Chapter 2
2
Sophie
T he instant my rideshare driver unloads my suitcases from the trunk of his Kia Sportage, I’m tempted to ask if he’ll please put them back and take me somewhere else. But thanks to the many hours I’ve spent processing my massive life setback with my best friend, I’m too self-aware to mistake a different destination for what I really want: a different future than the one in front of me.
Right on cue, the phone I’d slipped into the pocket of my long skirt buzzes. And I know it’s her before I even check the screen.
Dana:
You in Cali now? Did Phantom do okay on the long flights? How did the reunion go with your family? Also, I don’t know how it’s possible to miss you this much already when it’s only been twelve hours. I just got home from tech rehearsal, but I’ll be up for a bit if you want to chat. Xoxo.
It’s not every day a text brings tears to my eyes, but I suppose it’s also not every day I say good-bye to the best friend I’ve ever had and move across the country, either. I shoot back a quick reply, assuring her all is well and that I’ll text her in the morning. There’s no possible way she’s not bone-tired after a full day of tech rehearsals. It wouldn’t be fair or kind of me to ask her to wait up. I wonder how long it will take us to adjust to living in two different time zones ... not to mention two totally different worlds.
I work to silence the pang of loss reverberating in the pit of my belly. This may not be the outcome either of us wanted after my acting career took a sharp nose dive, but I’ll never forget how hard Dana fought for me to stay with her in New York. Even going so far as to take on my share of the rent to try and buy me as much time as possible on my job hunt. Ultimately, in the current economy and with living expenses what they are, not even our combined efforts were enough. Which is why I’m standing in the middle of the same brick driveway I pulled out of eight years ago on my eighteenth birthday.
The pathetic meow coming from my back—or rather, from inside the clear cat carrier strapped to my back—reminds me I’m not the only one who’s traveled across the country today.
“Okay, Phantom, I hear ya, buddy.” I banish my mental pity party and try instead to focus on the positives I’d rehearsed during our long flights here. I grip the handles of my roller bags and start for the moss-covered chateau at the front of the winery, my childhood home. Hanging lanterns illuminate the path in the dusky light, and I veer my suitcases around the large ceramic fountain where I used to sing with my Gigi while she planted poppies and marigolds under the welcome sign for Bentley Vineyards. She’d tell me to take the melody so she could harmonize with me. And at the end of every song, she’d say the same thing: “The joy in your voice is a precious gift from God, Sophie. I pray you’ll share it with the world someday.” The reminder causes my chest to ache. Memories of my grandma Greta—Gigi, as I called her—have always brought me comfort, and considering her fingerprints can be found everywhere at—
I halt to a stop and feel poor Phantom press into my spine. My eyes widen and then promptly narrow as I read and then reread the new words on the welcome sign: Wilder Wines: Same vintage taste; new modern twist.
I rotate in a complete circle, and my long eyelet skirt flares out as I look for clues to indicate my tired travel eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. Of all the glowing reports my mother has shared regarding the changes my brother has made to the winery since my father’s semi-retirement two years ago—she’d failed to mention a full rebranding of Gigi’s legacy.
Befuddled, I approach the arched wooden doors of an estate I used to call Gigi’s castle before we moved in with her when I was just six years old. My parents took on the bulk of the vineyard’s responsibilities and eventually the small winery she’d started out of necessity in the late ’60s. Before I push open the door, I begin the deconstruction process of transforming Fanciful Stage Sophie back into Family Winery Sophie. I take off my favorite dangly earrings and the secondhand vintage scarf I’ve wrapped through my hair like a headband, then step into a dimly lit grand foyer, one that looks as if it’s already been tucked into bed with no plans to awaken till morning.
“Hello?” My voice echoes through the vast foyer with the same level of uncertainty as Belle when she first entered Beast’s castle. Although Belle, at least, had magical furniture to keep her company.
“Mom? Dad?” Though my parents moved into a luxury condo only a short distance away after my brother and his wife took over the private living quarters upstairs in the east wing, I’m still hopeful they might be here to greet me. After all, I haven’t seen either of them since my brother’s wedding in Maui just over two years ago.
