fixed.”
“But…”
“But nothing.” I give the hand I’m still holding a squeeze. “Listen to me. I was the one who made the mistake, so it was my responsibility to solve it. And I did. But I don’t particularly want to talk about it right now. Capisce ?”
I take a sip of wine. It tastes heavy and overly jammy after the bright, crisp taste of Goldfinch. And maybe that’s all that’s wrong with it. It’s basic and old fashioned, and stuck in the past, and our palates have outgrown it. Losing interest, I set my glass down. “You know, it’s pretty depressing when you realize that this stuff was made with Caparelli grapes.” I turn to Bee and say, “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do with them.”
But my sister isn’t listening. Eyes wide, mouth agape, she’s leafing frantically through a sheaf of papers and murmuring, “No, no, no, no, no.”
“Where’d you get those?” I wonder, then it hits me. The envelope I brought back from Jimmy’s office. “Hey! Those are mine. Give that back!”
“Rosa! You need to see this,” Bee says, holding the papers aloft with her far hand, using her left to block my attempts to snatch them back.
“Stop that,” I growl. “Give ’em back!” I leap to my feet just as Jake leans forward, both of us reaching for the papers in Bee’s hand, and my face collides with the wine bottle dangling from his fingers.
“Ow!” I collapse back onto the swing, clutching my face while Jake hands the papers off to Rosa, and then runs for some ice.
“Oh, Legs,” Bee groans. “What have you done?”
And then Rosa, gasps, “Allegra—no! You didn’t?”
“Ow!” I say again, ignoring them both. “Ow, ow, ow.” And then, when Jake hands me some ice wrapped in a tea-towel, I scowl and mutter, “Thanks, traitor.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, then he goes to read over Rosa’s shoulder. And a moment later, I hear him mutter, “Well, fuck.”
Which sums it up nicely, I think.
“We will fix this,” Rosa insists, just a few moments later, having shifted from Mother Hen to Mama Bear in an impressively short amount of time. “I don’t know how yet, or how long it might take us, but…”
“That’s right.” Bee nods in agreement. “We will.”
“Guys,” I sigh and shake my head. “Just stop, okay? You can’t.”
“You have my sword,” Jake says teasingly. “For what it’s worth.” Then he nods towards Rosa and adds, “And her bow.”
“Oh, I know this one,” Bee says excitedly. “And my axe. Right?”
“Look,” I say, ignoring the absurd LOTR by-play. “It’s not like this was my first choice. I tried to find another way. And Jimmy tried. But in the end, we both agreed that this was the only way we could ensure that Caparelli stayed in the family. Which is what Nonna would have wanted.”
“What Nonna wanted was for the three of us to run it,” Bee corrects. “All of us. Together.”
“Well, two out of three…that’s not so bad, is it?”
“This isn’t funny, Legs.”
Don’t I know it.
“Go and talk to Jimmy if you don’t believe me, if you still think there was something else we could have done. But, as he explained it, it’s actually pretty simple. The will had been read. The bequest had been made. So, at that point, me signing the papers was mostly a formality. But it was an important one. I’d been holding up the final disposition of the estate, which meant everything was still in limbo. Geno could potentially have swooped in and tried to be reinstated. And Nico could have claimed....anything. He could have said I was attempting to hide my assets. Or that I was committing fraud—and that you were both conspiring with me to do so.
“If he found a judge willing to believe him, he could potentially have ended up with much more than the half of my share—that he was already not entitled to—that he was asking for. He could have taken part of your shares, too. There was no way I could let that happen.”
“But you love Caparelli,” Rosa protests. “As much as any of us.”
I nod in response. “Yeah. I do. But I love you guys more.”
As Rosa crowds beside me on the swing and I’m engulfed in yet another three-way hug, I send up a quick prayer—that the bolts and the chains supporting this swing don’t fail.
Sometimes heroes have to walk through fire to protect those they care about ; that’s something I’ve heard Clay say. And, given his history, I’m not sure if he means that metaphorically, or not. I’m not feeling particularly heroic at the moment. But I’m definitely feeling singed. So, maybe that’s the first step?
