The Best Man

The server came and whisked away their dinner plates, setting down coffee, cream and sugar. “Did you see anything you liked on the dessert menu?” he asked, smiling at them. Because really, they were an adorable couple.

“How about the mango crème brûlée?” Clint said. “I don’t know if I’ll survive watching you eat it, but what a way to go.”

Hello! Tingling at a 6.8 on the Richter scale. “The crème brulee sounds great,” Faith said, and the waiter sped away.

Clint slid a little closer, putting his arm around Faith’s shoulders. “You look amazing in that dress,” he murmured, trailing a finger down the neckline. “What are the odds of me getting you out of it later on?” He dropped a kiss on the side of her neck.

Oh, melt! Another kiss. “The odds are getting better,” she breathed.

“I really like you, Faith,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear, causing her entire side to electrify.

“I like you, too,” she said and looked into his pretty brown eyes. His finger slid lower, and she could feel her skin heating up, getting blotchy, no doubt, the curse of the redhead. What the heck. She turned her face and kissed him on the lips, a soft, sweet, lingering kiss.

“Sorry to interrupt, lovebirds,” said the waiter. “Don’t mind me.” He set the dessert on the table with a knowing smile.

“This!”

The bark made all three of them jump. Clint’s elbow hit her glass, the wine spilling onto the tablecloth.

“Oh, shit,” Clint said, shoving away from her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Faith said. “I do stuff like that all the time.”

Clint wasn’t looking at the wine.

A woman stood in front of their booth, a beautiful little boy dangling from her hands as she held him out in front of her. “This is what he’s ignoring because of you, whore!”

Faith looked behind her to see the whore, but the only thing there was the wall. She looked back at the woman, who was about her age and very pretty—blond hair and fury-flushed cheeks. “Are you...are you talking to me?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m talking to you, whore! This is what he’s missing when he’s wining and dining you. Our son! Our baby!” She jiggled the toddler to demonstrate.

“Hey, no shaking the kid,” Faith said.

“Don’t speak to me, whore!”

“Mommy, put down!” the toddler commanded. The woman obeyed, jamming her hands on her (thin) hips. The waiter caught Faith’s eye and grimaced. He was probably gay, and thus her ally.

Faith closed her mouth. “But I didn’t... Clint, you’re not married, are you?”

Clint was holding up his hands, surrender-style. “Baby, don’t be mad,” he said to the woman. “She’s just someone I work with—”

“Oh, my God, you are married!” Faith blurted. “Where are you from? Are you from Nebraska?”

“Yes, we are, whore!”

“Clint!” Faith yelped. “You bas—” She remembered the kid, who looked at her solemnly, then scooped up a fingerful of crème brûlée and stuck it in his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Faith said to Mrs. Clint Bundt (well, at least Faith wouldn’t be saddled with that name). The kid spit out the dessert and reached for the sugar packets. “I didn’t know—”

“Oh, shut up, whore. How dare you seduce my husband! How dare you!”

“I’m not sedu—doing anything to anyone, okay?” Faith said, more than a little horrified that this conversation was taking place in front of a toddler (who looked like a baby Hobbit, he was so dang cute, licking sugar from the packet).

“You’re a slut, whore.”

“Actually,” Faith said tightly, “your husband was the one who...” Again, the kid. “Ask the waiter. Right?” Yes, yes, get some confirmation from the friendly waiter.

“Um...who’s paying tonight?” he asked. So much for the love she inspired in the gays.

“It was a business dinner,” Clint interrupted. “She came onto me, and I didn’t expect it, I didn’t know what to do. Come on, let’s go home, babe.”

“And by home, I’m guessing you don’t mean your bachelor pad in Noe Valley, right?” Faith bit out.

Clint ignored her. “Hi, Finn, how’s it going, bud?” He tousled his child’s hair, then stood up and gave her a sorrowful, dignified look. “I’m sorry, Faith,” he said somberly. “I’m a happily married man, and I have a beautiful family. I’m afraid we won’t be able to work together anymore.”

“Not a problem,” she said tightly.

“Take that, whore,” said Clint’s wife. “That’s what you get, trying to break up my family!” She put her hands on her hips and twisted out her leg, the Angelina Jolie Hip Displacement look.

“Hi, whore,” the little boy said, ripping open another sugar packet.

“Hi,” she said. He really was cute.