My footsteps reverberate in the wide empty corridor as the setting sun sweeps in from the large, west-facing windows overlooking the vineyard and tasting room. Golden light glistens on the high-gloss hardwoods of the main floor as I take an inventory of the modern tobacco-colored furniture that’s replaced Gigi’s carefully curated antiques. Everything is stone and leather, dark colors and straight lines. Cold , I think. Everything looks so cold.
A knot forms in my lower abdomen as I think of my mother having to part with Gigi’s possessions after so many years. There are few battles I ever saw her engage in as a child, especially if the opponent was my headstrong father. And maybe that’s why the loss of my grandmother hits me so hard in this moment. It was much easier to ignore the circumstances I left behind when I lived three thousand miles away.
I watch the way the shadows bend and move across the floors, remembering how Gigi used to shine them so I could practice my twirling. She always had a meticulous eye for detail, as well as a particular aspiration to keep her winery small and sustainable despite the pull of the booming industry around us. Unfortunately, after she died, my father and brother had other plans.
I spare a final glance into the parlor and then into the formal dining and living areas that, for a steep price, can be rented out to private wedding parties and special gatherings. When I see there are no lights aglow in the staff kitchen and can’t make out a single muffled voice within the residence, I realize what I probably should have known all along: There is no one waiting for me.
It’s not as if I’d been expecting some big sentimental homecoming, but I suppose there’s nothing like the silence of a six-thousand-square-foot mansion to remind you of the reasons you moved away in the first place.
I roll my luggage to a stop at the base of the stairs, figuring I’ll have to finagle them up the steps one at a time, when I see the door to my father’s old study framed in light. Of all the family members I’ll be reconnecting with during my stay here, it’s my father’s protégé who I’ve lost the largest amount of sleep over: my brother.
And it looks as if he’s the only one here.
Gingerly, I slip off each strap of my backpack and ease Phantom’s bag to the floor. I reach into one of the arm holes and scratch his fluffy black head and white ear. “Just a few more minutes. I promise.” I smooth my hand over his back and help him get comfortable again. The vet I brought him to after I’d found him on the street outside the theater estimated his age at ten. But right now the poor geezer looks as if he’s lived all nine of his lives, plus a few extra. “Believe me when I say it’s for the best to wait on making any formal introductions tonight.”
I lift my timid gaze to the staircase and straighten my rumpled blouse and flowy skirt. A dozen or so hours ago when this day began, Dana had described my travel outfit as enchanting . Now it looks as if ... well, as if I’ve been traveling for twelve hours.
As I take the stairs to the office Jasper now inhabits, the anxiety I’ve pushed down for weeks rushes in at once. Though I’ve tried to explain my apprehension to Dana numerous times, my words never come out right. On paper, my brother is the celebrated golden boy I’ve never been able to measure up to in the eyes of our parents and their affluent friends. I was often made to feel like the quirky, over-dramatic secondborn who struggled in all the areas that seemed to come naturally to my distinguished older sibling. But the thing is, even after that golden boy grew up to become a golden son, husband, and respected business mogul, he’s never shown any interest in becoming a golden brother. Jasper’s never really shown an interest in being a brother at all.
I pause at the top of the stairs, remembering one of the last conversations I’d had with my father, standing right here. He’d thundered out of his office, fisting my hard-won acceptance letter from NYU Tisch School of the Arts and demanding that I “stop this silly nonsense at once” even though it had taken me months to record and edit my audition videos and meet the requirements to apply online.
My father was not a yeller by nature, but I suppose that’s because nobody ever dared to disobey him. I certainly never had. But I was even more certain that if I forced myself into the mold he’d created for me, it wouldn’t stop there. “You will go to Stanford like your brother, and you will let this foolishness go, do you hear me? I told your mother she would regret indulging you in this drama hogwash, and I was right. But I won’t stand for it another minute. I did not raise you to become a glorified showgirl, and I certainly will not pay for it.” He tore my letter in half and flung it over the railing. For a man so opposed to dramatics, he put on quite the show when he wanted to. “Your future is here. End of story. Now go get dressed for dinner.”
