Page 9 of Rumor Has It

“Let me get my jacket.”

Isaiah texts Gatlin that he’ll meet him at my uncle’s house. We leave the mansion by the kitchen door. I skip down the morning porch. Isaiah hops, keeping up with me. The December air is deceptively cool in the mornings. In the distance, fog rises over the rows of empty trellis. This afternoon it will disappear and I won’t need extra layers to keep warm. I walk backward, playing tour guide and explaining the nuances of the Tudor mansion and its recent improvements since becoming an inn.

“Our homestead started out as the main house. My gran, Rose, inherited the acreage on this side of the Sanchez’s land from her father, Eric Kingsbrier. My Uncle Cris is married to my father’s sister. Cris and my Grandaddy, Ross, bought more land to expand the vineyard. Hence, why the estate gets lumped together as Kingsbrier, but that’s getting ahead of the story. This next part ya have to keep up with.”

Isaiah stuffs his hands in his front pockets as we stroll past a small pond. He’s in shirtsleeves and his forearms are…Wow.

“Is there a test?” he asks.

“Yup. It’s multiple choice. Rose and Ross Cavanaugh had five babies—quintuplets, who were all raised at the B&B long before they agreed to convert it to an inn. You’re staying in what were my Uncle Eric’s and my daddy’s rooms. They live there and there now.” I show Isaiah two homes located on opposite sides of the property. “See there? You can just make out the color of the house I lived in as a little girl. My daddy planted trees for privacy. Over the years they’ve filled in.”

“You must see your parents quite a bit.” He bites his lower lip.

“They don’t stalk me, if that’s what you mean. It’s nice having them near, but everyone’s busy. My half-sister Gracyn’s got kids. She’s married to an old friend of theirs. My life is about as footloose and fancy free as anyone who isn’t a stone’s throw away. Mostly, I see Gracyn every day since we work together and I see her half-sister, who is my best friend, a lot, too.”

“That’s convenient.”

“And weirdly complicated for everyone outside of the family to understand, since Rhiannon’s daddy is also my uncle. But when that’s all you’ve ever known, it’s just normal that my mom and Rhi’s dad had a baby together when they were teenagers and then fell in love with other people.”

“I think I got it.” Isaiah gives me a lop-sided smile. I interpret it as him accepting my matter-of-factness on the subject.

“Anyhow, Kingsbrier went through a huge transformation around the time the winery became successful.” I feel warmer from exertion as the field opens up and the rest of the estate comes into view. We pass the empty parking lot for the vineyard’s banquet hall, and the stables at the veterinary clinic. “Cavanaugh Construction built most of the buildings you see. That’s the company Grandad started before he met Gran. The winery was his retirement plan. He and Uncle Cris planted the original trellis over there almost forty years ago.”

“Impressive.”

“Thanks. It’s beautiful when the grapes are coming into season. I’ll never leave, but nobody misses coming home at harvest unless they have to. Even if someone doesn’t live or work here, we’re all dedicated to Kingsbrier’s legacy. Tied to one another. Ross and Rose taught us to dig our roots deep.”

“It’s a lot that you open your family home and all of this to outsiders. Do you lose a lot of tourist dollars closing down the inn?”

I’ve heard the disappointment in the voices of guests who want us to host late December weddings and holiday celebrations. We treat everyone who comes here on vacation like family and they want that experience included at other special times. But boundaries exist for a reason.

“We do, but it’s worth it,” I reply, replaying the excitement when old ornaments come out of the attic.

The house takes on a uniquely informal flair of just being the place we’ve always called home. It’s also the one time of year that my niece and nephew experience what it was like for our parents and for us. We can’t share our traditions with anyone else if we haven’t experienced them for ourselves first.

Our boots, damp from the grass, hit the first step on the wraparound porch of my Uncle Cris and Aunt Daveigh’s Victorian. I knock, but much to Isaiah’s chagrin, see Auntie D through the window and don’t wait to walk inside. Isaiah apologizes to her for the informality and for making himself backdoor company before introducing himself.

My aunt raised three sons and couldn’t care less .As long as you wipe the mud off on the mat, it’s all good.

“I’m so glad to meet you,” Aunt Daveigh greets Isaiah before wrapping me in a hug. “And to see you, Cass. Rhiannon stopped in, too, and she’s somewhere around here. I’ll bring y’all to the studio to see if she’s there.”

“Actually, Mrs. Sanchez, can I get a moment with Cassidy?” Isaiah asks.

I watch Aunt Daveigh step away, thinking about how I’ve always striven to emulate the things people like about her. Never one for a ton of makeup, my aunt is a natural beauty, who doesn’t hide the faint sparkles of gray and white that fleck her rich brown curls. She has a fun-loving side and a sincerity that attracts enduring friendships like a bear takes to honey. She’s also as gracious as the live-long day and understands thataloneis inferred.

“Is there any nice place around here for dinner?” Isaiah interrupts my musings when my aunt is out of earshot.

“The nicest place is a steakhouse this side of Houston… How can you be hungry again?”

“I have the same question. Maybe it’s the walk. Maybe it’s you.”

Did he say what I think he said?His flirting must’ve gone to my head.

My belly flip flops.

“I’d like to take you out later as a thank you,” Isaiah continues.

His offer is commendable, but I’d have done the same for anyone as I have for Isaiah. This morning was perfect in contrast to last night. I don’t want to press my luck. I’m happy with a simple thank you.

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