“Don’t speak to my child!” Mrs. Bundt said. “I don’t want your filthy whore mouth speaking to my son.”

“Hypocrite,” she muttered.

Clint scooped up the boy, who’d managed to snag a few more sugar packets.

“If I ever see you near my husband, whore, you’ll be sorry,” Mrs. Bundt hissed.

“I’m not a whore, okay?” Faith snapped.

“Yes, you are,” said his wife, giving her the finger. Then the Bundts turned their backs to her and walked away from the table.

“I’m not!” Faith called. “I haven’t slept with anyone in three years, okay? I’m not a whore!” The little boy waved cheerily from over his father’s shoulder, and Faith gave a small wave in return.

The Bundts were gone. Faith grabbed her water glass and chugged, then rested the glass against her hot cheek. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt sick.

“Three years?” said one of the diners.

The waiter gave her the check. “I’ll take that whenever you’re ready,” he said. Great. On top of all that, she had to pay for dinner, too.

“Your tip would’ve been a lot bigger if you’d backed me up,” she told him, digging in her purse for her wallet.

“You really do look great in that dress,” he said.

“Too late.”

When she’d paid the bill (and really, Clint, thanks for ordering a seventy-five dollar bottle of wine), she went out into the damp, cold San Francisco air and started walking. It wasn’t far to her apartment, even in heels. The streets of San Francisco were nothing compared to the steep hills of home. Consider it her cardio. Pissed-Off Woman Workout. The Stomp of the Righteous and Rejected. It was noisy down here at the wharf, the seagulls crying, music blaring out from every bar and restaurant, a dozen different languages bouncing around her.

Back home, the only sound would be the late-season crickets and the call of the owl family who lived in an old maple at the edge of the cemetery. The air would be sweet with the smell of grapes, tinged with wood smoke, because already, the nights would be cooling down. From her old bedroom window, she’d be able to see all the way to Keuka. She’d spent her childhood playing in woods and fields, breathing the clean air of western New York, swimming in glacier-formed lakes. Her love of the outdoors was the main reason she’d become a landscape architect—the chance to woo people from their increasingly interior lives and enjoy nature a little bit more.

Maybe it was time to start thinking seriously about moving back. That had always been the plan, anyway. Live in Manningsport, raise a family, be close to her sibs and father.

Clint Bundt. Married with a kid. Such a hemorrhoid. Well. Soon she’d be home with her dog. Liza probably was out with her guy, the Wonderful Mike, so Faith could watch Real Housewives and eat some Ben & Jerry’s.

Why was it so hard to find the right guy? Faith didn’t think she was too picky; she just wanted someone who wasn’t gay, married, unkind, amoral or too short. Someone who’d look at her...well, the way Jeremy had. His dark, liquid eyes would tell her she was the best thing that ever happened to him, always a smile in their depths. Never once had she doubted that he loved her completely.

Her phone rang, and she fished it out of her purse. Honor. “Hey,” she said, feeling the faint pang of alarm she always felt when her sister called. “How are you?”

“Have you talked to Dad recently?” her sister said.

“Um...yeah. We talk almost every day.”

“Then I suppose you’ve heard about Lorena.”

Faith twisted to avoid a cute guy in a Derek Jeter T-shirt. “I’m a Yankees fan, too,” she told him with a smile. He frowned and took the hand of an irritable-looking woman next to him. Message received, buddy, and jeesh. Only trying to be friendly. “Who’s Lorena?” she asked her sister.

Honor sighed. “Faith, you might want to get home before Dad gets married.”

CHAPTER TWO

LEVI COOPER, CHIEF OF POLICE of the Manningsport Police Department, all two and a half of them, tried to give people a break. He did. Even the tourists with the lead feet, Red Sox stickers and complete disregard for speed limits. He parked the cruiser in plain sight, the radar gun clearly visible. Hi there, welcome to Manningsport, you’re going way too fast and here I am, about to pull you over, so slow down, pal. The town depended on visitors, and September was prime tourism season; the leaves were starting to turn, buses had been rolling in and out of town all week, and every vineyard in the area had some special event going on.

But the law was the law.

Plus, he’d just let Colleen O’Rourke off with a stern lecture and a warning while she tried to look remorseful.

