Melinda Curtis - Michael's Father

The caustic words of Francesca Camilletti, his wife’s sister, echoed as sharply as if she were beside him today rather than fifty-some-odd years ago. “The Messinas are cursed with wine-making talent in America, a land that doesn’t appreciate wine. They’ll work their fingers to the bone and still be poor and unhappy. Don’t go, Anna. He’s a failure. He’ll ruin your life.” She’d spit out those words of bitter advice to Anna on the New Jersey train platform, as she, Salvatore and Sophia, just a baby with wisps of silky black hair and sparkling brown eyes, were about to board the train to California. Francesca already believed Salvatore Messina had ruined her sister’s life by getting her pregnant before they were married. Taking her away from the family was almost a worse sin.

Salvatore had known that if he and Anna stayed in New Jersey, Francesca would have made Salvatore’s life a living hell. As luck would have it, Anna wanted to break free of her family’s influence and her sister’s suffocating love.

Anna had kissed her sister’s cheek, told her she’d write, and then slipped her delicate hand into Salvatore’s, her dark eyes radiating trust and love. Salvatore knew then that he’d have to make something of himself to validate the love Anna blessed him with. Come hell or high water, Messina Vineyards would grow and succeed, outliving them all and proving Francesca Camilletti wrong.

He paused to catch his breath, wondering for the first time if his desire to punish the man responsible for Cori’s pregnancy was in any way similar to Francesca’s irrational vendetta against him, which had lasted until the day she died. He frowned, unhappy with the notion, and shoved the thought aside. More pressing matters required his attention.

Salvatore stepped heavily onto the second-floor landing. Thankfully, Sophia’s room was just at the top of the stairs. After a few shuffling steps, he swung Sophia’s door open, leaning some of his weight on the door handle.

“Do you need anything, Mama?” Cori asked.

“No, thank you.”

Corinne. Salvatore wanted to spin around and come back later. But any quick move would send him tumbling to the floor.

Sophia’s gaze settled upon him. Even in the dim light, he could tell Sophia wasn’t comfortable. He moved resolutely forward, intent on easing things for his daughter in any way possible.

From her perch on the bed, Corinne turned and stiffened when she saw him. She wore faded jeans and a sweatshirt. Without makeup, she looked barely seventeen. To her credit, Corinne didn’t shrink away when her eyes met his, but there was no mistaking the unwelcoming expression on her face. A part of Salvatore preened with pride at her strength. Simultaneously, the voices of his Italian ancestors railed against her open disrespect. Not that any of that mattered at the moment. Sophia needed him.

Salvatore made every effort to move his legs smoothly under two pairs of dark, watchful eyes. With luck, Sophia’s pain medication and Corinne’s contempt would cloud their perceptive powers.

“It’s time you retired, Corinne.” He stopped in front of the two women. This close, he could see Sophia’s pinched features. Yes, something was definitely wrong.

Eyes flashing, Corinne straightened her spine and opened her mouth, only to be cut off by her mother.

“Yes, dear. It’s getting late. Why don’t you go to bed? I’m sure my grandson is an early riser.”

Corinne wasn’t quick enough to hide the hurt in her eyes at her dismissal, but she didn’t fight. She gave Sophia a small smile and a quick kiss on the cheek, then bid her mother good-night.

Salvatore didn’t receive as much as a glance from his granddaughter.

When he heard the door close behind him, Salvatore reached for his daughter’s delicate hand. He longed to sit next to her on the bed, but doubted he could stand back up without giving away his weakness.

“Tell me what you need, cara.”

IT WASN’T UNTIL BLAKE stood outside the kitchen door of the main house that he realized where he’d been heading. A soft glow through the kitchen windows lit the night. A shadow too large to be Cori moved past one window toward the refrigerator.

Suppressing his disappointment, Blake climbed the two steps to the door and entered without knocking. He didn’t want to see Cori, anyway, not after the way he’d humiliated himself that morning.

“Beer or wine?” Luke asked, not at all surprised to see Blake at this hour. Both were night owls. Many a late night they’d shared a drink in this kitchen, illuminated, as they were now, by the light above the stove.

“Beer.” Blake didn’t equate drowning his sorrows with wine. He was one beer down already and could use at least one more to numb the feelings of helplessness he confronted in almost every aspect of his life. Blake slouched into a wooden kitchen chair and stretched out his legs. “Any reason the lights aren’t on?”

Without getting up, Luke reached into the refrigerator to get a bottle, then slid the beer across the table to him. Blake opened the bottle before he realized it was the same brand Cori had purchased earlier. After a moment’s hesitation, he took a swig. It wasn’t anything special.

“Seemed the right thing to do at the time,” Luke said, shrugging.

“You okay?” Blake uncapped his beer and took a sip. They drank for a few minutes in silence. Luke was a true Messina. Catch him in any social situation with any mix of people and he would fit right in, setting others at ease and never missing a conversational beat. As with the other Messinas, when you got too personal or they didn’t want to tell you something, he shut down. It was one of the reasons Blake would never be one of them. After nearly six years of evolving friendship, they had never let him get that close.

“Have you seen Sophia tonight?” Blake asked.

“Briefly. Cori’s been up there.”

“And you can’t be up there with her?” That seemed odd.

Luke shrugged again. “My grandfather heads up about now and he wants time alone with her, too.”

“So you file in one by one? Is there a time limit?”

Luke rubbed the skin below his eyes, shadowed from the dim lighting, lack of sleep, or both. “It’s…odd.” He shook his head. “It was easier when we were younger. Before…” The Messina response kicked in and Luke went mute.

Blake waited a full five seconds before filling in Luke’s thought. “Before Cori left?”

Luke didn’t answer verbally, just gave his beer a rueful half smile.

AFTER CHECKING TO MAKE sure that Michael still snoozed peacefully in his sleeping bag on the floor of the pink room, Cori took the back stairs to the kitchen in search of a drink.

Maybe she should have been trying to make up with her grandfather instead of avoiding him these past few days. She’d been dismissed, as if she were a child of twelve, not twenty-five, a mother with a career and responsibilities. Everyone in the Messina household treated her as if she needed to be protected and couldn’t make contributions of her own.

Some things never changed.

It was as if her own family was fooled into believing she was nothing more than the polished facade they’d created. As if they’d forgotten she’d been charming businessmen and politicians at the finest of restaurants in San Francisco while other girls were playing with Barbies. As if they assumed she didn’t know the difference between a Chardonnay and a Zinfandel vine. As if grape growing, wine-making and business acumen didn’t flow in her veins.

Now, if she’d been a man…

She trotted down the steps in the dim stairway, unhappy with the familiar train of thought. Cori hated those mental “what if” games, but couldn’t always stop playing. She stepped into the large kitchen before her mind registered that she wasn’t alone.