Chapter Nineteen Remi
Chapter Nineteen
Remi
Remi stood in the center of the space, at the heart of Joie.
The winery wasn’t just about wine. It was about rebuilding, repurposing, reclaiming something of her own.
Over the past few weeks, her mornings had begun before dawn, coordinating with contractors, purchasing new equipment—a fermentation tank, crushers, filtration equipment, and even bottling equipment.
Afternoons were blurred with design meetings and endless paperwork.
And it was time she considered hiring some experienced staff.
This evening, though, as Remi balanced herself atop a wine barrel where the tasting room would soon take shape, sifting through a stack of invoices, Paloma appeared with two glasses and a chilled bottle of rosé.
“Ignore all that for an hour,” she said. “We’re drinking this one because we made it. Remember that barrel I told you we didn’t think had aged well? Turns out, it aged perfectly.”
Remi accepted the glass, and Paloma poured wine into it. She gave it a gentle swirl and inhaled. “Mmm. Smells nice.” She took a sip and closed her eyes. It was tart, crisp, and laced with sunshine.
“Good, huh?”
“So good.”
Paloma hopped up onto the neighboring barrel, settling beside her. The two women shared laughter and the bottle. Amid all the hustle, they hadn’t made time for the talk that needed to be had between mothers.
Paloma had survived the death of a husband, for much longer than Remi had.
Her husband, Pedro, had passed on when Bas was three.
She had raised her son on her own. She was a single mother, who worked hard and who had insisted her son grow into a man of integrity. And he had. Her values ran deep in him.
“I assume Bas talked to you about …” Remi began.
“He did,” Paloma said softly, exhaling. “I’m so sorry they had to go through that, experiencing grown-up things neither of them was prepared for.”
“I wish I had known. I could’ve at least been there.”
“Same.”
“I didn’t even know they were involved like that. I thought they were just friends—summer friends.”
“Mi amiga,” Paloma chuckled gently. “You missed all the signs. I suspected it a couple of summers ago. I saw the way he looked at her—with real love, real care. He was infatuated even then.”
“Really?”
“Yes. She breathes life into him,” Paloma said. “He doesn’t look at Sage that way.”
“She seemed to come out of nowhere. And Zoe wasn’t exactly thrilled. Not at first.”
“I don’t think Sage is anything serious. More of a pastime than anything else. I guess that’s why she left a couple of days ago.”
“Oh, she did?”
“She didn’t fit. Cut from a different cloth, that one.”
The women laughed.
Remi swirled the last of the rosé in her glass, watching the pale pink liquid catch the fading light. “It scares me a little,” she admitted. “Zoe and Bas. Everything between them—it wasn’t just teenage love. It was real. And real things leave marks.”
Paloma nodded. “They carry each other, though. Even now.”
“She was never quite the same after she lost the baby,” Remi said. “I knew something was happening because she was quiet in a way that made me nervous.”
Paloma leaned back on her hands, sighing.
“I knew Bas was heartbroken about something, too. Something deep and serious. I remember walking into his room when he was home for Thanksgiving and finding him staring at the ceiling, not even pretending to study. And Bas is always doing something. That stillness—I know now that it was grief.”
“I never knew,” Remi whispered.
“They tried to do the right thing,” Paloma said. “They were young, but so sure of each other. And when things got too hard, they didn’t ask for help. Those kids just tried to handle it on their own.”
“We did the same thing as kids.” Remi’s voice turned gentle. “Do you think they still love each other?”
Paloma didn’t answer right away. She gazed outside at the vineyard, where the rows of vines stretched like a quilt across the earth. “Love like that? It doesn’t disappear. It might quiet down, change shape, but it doesn’t vanish. I think they’re both still trying to figure out how to carry it.”
Remi nodded slowly, her chest heavy with the weight of what happened between her and Bianca. “Maybe this place,” she said, gesturing around them, “can be healing for all of us.”
Paloma reached out for Remi’s hand. She took it—held tightly. “Then let’s make it a place where healing can happen.”
They sat in silence—sipped rosé, the evening wrapping around them. Somewhere beyond the fields, the sun shone brightly, and then a breeze swept gently through the open window and brought with it a certain freshness that was full of possibility.
The scent of fried chicken hit Remi the minute she stepped through the door.
Sade’s smooth voice floated through the house, wrapping around her like an old friend.
In the kitchen she found Mila at the stove, nervously flipping chicken, jumping each time the grease popped.
Zoe was beside her, stirring something in a large bowl.
“What in the world is going on in here?” Remi froze, taking in the scene—flour all over the counters and some on the floor, and dishes stacked high in the sink.
“We’re making you dinner.” Mila made the announcement cheerfully.
Zoe looked up from whatever she was mixing. “We wanted to surprise you, Mom. You deserve it.”
“Yeah,” Mila chimed in. “So just go in there and relax, put your feet up. We got you.”
“That’s very sweet of you both, but—”
“Mom,” Zoe cut in, firm but loving. “Let us take care of you, like you always take care of us.”
“Do you want to hear something else—something a little more upbeat?” Zoe nodded toward the Bluetooth speaker. “I mean, Sade can be depressing sometimes.”
“Music’s fine.” She raised an eyebrow at her daughter and said, “And Sade is not depressing. She’s … passionate.”
Zoe giggled. “If you say so.”
Remi smiled and did as she was told. She sank onto the living room couch as the fire swayed to the music from the fireplace. She slipped off her shoes and stretched out her legs. From the kitchen she could hear the clatter of utensils and the girls’ laughter in between the sizzle of frying chicken.
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking it all in—the music, the smells, the unexpected care from the girls. She smiled. When she opened her eyes Mila called from the kitchen, “Do you like garlic mashed potatoes or roasted ones?”
Remi smiled. “Either. I trust the chefs.”
