“You want to trust our precious Russian rye to a tenant farmer who doesn’t know the land?” I asked her.
“I see your point.” She was quiet a minute. “I’m sure for the right amount of money, they can be persuaded to stay. We’ll just have to make sure it’s worth their while. Good thing you have deep pockets.”
I coughed. “Right.”
“We’re almost there, look!”
Up ahead, the island’s tree-lined, rocky shore grew nearer. Chloe continue to bubble with excitement as we docked, lifting her heavy pack and slipping it onto her back as though it weighed nothing at all. I was surprised she didn’t start skipping down the gangplank. Once we arrived on the island, I completed our camper registration and showed a ranger the permit I’d purchased at the Fishtown dock.
I was feeling a little guilty about how happy and hopeful Chloe was about this trip and the farm—after all, I hadn’t exactly told her the entire truth. But I’d thought about it a lot beforehand, and I’d come to the conclusion that it would be better to sort of let the truth trickle out in small increments rather than lay it on her all at once. If I’d done that, she’d have only focused on the downsides and completely ignored all the opportunity. This way, I gave her a chance to grow attached to the idea of the distillery and our heritage rye … so attached I was hoping she’d do anything to have it.
“So what should we do first?” I asked her. “It’s three-thirty. Our meeting with the Feldmanns is at seven. I set it up for later because I wasn’t sure which ferry we’d be able to catch.”
Chloe nodded. “So should we hike first? Check out the lighthouse? Maybe take a swim?”
“Sure. Actually, that’s perfect because the farm is on the north side of the island, which isn’t far from our campsite. We can end up there.”
She beamed. “Let’s do it.”
Chloe remained in high spirits on the half-mile hike along the boardwalk to the lighthouse, on the 117-step spiral climb to the top, and as we stood on the top of the observation deck taking in the incredible view.
“God, it’s so beautiful,” she said, the wind whipping at her hair, her voice full of awe. “I can see why the tycoon wants a vacation house here.”
I thought of the price the tycoon was willing to pay—the price that I was going to have to match—and nearly made a joke about jumping. But I didn’t want her to get suspicious that I didn’t have the money. “It is beautiful.”
She sighed. “I don’t think I could ever live anywhere too far from the water.”
“Me either.”
“But sometimes I miss the hustle of the city, you know? I did like Chicago. That had water and hustle.”
“Chicago is awesome,” I agreed.
“But my roots are up here,” she said firmly. “And I like working for my family.”
“You’re lucky your passion matched up with your family business,” I said. “I’ve got no interest whatsoever in soap, toothpaste, and laundry detergent.”
“Do your parents still pressure you to work for the company?” she asked.
“Not really. They have Hughie, after all, the golden child. What do they need with me?”
“Oh, come on.” She elbowed me. “Your parents adore you. My parents adore you. You’ve always been the one with all the charm. Nothing against Hughie, of course, but he’s about as charming as a bar of soap.”
I laughed. “True. And as squeaky clean. He never did anything wrong. Never got in any trouble.”
“That’s because he was boring and unimaginative. Give me trouble any day.”
I looked over at her. “Still?”
She shrugged and laughed a little. “Old habits are hard to break. I’ve learned to deal more … productively with some of my impulses, but I still crave chaos. I don’t like to sit still, don’t like taking no for an answer, I’ll argue about anything, and I often act without thinking things through. Although my therapist is trying to help me with that.”
“You have a therapist?” I was surprised she’d shared that kind of personal detail. Chloe seemed so determined to put up a front where I was concerned—the admission allowed a little vulnerability to seep through. Her honesty made me feel worse.
“Yeah. His name is Ken.” She grinned ruefully. “I started seeing him a few years ago after another relationship ended badly, to try to sort out some things in my head, maybe discover why I’m always attracted to dickheads.”
“Did you figure it out?”
She shrugged. “Ken thinks I go for guys I know will disappoint me. I set myself up for failure so I don’t really have to put myself out there. I think I just have shitty taste in men.” Then she laughed. “But it doesn’t really matter anyway, because I’m so busy at Cloverleigh now, especially with my father on the verge of retiring. I don’t really have time to date. Should we head down?”
Without waiting for me to answer, she turned and started the descent down the spiral staircase.
When we reached the bottom, we decided to take a trail leading west toward the shipwreck of the Morazan, visible in the water from the south shore of the island, and the Valley of the Giants, a grove of massive, old-growth cedar trees.
“So your dad is retiring, huh?” I asked, walking next to her on the sandy dirt path. “Will he promote you as his replacement? He sort of gave me that impression when we spoke last month.”
“I don’t know for sure,” she said, staring at her feet. “I hope so. My dad’s been so reluctant to retire we haven’t talked much about it in any detail. But it would make sense, since April has no interest in anything beyond weddings, and we’re the only two siblings who work there anymore.”
“What would be the reason if he didn’t promote you?”
She sighed. “Who knows? I think I’ve proven myself where work is concerned, but sometimes I feel like he looks at me and still sees the smart-mouthed teenager who ignored curfew, bent rules, and didn’t give a shit what people said. Maybe he’s worried I’ll make too many changes and not respect tradition.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said, reaching ahead of her to move a branch in our way. “I get the feeling he trusts your instincts and appreciates your work ethic. I’ve seen the increased sales and visibility of Cloverleigh wines over the past several years. I think you’ve proven yourself.”
“Thanks.” She gave me a smile. “I was thinking the other day that if I do get promoted, I’d probably move back to Cloverleigh, maybe into Frannie’s old apartment over the garage, now that she’s moved into Mack’s house.”
I whistled. “Move back home? You’re brave.”
“Well, I’d like to be on site more, and I think my parents are planning to travel a lot, so they won’t be breathing down my neck all the time. That’s my hope, anyway.”
We walked a little further in silence, slapping at the occasional mosquito, pulling out water bottles for the occasional sip.
“Tell me about Frannie and Mack. He’s the CFO, right?” I asked.