So another speeder just wasn’t going to be tolerated today. This one, for example. Seventeen miles an hour over the limit, more than enough. Also, an out-of-towner; he could see the rental plates from here. The car was a painfully bright yellow Honda Civic, currently clocking in at forty-two miles per hour in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone. What if Carol Robinson and her merry band of geriatric power-walkers were out? What if the Nebbins kid was riding his bike? There hadn’t been a fatal crash in Manningsport since he’d been chief, and Levi planned on keeping it that way.

The yellow car sailed past him, not even a tap on the brakes. The driver wore a baseball cap and big sunglasses. Female. With a sigh, Levi put on the lights, gave the siren a blip and pulled onto the road. She didn’t notice. He hit the siren again, and the driver seemed to realize that, yes, he was talking to her, and pulled over.

Grabbing his ticket pad, Levi got out of the cruiser. Wrote down the license plate number, then went over to the driver’s side, where the window was lowering. “Welcome to Manningsport,” he said, not smiling.

Shit.

It was Faith Holland. A giant Golden retriever shoved its head out of the window and barked once, wagging happily.

“Levi,” she said, as if they’d seen each other last week at O’Rourke’s.

“Holland. You visiting?”

“Wow. That’s amazing. How did you guess?”

He looked at her, not amused, and let a few beats pass. It worked; her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “So. Forty-two in a twenty-five-mile-an-hour zone,” he said.

“I thought it was thirty-five,” she said.

“We dropped it last year.”

The dog whined, so Levi petted him, making the dog try to crawl over Faith’s head.

“Blue, get back,” Faith ordered.

Blue. Right. Same dog as from a few years ago.

“Levi, how about a warning? I have a, um, a family emergency, so if you could drop the cop act, that’d be super.” She gave him a tight smile, almost meeting his eyes, and pushed her hair behind one ear.

“What’s the emergency?” he said.

“My grandfather is...uh...he’s not feeling well. Goggy’s concerned.”

“Should you lie about stuff like that?” he asked. Levi was well acquainted with the elder Hollands, as they made up about ten percent of his work week. And if Mr. Holland really was under the weather, he’d bet Mrs. Holland would be picking out his funeral clothes and planning a cruise.

Faith sighed. “Look, Levi. I just took the red-eye from San Francisco. Can you give me a break? Sorry I was going too fast.” She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ll take a warning. Can I go now?”

“License and registration, please.”

“Still got that branch up your ass, I see.”

“License and registration, and please exit the vehicle.”

She mumbled something under her breath, then groped around in the glove compartment, her shirt coming out of her jeans to reveal a patch of creamy flesh. Looked like the fitness revolution had passed her by; then again, she’d always been a little lush ripe chunky, ever since he could remember. The dog took the opportunity to shove his head out again, and Levi scratched him behind the ear.

Faith slammed the glove box shut, shoved some papers in Levi’s hand, got out of the car, nearly hitting him with the door. “Stay put, Blue.” She didn’t look at Levi.

He glanced at her license, then at her.

“Yes, it’s a bad picture,” she snapped. “Want a tissue sample?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary. This has expired, though. Another fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms under her chest. Still had that amazing rack.

“How was Afghanistan?” she asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Really great. I’m thinking of getting a summer place there.”

“You know what I wonder, Levi? Why are some people always such hemorrhoids? You ever wonder that?”

“I do. Are you aware that antagonizing an officer of the law is a felony?”

“Really. How fascinating. Can you get it in gear, please? I want to see my family.”

He signed the paper and handed it to her. She wadded it up and tossed it in the car. “Am I free to go, Officer?”

“It’s Chief now,” he said.

“See someone about that branch.” She got into the car and drove off. Not too fast, though not slowly, either.

Levi watched her go, releasing a breath. Up to Blue Heron Vineyard, the place her family had owned since America was a baby, to the big white house on the Hill, as her neighborhood was called.

He’d always known Faith Holland, the kind of girl who hugged her girlfriends six times a day in school, as if it’d been weeks since they’d seen each other, not two periods. She reminded him of a puppy trying to woo prospective owners at the pound... Like me! Like me! I’m really nice! Jessica, Levi’s old neighbor from the trailer park and on-and-off high school girlfriend, had dubbed her Princess Super-Cute, always bouncing around in frilly outfits and pastel colors. Once Faith had started dating Jeremy...it was like eating a bowl of Lucky Charms topped with syrup, so sweet it made your teeth ache. He was surprised bluebirds hadn’t fluttered around her head.

Funny, how she’d never noticed her boyfriend was gay.

