“I didn’t want to leave you in the cold.”
“I’ve got Ethan covered.”
I looked around the jail. “Obviously.”
Finn shrugged. “Yeah . . .”
We hadn’t spoken since our blowout and he looked uncomfortable. He was embarrassed about our fight, this stint in the city jail, apparently one of many stints. But what was there for him to say? The Ford children didn’t apologize to one another. We did what my mother had told us to do as children. We held out a hand and the other sibling had to take it. Everyone willing to move on.
This was what he did. He reached out his hand and took mine as he sat back down.
“My hands are a little clammy,” he said. “I haven’t washed them for twelve hours.”
“You really do suck at apologizing,” I said.
He smiled. “Thanks for coming to get me,” he said.
“You okay?”
“Yep. It’s no big deal. Just needed to dry out.”
“Ethan says you guys have a standing date, like a weekly poker game. Without the poker.”
He shrugged. “Ethan likes my company.”
I shook my head. “Finn . . .”
“You want to start, Miss Hit-and-Run?”
He shook his head, getting serious all of a sudden. And looking older than he was.
“I know. It’s going to stop. I’m stopping it.”
“How?”
“However I can,” he said.
Then he nodded, like he was resolved. Resolved and exhausted—done with his own nonsense, done with how he was feeling.
He looked down at his fingers, shaking his head. “Maybe it was sleeping here last night, but I keep thinking about the night before they got married. That wedding we crashed together. Do you remember?”
“Your first arrest?”
“Very funny.” He looked up and sighed. “Do you know what I was thinking the whole time? Maybe they won’t be able to get me out of here in time for the wedding. That I would miss Margaret and Bobby getting married.”
“And that made you happy?”
“It made me sad, actually. What do you think that means?”
“That you love your brother.”
He smiled. “。 . . And don’t say that you love your brother.”
I paused, trying to think of what to tell him, sitting in this depressing jail cell. Finn needed to figure out how to be somewhere else, both of us needed to be somewhere other than where we’d been.
“I was out of line,” he said. “What I said about Ben. Sometimes it takes people a minute to figure it out.”
I smiled, grateful and relieved to hear him say that.
“But, the thing is, you just used to be so fearless when we were growing up. Fearless and fucking happy. I don’t know. I want you to be happy like that.”
I smiled. “I was happy, wasn’t I? What happened?”
“Adulthood. Ambition. Compromise.”
I laughed. “All things you have managed to avoid.”
He shrugged as a smile crept up. “I hear there is a famous movie star in town. Someone by the name of Michelle Carter?”
“How did you hear that?”
“I’ve been in jail, not . . . in jail.”
I smiled.
“Ethan’s been giving me hourly reports. Michelle spotted at the ice cream shop. Michelle spotted at The Tasting Room. Michelle spotted on Main Street and Fifth Street and at the Sebastopol Inn.” He paused. “What is she doing here?”
“We invited her to the harvest party.”
“Why?”
“I’m making an effort with Ben. And that means making one with Michelle.”
“Can I be the one to make an effort with Michelle?”
“Come on, she’s not that pretty.”
“Yes. She’s that pretty. She’s prettier.” He paused. “Since she’s coming, maybe you can set me up with her,” he said. “With Michelle. That would fix everything in terms of Margaret.”
“You think?”
“No,” he said, but he smiled while he said it.
Then he paused, looked at me seriously.
“I need you to tell me I’m not completely fucked,” he said.
“You’re not even close.”
Finn stood up, motioning around the jail cell. “Let’s be honest. I’m close.”
The Wine Cave
We got back to the house and Finn went inside to take a shower. I went down toward the vineyard and found my parents in the wine cave, walking along the aged barrels. They were working through the wines that they were going to serve that night, choosing from among the wines that had just finished fermenting. They were standing there together, working side by side, like they had been standing there eighteen months ago when those wines had begun the work they were getting ready to finish. My mother never gave herself credit for everything she did for the wine. It was the reason that she didn’t seem to see it now—how much she loved it.