“Not yet,” I said softly, shaking my head even though she couldn’t see the movement from the other end of the phone. “And thank you for making me laugh for a minute there. But seriously, Kim, I’m in a very bad predicament right now. Maybe a Very Bad Idea is what I need.” I couldn’t help the small hitch in my voice at the end of my sentence. Kimberly never failed to lift my spirits, but truly, I was scared.
“I know, Kira,” Kimberly said, understanding in her voice. “And unfortunately, if you’re determined not to use any of your father’s business contacts, you might have to get a waitressing job until you figure out what you’re going to do.”
I sighed. “Maybe, but would you really want me anywhere near food preparation?”
“You do make a valid point.” I heard another smile in her voice. “Whatever you decide, it’ll always be the Kira and Kimmy Kats, okay? Forever. We’re a team,” she said, referring to the band name I’d come up with when we were twelve, and I’d devised the plan to sing on the street corner for cash. I’d seen a commercial on TV about kids who didn’t have enough to eat in Somalia, and my dad wouldn’t give me the money to sponsor one of them. In the end, we’d been caught sneaking out of the house in the very inappropriate “costumes” I’d made from construction paper and tape. My dad grounded me for a month. Kimberly’s mom, who worked as the live-in head of our housekeeping staff, gave me the twenty-two dollars I’d needed to help feed and educate Khotso that month—and then every month I couldn’t come up with the money on my own after that.
“Always,” I said. “I love you, Kimmy Kat.”
“I love you Kira Kat. And I gotta go, these boys are getting out of control.” I heard Levi’s and Micah’s squeals of laughter and shouts ringing in the background over the sound of small running feet. “Stop running, boys! And stop yelling!” Kimberly yelled, holding the phone away from her mouth for a second. “You gonna be okay tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I might even splurge and rent a cheap hotel room here in Napa and then walk along the riverfront. It makes me feel close to Gram.” I didn’t mention that earlier that morning, I’d hurriedly packed my stuff and climbed down the fire escape of the apartment my dad had paid for as he’d yelled and banged on the front door. And that now, said stuff was jammed into my car’s trunk. Kimberly would just worry, and for now, I had some cash and a partial but arguably Very Bad Idea roaming around in my head.
And in my illustrious history of Very Bad Ideas, this one might just take the cake.
Of course, I’d be thorough in my research before making a final decision. And I’d make a list of pros and cons—it always helped me see things in a clearer light. This one required some due diligence.
Kimberly sighed. “God rest her soul. Your gram was an amazing lady.”
“Yes, she was,” I agreed. “Kiss the boys for me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay. Talk to you then. And Kira, I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you too. Bye, Kimmy.”
I hung up and sat in my car a few minutes longer. Then I picked my phone back up to do a little internet sleuthing and to find a hotel room I could afford.
CHAPTER TWO
Grayson
“The pump can’t be fixed, sir. It’s gonna have to be replaced.”
I swore under my breath and placed my wrench back in my toolbox. José was right. I used my arm to wipe the sweat off my forehead and nodded, leaning against the useless piece of equipment, just another thing that needed to be fixed or replaced.
José gave me a sympathetic look. “I got the destemmer working though. Good as new, I think.”
“Well, that’s some good news,” I said, picking up the toolbox I’d brought with me. One piece of good news to add to the long list of bad. Still, I’d take what I could get right now. “Thanks, José. I’m gonna go clean up.”
José nodded. “Any news from the bank, sir?”
I stopped but didn’t turn around. “They said no to a loan.” When José didn’t respond, I kept walking. I could practically feel his disappointed gaze burning into my back. I had vowed to keep my family winery running, and nothing on earth was more important to me, but José had a family to feed, the newest member only weeks old. If I failed, I wouldn’t be the only one out of a job.
If you were worth more…
I clenched my jaw against the way those words had stabbed, implying more to me than just my financial value. Reminding me I’d never been worth much.
If you were worth more…
If indeed.
With that mighty if and four quarters, I could buy myself something off the dollar menu at McDonald’s. Did McDonald’s still have a dollar menu? Maybe not. I’d even come up short in the world of fast food.
I’d gone over the what-ifs of my life more times than I could count. It was a painful, useless waste of time.
And I hardly needed another reason to despise myself.
I shut those thoughts down though. I was slipping dangerously close to self-pity, and I knew from personal experience that was a deep hole to climb out of once you’d let yourself descend. Instead, I made a concerted effort to wrap myself in the coldness that kept the desperation at bay. And allowed me to continue to do the work that needed to get done.
In the end, I reminded myself, my father had found me worthy. And I’d made a vow not to let him down—not this time.
The late-afternoon sun was high in the sky when I stepped outside, the smell of the roses my stepmother had planted so long ago filling the air, the lazy drone of a buzzing bee somewhere nearby. I stopped to survey the rows and rows of grapes ripening on their vines, pride swelling in my chest. It was going to be a good harvest. I felt it in my bones. It had to be a good harvest. And that was what would keep me going today, despite the fact that I’d have no way to use the fruit if my equipment wasn’t ready by fall. I’d already sold almost everything of any value in my family home to raise the money to plant those grapes, so broken equipment was very bad news and one more hurdle I had to figure out how to overcome.
A few minutes later, I was stepping inside the house, a grand stone estate built by my father, designed with plenty of vintage, old-world character. It had been a showplace in its day, but it needed as many fixes as the winemaking equipment. Fixes I had no way to finance.
“The pump’s unfixable.”
I gritted my teeth as Walter, the family butler turned jack-of-all-trades around the place, greeted me. “So it seems.”
“I’ve made a spreadsheet of all the equipment needing to be fixed, what requires replacement, and color-coded it according to priority.”
Great. Just what I needed—a visual aid of the hopelessness of my situation. I paused in my rifling through the mail on the foyer console. “You’re my secretary now too, Walter?”
“Someone needs to be. Running this place is too big a job for one person, sir.”
“Let me ask you this, Walter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you come up with a list of ways I might pay for those color-coded items that need to be fixed or replaced?”