It takes more courage than it should to blink the memory away and knock on a door I was rarely welcomed through growing up. But now that my father has passed the baton off to Jasper, I’ve been given little choice as he’s now the official gatekeeper to the next six months of my life.
“Come in.”
I push the door open, and immediately I feel myself shrink back into the insecure teenager I’d hoped I left behind. There are only five years between Jasper and me, but in many ways, he’s always felt like an equal to our father.
“Hello, Sophie.” There’s a smirkish smile on my brother’s face as he takes me in from behind his desk. The setting should feel familiar, given how my father occupied this same space eighty-plus hours a week when I was growing up. But unlike the renovations made to the downstairs, I can’t discern what’s been upgraded verses what’s twenty years old. My gaze makes a quick zigzag from the imported liquor that sits high on the shelf behind his desk, to the leather recliner in the corner, and then finally to the small wooden table displaying a magazine on an easel.
My brother’s sharp jawline and intimidating brown eyes steal my focus. He’s there, on the front cover of Wine Spectator Magazine . Another professional victory, another milestone of success met. Another reminder that Jasper has always belonged here.
“H-hi,” I say around the thickness in my throat. “I just got in.” The statement is so obvious I wish I could rewind the last fifteen seconds of this interaction and start over with the same level of confidence I possess on stage. Or rather, the same confidence I used to possess on stage. “I didn’t want to bother you, but I figured I should check in tonight so I don’t startle someone when I come out of my bedroom in the morning.”
I once took a class on the power of microexpression during my studies, but my brother’s blur the lines of several categories. When at last he gestures to the chair across from him, I note that the creases around his eyes appear agreeable enough. “Please, take a seat. I’d offer you something from the kitchen, but our staff has already gone home for the evening.”
“That’s alright.” I take a seat, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. “I grabbed a bite before I left the airport. I’m more tired than anything else. It’s been a long day.”
“By the sound of your email, it’s been a long few months.” His piercing eyes appraise me with the same unsympathetic gaze of our father’s. “It’s a shame things didn’t work out for you in New York.”
But New York is quite possibly the last thing I want to discuss with my brother. I grip and twist my hands in my lap. “Do you know if Mom and Dad are planning to stop by tomorrow?”
“I’m afraid they left yesterday and will be gone for close to four weeks.” He studies me. “I assured Mom you’d understand, considering my request for them to take my place on a networking cruise to the Mediterranean was rather ... recent.”
I blink, working hard to process this new information. He’d asked them to leave the same week I was coming home? “They’re networking for Bentley Vineyards?”
“No,” Jasper says with what sounds like a hint of pity in his voice. “They’re networking for Wilder Wines. Bentley Vineyards was phased out at the end of last year.”
“When was that decided?” When he quirks an eyebrow at my boldness, I rephrase. “I just mean, I thought Gigi’s trust required a vote on any matter that affects the winery’s future.”
Due to a long-standing grudge held between Gigi and my father, she’d changed the structure of her estate to prohibit him from being one of four appointed trustees near the end of her life, limiting his power and control. Those trustees are named as Mr. Adams—Gigi’s original attorney—my mother, my brother, and me. Though I forfeited my position and vote, as well as all my financial gains, the second I drove away from the winery. A fact my father recited at length when I told him that the acting hobby I loved had become the future I wanted to pursue.
My brother leans back in his expensive chair. “It does, and we did. It was a majority vote in favor of the rebranding.”
Meaning that my mother, once again, cowed to the men in her life in order to keep them happy. Nothing new there.
Before I can comment further, my eye catches on the eerie artwork to the left of the table with the displayed magazine. Framed in a raw, dark wood, the abstract painting holds randomized textures and patterns of a neutral palette. With the exception of a blood-red smattering that divides the canvas in half.
