Chapter 14
In the few hours since they had left Sabine and Isabelle behind, Natalie had mentally gone over everything that had happened in the last two days at least a dozen times.
It had been a whirlwind of immediate cooperation as they suddenly found themselves on the same side.
Although Isabelle continued to make remarks about Americans, she usually followed them up with a shrug and a wink.
There had been several multi-hour phone calls between Sabine, Natalie, and Sarah back in the States to negotiate the terms and paperwork for the new purchase of rootstock.
It wasn’t nearly enough to replant Section Nine, but that was where Ian said he had a plan.
Glancing at him sideways, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had repressed the events of the stormy night because he was certainly acting like nothing had occurred. To be fair, she was doing the same, but what other choice did she have?
A sign she recognized flew by, and a wave of sadness washed over her. They were approaching Marianne’s vineyard, where their car had broken down, and their first two weeks in France had been filled with a strangely bucolic bliss.
“So…” Ian said. “I think you’re right; I think the vines that survived the red blight before they were taken to California probably did bring a vulnerability with them. What doesn’t kill us doesn’t always make us stronger.”
“Okay, well, I’m glad you don’t think I’m an idiot.” She aimed for a joke, but it landed awkwardly.
“Of course I don’t,” he said, looking at her strangely. “Anyway, I think the best option is a lab hybridization where we can combine them intentionally with different strains that are hardier.”
“Yeah? Like what? How are we going to manage the flavor profile?”
“Well, I have a few thoughts on that…”
A large red barn with old-fashioned sign writing on the side flew past, and she knew they were getting closer to the village where she had been so unexpectedly happy—the village she was unlikely to see again.
After all, when would she come back? If she ever did return to France, it would be to Sabine and Isabelle’s vineyard.
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she hastened to wipe them away before Ian saw.
The blinker flashed, and she looked at Ian as they slowed to take the exit. “Why are we stopping?”
“I have something I want to run by you.” He came to a stop at the edge of the road at a junction.
The sign in front of them indicated that a right turn would lead them to Paris while a left turn would take them into the village.
“This area is much closer to Lucia’s climate profile than any other place in the country.
I know that the varietals you have planted are quite hardy and would likely strengthen the rootstock we just got, but how do you think they would perform when combined with Marianne’s lineage? ”
“Marianne’s?” she asked, surprised. “Have you spoken to her?”
He shook his head. “No. I wanted to run it by you first. There are a lot of benefits, but also…this way, we could take a bit of our village home with us, and you would keep it alive forever in the Fitzgerald Hills legacy. I think it would be pretty fitting for you to bring a part of something new home with you.”
If she’d thought her pulse had quickened when he pulled over, it was nothing compared to what happened as he said, “Our village.”
It doesn’t mean anything, Natalie silently reminded herself. Focus.
She stared intensely at the sign, mentally comparing the flavor profiles of the wines they had enjoyed at both places they had stayed. It could very well work.
“Okay, let’s try,” she said finally.
“I also spoke to Sarah,” he said. “She told me that the best she can do for flights is on the twenty-fifth.”
“The twenty-fifth? That’s nearly two weeks away!”
He nodded. “Sure is. Thirteen days, in fact. Now, you didn’t get to see much of Paris. Would you like to? Or would you like to stay here?”
Trying to set aside why her grandmother wouldn’t have spoken to her about this, Natalie tried to decide. Seeing Paris would be cool…but she liked it here.
“Let’s go see Marianne,” she said, smiling.
*
Just as their first two weeks in the village had seemed to fly by, it was already the twenty-third of August before Natalie could believe it. They were heading to Paris tomorrow to return the car, stay in an airport hotel, and fly out the next morning.
It hadn’t taken them long to slip back into their old routine of running in the morning, having a light breakfast, and walking down to Marianne’s before having lunch with her.
Natalie’s appreciation of the vineyard had only grown since they reached their agreement with Marianne; she took great pride in showing them the wines she had in the cellar and walking them through every vintage she offered.
Today, though, was their last lunch together, and Natalie was genuinely concerned that she would cry.
“Come, let us sit,” Marianne said. “I have something special for us. It is called Forty Garlic Pie because there are forty cloves of garlic inside. Do not look so frightened; you do not taste like American garlic, and this is smooth and cooked for a long time, making it very tasty.”
Natalie replied in French, saying that she believed her but would still want to brush her teeth after. A round of laughter made her stumble. “Wait, what did I say?” she exclaimed, feeling herself turn red.
“You meant ‘brosser les dents’—brush my teeth,” Ian said. “But you said ‘me baiser les dents,’ which technically means to kiss your teeth. It’s a bit of a, um…double entendre.”
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “How would I have even learned that?”
“Who knows,” Marianne said, winking at her.
“Hardy har har,” she retorted, blushing and knowing full well she would have laughed as well if she’d known about it.
“Now…” Marianne said. “The important part of what I want to talk about today. I have bought something special inside. I make the secrets with your grandmother—and voila.” She produced a bottle of Fitzgerald Hills white wine, which Natalie immediately knew would pair perfectly with the chicken and garlic pie.
“You didn’t!” she exclaimed.
“I did.” Marianne replied, grinning before turning serious again. “But it is for a selfish reason.”
“You have to tell us; the suspense is killing me.” Natalie held up her hands.
“I do not want to sell you the vines for money,” she said. “I want a favor from you.”
“You can just have the favor, Mari,” Natalie said.
“No, this is a big one,” she said. “When Juliette goes to America, she go to college there, not in Paris. I want her to stay with you; it is safer, I think. She wants to go to San Francisco. This is near to you. Not all the time, but to have somewhere to call home, where she can always go to be safe.”
Ian and Natalie exchanged a glance before Ian spoke. “Mari, you know we aren’t a couple…right?”
Marianne waved her hands like she was shooing a fly. “Yes, sure, I know that. My question still is the same. Can she live with you?”
“Of course she can!” Natalie said. “Your niece is welcome any time. But I will have to insist that we also pay you properly for your vine stock. There is no way I’m cutting you short like that.”
“Ah.” Marianne flapped her hands again. “Oh, I forgot glasses. Give me a minutes.”
Natalie’s phone buzzed with a series of texts as she watched Marianne walk inside. She clicked on them—and her stomach sank. "Oh…”
"What?" Ian asked, leaning over.
"It's from Candice."
She scrolled through the messages, her expression darkening with each swipe.
From Candice: Sorry to interrupt your last day in France. Something's happening at the estate.
Attached were three photos that made Natalie's heart skip a beat.
The first showed thick plumes of smoke rising beyond the vineyard buildings.
The second was taken closer, flames visible at the edge of the frame.
The third image was a grainy distance shot of their property, more smoke billowing skyward.
From Candice: Gran says everything's under control, but I thought you should know.
"Is that...?" Ian's voice trailed off as he stared at the photos.
"Fitzgerald Hills." Natalie zoomed in on the last image, trying to determine exactly which part of the property was affected. Was it just the controlled burning of the infected vines, or something worse? The angle made it impossible to tell.
She set the phone down, but her shaking fingers lingered on the screen. Tomorrow they'd leave for Paris. The day after, they'd be on a plane home—thirteen hours suspended between two continents, unable to do anything but imagine what might be happening at Fitzgerald Hills.
Natalie lifted her gaze to meet Ian's, finding her own unease mirrored in his eyes. Neither voiced the question that hung between them: What exactly would be left when they finally made it home?