Levi knew she’d been back over the years—Christmas and Thanksgiving, a weekend here and there, but her visits were short and sweet. She sure never stopped by the police station, though he was friendly with her family; sometimes her grandparents would ask him to stay for dinner after they’d summoned him to the house, and once in a while, he’d have a beer with her father or brother at O’Rourke’s. But Faith would never think to drop by and say hello.

Yet once upon a time, when she’d cried herself dehydrated, she’d fallen asleep with her head in his lap.

Levi got back into his cruiser. Plenty of work to do. No point in dwelling on the past.

* * *

FAITH KNOCKED ON THE BACK door of her father’s house and happily braced for impact. “I’m home!” she called.

“Faith! Oh, honey, finally!” cried Goggy, leading the stampede. “You’re late! Didn’t I tell you dinner was at noon?”

“Just got hung up a little,” Faith said, not wanting to mention Levi Cooper, Ass Pain.

Abby, now sixteen and so pretty, wrapped herself around Faith, burbling out compliments: “I love your earrings, you smell so good, can I come live with you?” Pops kissed both her cheeks and told her she was his prettiest girl, and Faith breathed in the comforting scent of grapes and Bengay. Ned hugged her amiably, despite being twenty-one, and tolerated a hair muss, and Pru gave her a hard hug, as well.

Her mother’s absence was still the most powerful thing in the room.

And finally there was Dad, who waited his turn for a solo hug. His eyes were wet when he pulled back. “Hi, sweetpea,” he said, and Faith’s heart gave a tug.

“Missed you, Daddy.”

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” He ran a purple-stained hand over her hair and smiled.

“Mrs. Johnson’s not here?” Faith asked.

“It’s her day off,” Dad said.

“Oh, I know. I just haven’t seen her since June.”

“She doesn’t approve of Grandpa’s girlfriend,” Abby whispered as she petted Blue.

“Hi, sis,” Jack said, handing her a glass of wine.

“Hello, favorite sibling,” she answered, taking a hearty slug.

“Don’t drink it like it’s Gatorade, sweetpea,” her father chided. “We’re winemakers, remember?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Faith said. “Nice aroma of freshly cut grass, a rich, buttery texture, and I’m getting overtones of apricot with a hint of lemon. I love it.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Did you get any vanilla? Honor said vanilla.”

“Definitely.” Far be it for Faith to contradict Honor, who ran everything under the moon at Blue Heron Vineyards. “Where is Honor, by the way?”

“On that phone of hers,” Goggy said darkly. She tended not to trust anything invented after 1957. “Get in the dining room before the food gets cold.”

“I was serious when I asked to come live with you,” Abby said. Prudence sighed and took a slug of her own wine. “Plus,” Abby went on, “then I can establish residency in California and go to some awesome school out there at half price. See, Mom? Just saving you and Dad some money.”

“And where’s Carl, speaking of my favorite brother-in-law?” Faith asked.

“Hiding,” Pru answered.

“Well, well, well! You must be Faith!” A woman’s voice boomed as the downstairs bathroom door opened, the sound of a flushing toilet in the background.

Faith opened her mouth, then closed it. “Oh. I—I am. Lorena, I’m guessing?”

The woman Honor had warned about was a sight to behold indeed. Dull black hair, obviously dyed, makeup so thick you could carve in it and a squat body shown in horrifying detail through a clinging, leopard-print shirt.

The woman shoved a Sharpie pen in her cleavage where it stayed, quivering, like a syringe. “Just touching up my roots!” she announced. “Wanted to make a nice impression on the little princess! Hello there! Give us a hug!”

Faith’s breath left her in a whoosh as Lorena wrapped her in a python grip. “Nice to meet you,” she wheezed as Pru gave her a significant look.

“Can we please eat before my death?” Pops asked. “The old woman here wouldn’t let me have my cheese. I’m starving.”

“So, die already,” Goggy answered. “No one’s stopping you. I’ll barely notice.”

“Well, Phyllis Nebbins would notice. She got a new hip two months ago, Faithie. Looks like she’s seventy-five again, out there with her grandson, always with a smile. Nice to see a happy woman.”

Goggy slammed down a massive bowl of salt potatoes. “I’ll be happy once you’re dead.”

“That’s beautiful, Goggy,” Ned said.

“You two are such hoots!” Lorena practically yelled. “I love it!”

Faith sat down, inhaling the scent of Goggy’s ham, salt potatoes and home.