“It’s one of a kind,” Jasper acknowledges as he stands. “All of Donnella’s paintings are. It’s what makes them so valuable.” Hands clasped behind his back, he strolls over to it. “It’s subtle yet profound, each stroke a testament of the artist’s skillful eye and to the technique he’s mastered with the manipulation of light and dark from every angle.” His gaze cuts back to mine. “The English translation of the title from Italian is ‘Blood and Shadows.’”
“I didn’t know you’d taken an interest in art.”
His smile is loaded when he says, “Eight years is a long time to be away from home.” He moves toward the desk, leaning against it’s surface directly across from me. Even at the late hour, his slacks and dress shirt remain free of wrinkles. “Upon closer inspection, you’ll find we’ve evolved on nearly every front since you left, and it’s my top priority to make sure things continue on in that direction. Without any unnecessary distraction.” Jasper lets the word linger between us. “Your current financial situation is unfortunate, Sophie, but you were the one who made the choice to disengage from this family and from the industry we’ve invested in.” His stare is unblinking, and I’m one-hundred-percent sure that if he wasn’t bound to the rules of the Bentley trust, I wouldn’t even be sitting here. “So let’s both do each other a favor and not pretend like you’ve come back for any other reason than to collect your share of the biannual payout from the trust before you’re on your way again.”
Shame pricks my cheeks because I wish I could deny it. But the hard truth is I’m broke and homeless and in desperate need of a career path that won’t cause me to freeze every time the lights go out. “I’ll do my best to be a valued employee in the time I’m here. I’ve gained quite a bit of experience working in the food service industry between shows, so I’m confident I can assume almost any position here with minimal training.” Per the conditions of the trust, I must work for the family a minimum of twenty hours per week for a duration of at least six months in order to receive a single cent of the next biannual payout. It’s a substantial amount of money. Enough to pay my debts and start over somewhere new as long as I invest it well.
“Also,” I add with my best attempt at a smile despite his scowl, “I really appreciate being able to stay at the house while I’m here.” There’s no way I’d be able to pay current rent prices in the area on the minimal wages I’ll be earning until the payout hits my account next January. “My old bedroom will be plenty of space for me and—”
“Actually,” he cuts me off, “your old room was recently remodeled into a home gym. I’ll be sure to have Natalie provide you with a schedule of the various remodeling projects we have going on this summer. For now, she’s made accommodations for you in the pool house.”
My lips part and then close. “The winery has a pool?”
“It’s currently in progress.” He pushes off the edge of the desk. “I suggest you invest in a good white noise machine if you intend to sleep past six.” He takes a seat at his computer again and taps his mouse. “Starting Monday afternoon, you’ll work in the tasting room and report directly to Natalie. She’ll handle your hours and set up your direct deposit for every other Friday, as well as provide you detailed instructions on how to check out a vehicle from our fleet, given you don’t have your own means of transportation. That is, after you renew your California driver’s license.”
Despite the low dip in my stomach at the mention of a sister-in-law who’s felt as much like a stranger to me as my own brother, I’m in no position to negotiate anything. And Jasper knows it. Without his signature, confirming I’ve met all the outlined conditions, my share of the trust payout will be denied, and I’ll have absolutely nothing to show for what will likely be the toughest six months of my life.
“Thank you” is all I can say as I stand to leave.
With a final glance in my direction, he nods. “Please close the door behind you.”
On the way out, I collect my cat and bags and trail down a new path to a pool house I hadn’t known existed until a few minutes ago. The tiny cottage-like structure sits twenty feet from a giant crater in the earth wrapped in neon orange fencing. If only I could protect the hollow center in my chest in a similar fashion.
As soon as I open the door and flick on the light inside my new living quarters, I take in the functional yet soulless outbuilding. I swallow back the raw emotion lodged in my throat and try to imagine what Dana would say if she were here with me. It’s not hard. I know she’d tell me to start by adding the colors and patterns I love to these blank walls while encouraging me to make this space my own .
But Dana is three thousand miles away, and this space isn’t mine. Nothing here will ever be mine.
On a sigh, I unzip the cat backpack and reach for Phantom. Snuggling him close to my chest, I sit on the bed and fight back tears. “Welcome home.”