Over the murmur of my sisters whispered promises, “We love you, too.” And “We will fix this,” I hear the crunch of car tires on gravel.
“Heads up,” Jake remarks. “We’ve got company.”
Nico? I think hopefully as my sisters and I untangle ourselves. I’m so ready to get this over with. But Rosa, turning in her seat to look at the drive, positively growls, “Oh, hell, no. Not this again!” Which is how I know my first guess is wrong.
Then she’s off the swing and charging across the porch. “Deputy Romero,” she chuffs in warning. “This is really not a good time.”
“Sorry, about that, Ma’am,” Clay replies. And is it fair that my heart still leaps at the sound of his voice—even now? It so fucking isn’t. “But I’m going to need to speak to your sister for a moment.”
“Which sister?” Rosa asks, while Jake come up beside her, silently offering support; and Bee and I share a sisterly eyeroll. Which sister, indeed.
“Allegra,” he says, with a nod in my direction.
“Why?” Rosa asks crisply. “What’s this about?”
“That’s a very good question,” I mutter. But then it hits me. And I’m jumping off the swing, once again—this time without braining myself, thankfully. I lean over the porch railing and glare at Clay. “This better not be about my driving again,” I say, as my eyes drink in every detail of his appearance. He’s in full uniform, standing tall and straight, but overall, he looks like shit. His eyes are heavy, his face looks drawn. Serves you right , I think. “And you’d better have proof of whatever it is you’re accusing me of, Deputy. Pictures, or it didn’t happen. If all you’ve got is hearsay, my lawyer will see you in court.”
As I’ve been speaking, Clay’s face has been slowly turning an unhealthy shade of red. Now he demands, “Who did that to you? Was it Carvalho?”
“What, this?” I touch my face gingerly, wincing a little at the bruising. “Oh. No, that was Jake.”
Then Clay glares at Jake, Jake glares at me and, almost too late, I realize my mistake. Oops.
“I’m joking,” I assure Clay hurriedly. “It was an accident. But that’s the only accident I’ve been involved in today. So, again, if that’s what you’re here about, you’re wasting your time.”
“Hold up,” Clay replies, lifting a hand in warning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I don’t want to. So, stop right there, before you say anything incriminatory. That’s not why I’m here. It’s about your ex.”
“My…what?” I snarl, all at once seeing red because; this again? “Are you talking about Nico?”
“Unless you have another one?”
Oh no, he did not . I scoop up the papers from the chair where Rosa left them. Then I storm across the porch.
“Allegra.” Rosa stops me at the top of the stairs. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Never better,” I lie as I stomp down the stairs and across the lawn. “Here.” I slap the papers into Clay’s chest. “You can give those to Mr. Carvalho the next time you see him and tell him I hope he roasts in hell.”
“I’m sure he is,” Clay mutters, looking at the papers in confusion. “What’s this?”
“You tell me” I take a step back and cross my arms. “I assume you can read.”
He quickly scans through the pages, his scowl deepening with every paragraph. When he’s finished, he stares at me, his eyes wide with dismay. “You gave up your winery?”
Ouch. Fuck. I inhale sharply as the blow lands—probably harder than intended. I have to will myself not to cry. “So no, then; apparently you can’t read.”
“What do you mean? I just?—”
“No,” I repeat, stepping forward once more. Bending the papers back, I search upside down for the pertinent section, stabbing my finger at the page when I find it. “Look. D’you see what it says here?” I ask, then read it aloud, “‘Has not and will not accept the bequest.’ So, no. Clearly, I did not ‘give up’ my winery; ‘my winery’ was only ever a concept. It didn’t actually exist. I mean…” I flap a hand to indicate our immediate surroundings. “Obviously, this winery exists, but my interest in it was only ever a potentiality, which now is null and void.”
“Shit,” Clay mutters, looking slightly green. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Problem?” I inquire.
“Well, no. But here,” he hands me back the papers. “Since I’m no longer in a position to get them to Carvalho, you might as well hold onto them. I suppose you might need them at some point.”