Mila grinned and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Watching Mila move around in the kitchen the way Gerard used to unnerved Remi—just a little.
Her thoughts moved to an uncomfortable place, but she willed them back.
She didn’t want to ruin the girls’ surprise with thoughts of Bianca and Gerard—and their betrayal.
And she certainly did not want their betrayal to change the way she thought of Mila—the girl she’d loved since the day she was born.
The child she had watched take her first steps.
The teenager she’d talked to about her menstrual cycle because she started it while spending the weekend at her house.
She loved her, and that wouldn’t change—but she couldn’t control these thoughts that constantly clouded her brain.
A few minutes later Zoe appeared with a glass of wine. “Your favorite,” she said, offering it.
Remi took it. She was touched. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you two.”
Zoe nodded, cocked her head to the side playfully. “Just love us.”
“I do love you,” Remi said. “I’ve been really busy with the winery lately. It’s nice to relax.”
Zoe flopped onto the couch beside her, curling her legs under her. “That’s why we’re doing it. Tonight, no emails. No calls. No vineyard stuff.”
“Vineyard stuff?” Remi laughed. “Okay, okay. I surrender.”
Just then, a loud pop came from the kitchen, followed by Mila’s yelp.
“I’m okay!” she called out. “Just some aggressive grease.”
Remi and Zoe exchanged a look, then burst into laughter.
The music shifted to another Sade classic—slow, sultry, and familiar. The house was full of noise, full of mess and full of love. It was exactly what she needed.
They decided to eat in the formal dining room and pulled out the good china, which the girls appreciated, making them feel as if their meal was special.
The room was filled with lively conversation and laughter.
The girls knew that something was amiss between Remi and Bianca, but they didn’t bring it up—didn’t ask any questions—not yet.
“Mom … question,” Zoe began.
Remi froze. Here it was, she thought. The questions about Remi’s and Bianca’s fight.
“I’m listening,” said Remi.
“Say you have this friend—” Zoe said.
Remi’s heart pounded. She wasn’t ready to divulge what was going on with Bianca, or reveal truths that would change their lives forever. Matter of fact, it wasn’t her place to tell them. She wouldn’t bear that burden. Not now. Not ever.
“Say your friend went to this frat party, and someone slipped something in her drink.”
Mila gave Zoe a sideways glance. Zoe gave her a look that said it’s okay.
Remi’s eyes moved quickly between the girls, from Zoe to Mila, and then back to Zoe.
Zoe continued with her hypothetical statement. “What if she passed out, and when she came to, she was in one of the bedrooms of the house, completely naked? And she didn’t know what took place. She just grabbed her clothes and ran out of there as fast as she could.”
“Did this friend of yours go to the police?”
“No,” said Zoe. “But she went to the clinic, where she found out she was raped.”
“She should’ve filed charges.”
“What if she doesn’t know who to file charges against—doesn’t know who did this to her?”
“Has this friend talked to her parents—her mother?”
“She doesn’t have a good relationship with her mother. It’s not like you and me, Mom. I can talk to you about anything, just about. She can’t talk to her mom like that.”
At that moment, Remi knew.
She looked at Mila—straight in the face. “When did this happen?”
Mila didn’t say anything at first. She just dropped her head and stared at her plate for a moment. When she looked up tears began to flood her eyes. Her voice cracked. “Before Christmas break.”
Remi understood. The anger, the distance, the toboggan on her head—all the time.
“Remove the hat. Let me see your hair.”
Mila slowly removed the hat from her head, her face drenched in tears. A bald spot sat at the crown, jarring Remi. Remi’s heart ached. She stood, walked over, and reached out instinctively but stopped herself, afraid to make Mila feel worse.
“Oh, baby …” she whispered. “Why didn’t you tell someone?”
Mila just shook her head, shoulders curling inward as though trying to disappear.
Remi wrapped her arms around her, held her tight.
“Do you want to do something about it? Go to the police? Get a lawyer?” Remi asked. “You might want to talk to someone who can help you through the trauma of it, sweetheart. Because clearly, it’s taken a toll on you.”
“No, I want to forget it ever happened—erase it permanently from my brain,” Mila whispered. “I want my hair to stop falling out.”
“Sweetheart, your hair won’t stop falling out until you find peace, until there’s a resolution.”
“I wish I could transfer to a different school. I couldn’t wait for summer break because I don’t want to go back there.”
Remi smoothed Mila’s hair gently, her hand pausing at the rawness of the bald spot.
“Then I will advocate for you not going back.” Remi wasn’t sure how she would do that, considering she wasn’t speaking to Bianca—and wasn’t sure if she would again. “We’ll figure something out.”
Mila looked at her, eyes wide. “Promise?”
“I promise to do what I can, sweetheart.”
Fresh tears slid down Mila’s cheeks.
“We’ll deal with it,” Remi said. “There are other schools. Other paths. What matters is you. Your safety, your mind, your heart.”
Mila bit her lip. “What if I’m never okay again?”
“You will be,” Remi said softly. “Maybe not all at once. But you will in time. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
“Thanks, Aunt Remi.”
Remi held her until she stopped trembling.
Zoe mouthed the words thank you.
“I guess I should tell my mom, huh?” Mila asked softly.
“I really think you should.” Even through her anger, Remi found herself on Bianca’s side, fighting for her as a mother. “She loves you and wants so desperately to repair what’s broken between you. This would be a good start.”
Mila didn’t respond; she just dropped her head.
“Give her a chance,” Remi whispered.
Mila nodded. “Daddy’s sending for me. I’m going to New Orleans in a few days. I guess I can do it then.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Talk to your mother. Let her help you to navigate this.”
“Okay,” Mila whispered. “I love you, Aunt Remi.”
“I love you more.”
And she meant it—with everything in her.