There were two houses on Blue Heron Vineyard: the Old House, where Goggy and Pops lived, a Colonial that had been updated twice since being built in 1781—once to install indoor plumbing, then again in 1932. Faith and her siblings grew up here, in the New House, a graceful if creaky old Federal built in 1873, where Dad lived with Honor and Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper who’d been with them since Mom died.

And speaking of Honor... “Sorry, everyone,” she said. She paused, gave Faith a brief kiss on the cheek. “You finally got here.”

“Hi, Honor.” She ignored the slight reprimand.

Pru and Jack were sixteen and eight years older than Faith respectively, and generally viewed their baby sister as adorable, if slightly incompetent (which Faith had never minded, as it got her out of a lot of chores back in the day). Honor, though... She was four years older; Faith had been a surprise. Maybe Honor had never forgiven Faith for stealing the title of baby of the family.

More likely, though, she’d never gotten over the fact that Faith had caused their mother’s death.

Faith had epilepsy, first diagnosed when she was about five. Jack had filmed a seizure once (typical boy), and Faith had been horrified to see herself oblivious, her muscles jerking and clenching, eyes as vacant as a dead cow’s. It was assumed that Constance Holland had been distracted by one such seizure and therefore hadn’t seen the car that had smashed into them, killing Mom. Honor had never forgiven Faith...and Faith didn’t blame her.

“Why are you just sitting there, Faith?” Goggy demanded. “Eat up, sweetheart. Who knows what you’ve been living on in California?” Her grandmother passed her a plate loaded with smoked ham, buttered salt potatoes, green beans with butter and lemon, and braised carrots (with butter). Faith imagined she gained a pound just by looking at it.

“So, Lorena, you and my dad are...?” Faith asked above the background noise of her grandparents bickering over how much salt Pops should put on his already heavily salted meal.

“Special friends, sweetheart, special, special friends,” the woman said, adjusting her rather massive breasts. “Right, Johnny?”

“Oh, sure,” he agreed amiably. “She was dying to meet you, Faith.”

According to Honor, Lorena Creech had met Dad about a month earlier during a tour of Blue Heron. Everyone in the area knew John Holland had been devastated by his wife’s death, had never wanted to date anyone, was happy among his children, grandchildren and grapes. Any attempts at a relationship had been gently rebuffed in the early days until it was accepted that John Holland Jr. would remain a widower the rest of his life.

Enter Lorena Creech, a transplant from Arizona, clearly a gold digger, and not a candidate for stepmother. All three local Holland kids had discussed this with Dad, but he’d just laughed and waved off their concern. And while Dad was many things, Faith thought, watching as Lorena held the silverware up to the light, he wasn’t the most observant of men. No one had anything against Dad finding a nice woman to marry, but no one wanted Lorena to be sleeping upstairs in Mom’s old bed, either.

“So how many acres have you got here?” Lorena asked, taking a huge bite of ham. Subtle.

“Quite a few,” Honor said icily.

“Subdividable?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, some of it is, Honor, honey,” Dad said. “Over my dead body, of course. More green beans, Lorena?”

“This is nice,” Lorena said. “The whole family together! My late husband was sterile, Faith. A groin injury when he was a boy. Tractor backed up, squished him in the soft parts, so we never could have kids, though, hell, we sure got it on!”

Goggy was staring at Lorena as if she was a snake in the toilet. Jack drained his wine.

“Good for you!” Pops said. “Have some more ham, sweetheart.” He nudged the plate across the table toward Lorena, whose appetite was not restricted to the boudoir, it seemed.

“So, Faith,” Jack said, “Dad says you’ll be staying here for a while.”

Faith nodded and wiped her mouth. “Yep. Finally gonna fix up the old barn up on Rose Ridge. I’ll be here for about two months.” The longest she’d been back since her wedding debacle, and not just to fix up the barn, either. Both the mission and the length of time gave her a pang of alarm.

“Yay!” Abby said.

“Yay,” Ned echoed, winking at her.

“What are you doing with the old barn?” Pops asked. “Speak up, sweetie.”

“I’ll be turning it into a space for special events, Pops,” she explained. “People would rent it out, and it’d bring in some extra income for the vineyard. Weddings, anniversary parties, stuff like that.” She’d first come up with the idea when she was in graduate school—transform the old stone barn into something that blended into the landscape effortlessly, something modern and old at the same time.