“You suppose? Of course, I’ll need them! Also, why can’t you get them to him? I understand he’s no longer at his hotel, but I assume the sheriff’s department has resources. Can’t you find people? Isn’t that what you do?”
“Not when they’re no longer in our jurisdiction, and Mr. Carvalho was apprehended by ICE earlier today. To the best of my knowledge, he is currently being detained and awaiting deportation back to Portugal. If he’s lucky.”
“He-he what? How? Why?”
“His visa was revoked, effective immediately, due to the fact that he’d misrepresented the purpose of his visit. The agency may also have received information suggesting that, during his stay here, he was attempting to defraud US citizens—that’d be you and your sisters, by the way; in case that was unclear.”
“But…”
“So, he’s also been placed on the ‘inadmissible aliens’ list, which means he won’t be allowed back into the country. Probably ever.”
“Oh. I see.” I take in the grim cast of his mouth, the bleakness in his gaze, the veiled hints about reports being filed. And I take a not-so-giant leap. “So, did you…?”
“What? Make a deal with the devil? You could say that. I took what I knew to my bosses. I explained what’s been happening, what I knew about your case, my involvement with you, etc.”
“But…didn’t that get you in trouble?”
His lips twist into a bitter smile. “What do you think? Of course, it did. I’m getting written up for it. But…consequences, right? I’m not immune, either.”
“Clay…”
“No, I’m not looking for sympathy. It could have been worse. And I was tired of all the sneaking around anyway. I’m not built for the shadows as much as I thought.”
I stare at him helplessly. “This is a lot to unpack.” My glance falls on the papers in my hands, and I feel my insides revolt. Too much wine on an empty stomach, I suppose.
“Tell me about it.”
“Yeah, but…Jesus, Clay. I didn’t ask you to blow up your life like that. I had things handled.”
“Turn it around: you didn’t have to do what you did, either. You could have left it to me. Should have, in fact. It’s my job to protect the members of this community.”
“Great. All that efforting, and what did we accomplish? Absolutely nothing.”
And I groan so loudly that Rosa calls from the porch. “What’s going on, Legs? Is everything okay? D’you need us to call Mr. Davenport?”
I paste on a smile as I turn and wave in her direction. “Nope. No. All good, thank you. Nothing to worry about.”
“Liar,” Clay chuckles. Then his face grows serious. “Look, I wouldn’t say it’s all been for nothing. I’ve done a lot of thinking. Figured out some things that I might not have otherwise.”
“Like what?”
His gaze flicks to my sisters and Jake—who are all three gathered at the top of the stairs now, regarding us with varying degrees of suspicion and concern. “Maybe we can do this in private?”
I’m about to say yes—because, last night aside, I’m generally inclined to say yes to him on everything. But I’m tired of hiding in the shadows, as well. I shake my head. “Nah, let’s stay where we are. I think I need my family around me right now.”
Clay’s eyes widen. “Oh. It’s like that, is it? You’re saying you want to do this ‘in front of God and everyone’?”
His question catches me off-guard. Because no, I hadn’t really planned on turning this into a battle of dueling Moonstruck quotes. But if that’s what he wants, game on. “Well, you’re the one who wanted to stop hiding. Here’s your chance.”
Clay takes a deep breath, in and out. “Okay, here goes. I love you, Allegra Martinelli. Which…I’m guessing you already knew that?”
“I had an inkling.” My lips are twitching, my smile trying its damnedest to break free. “Or at least I thought I did, up until last night.”
Clay winces. “Yeah, I know. That was my baggage, and I projected it onto you. And I am so fucking sorry.”
“That was some pretty heavy baggage,” I say softly.
Clay nods. “I know. That’s why it’s especially unfair that I unloaded on you.”
“I don’t mind sharing burdens, Clay, as long as I know that that’s what’s going on. I just don’t like being blindsided.”
“I remember.”
Meanwhile, up on the porch, I can hear my sisters whispering. First Bee, “I don’t understand. Did I miss something? What’s going on?”
Then Rosa’s bemused response, “I have. No. Freaking. Clue.”
“So, was there anything else you wanted to tell me?” I ask Clay.
And he nods. And then, still speaking to me alone, ignoring the chorus, he says, “You know, living here in Napa, even people like me get to hearing a lot about wine. And, God knows, you talk about it all the time. And drink enough of it. So, I’m sure you’re familiar with that one quote they’re always dragging out; something about ‘wine is sunlight held together by water’?
“Maybe? I might have heard of it,” I tease. Because seriously, who hasn’t?
“Yeah well, I never knew what that meant until the night I saw you dancing in the water, with a bottle of wine in your hand. I thought you fucking outshone the sun.”
“Well, it was dark,” I feel compelled to point out. “So, that bar was set pretty low.”
“And then there’s that other one—and I know you know this one. It’s the one from the sign, when you first drive in? About wine being bottled poetry? That one reminds me of you, as well. Only, with you it’s all song lyrics and movie quotes, rather than poetry, which—same, same—according to Miles.”
I blink in confusion. “I’m not sure how these metaphors are supposed to work, but wouldn’t that make me the bottle, rather than the wine?”
“Not the point. Thing is, you’re a lot like this place. You feel like home to me. You’re all the things I love about Napa, along with a few that I hate. But I don’t think I’d want it any other way.”
What? My mouth falls open. “I’m sorry. There are things you hate about me?”
“Well, you are part of the one percent, aren’t you?” Then he glances at the papers in my hand and shrugs. “Okay, maybe not anymore. But no, that’s not what I’m trying to say, either. I wouldn’t want you to be any other way, or anything other than what you are.”
“Oh…”
“Because for one, you’re perfect. Or perfectly imperfect—you know what I mean. But also, I’ve realized that it’s not about the ways that we’re alike, or how we’re different. We’re all like pieces of a puzzle. We’re not supposed to be the same. No one cares what the individual pieces look like, or how they’re shaped, right? What matters is whether or not they fit together.”
“So, are you saying that you think you and I fit?”
“Yeah, don’t you?”
I smile at him. “Of course, I do. But you mentioned Miles, a minute ago. And I still don’t understand what he’s got to do with anything?”
“Nothing, really. Other than he’s so fucking in love with his wife that he can’t stop talking about her. Dude drags her name into practically every conversation. It’s annoying as fuck. At least, I used to think it was. But now, I’m not so sure.”
“Really?”
“These last couple of days have mostly sucked. You and I were fighting. I came way too close to ending my career. And I bent my own code of ethics so far off plumb for you, that it all but flatlined. But at least this.” He gestures at the space between us, “is out in the open now. So, I’m happy about that. I mean, assuming there still is an us?”
We’d been drifting closer together as we spoke, as though drawn together by some gravitational force that neither of us could resist. Or like a giant, invisible hand was quietly nudging two very reluctant puzzle pieces into place. Now I take a step closer, all on my own. I slide my arms over his shoulders and smile at him, teary eyed. “I think that’s a safe assumption, Clay Romero—Romeo. Because I love you, too.”
Then Bee squeals in excitement. “ What did she say?”
And Rosa gasps. “Legs…you love him?”
And a deep chuckle vibrates in Clay’s chest. “Jesus Christ. This family.” He looks at me, and I at him. “Well, go on,” he urges. “You might as well. You know you want to.”
And then neither of us can keep from grinning as I shout back, “Yes Ma. I love him awful.” And in a softer voice, I add, “I really do, you know. Even if your version of an apology is about as cheesy as a 90s Romcom.”
“But you love those cheesy Romcoms,” he reminds me. And he’s not wrong.
Somewhere in the background, I hear Rosa murmur confusedly, “Did she just call me Ma?”
And an equally confused Bee murmurs back, “I…think so?”
And an even more confused sounding Jake inquires, “Jesus. Just how hard did she hit her head, anyway?”
Clay shakes his head in amusement. Raising his voice, he calls out, “You can all relax. She’s quoting old movies. She’s fine.”
And I smile and say, “You know me so well.”
He nods. He tightens his hold on me, gathers me close, and murmurs, “That I do; but not as well as I’m going to.” And then his lips meet mine and…
Okay, look. I know I said it before but, whew. This man can kiss!