Page 93 of Sweet Escape

“I did. I sold the house, our cars, all our furniture, most of our belongings,” he offers, dropping awkwardly down so that he’s sitting on the dirty garage floor. “But there were a handful of things I’ve never been willing to part with.”

He holds up the framed photo of him and my mom.

“Like a photo of your mom in this dress, when she’s smiling like that.” He looks back at it again, and something inside me pinches at the way he looks at it.

The evidence of his lifebefore. The happy life that he wanted for himself. And suddenly, I feel like I understand him in a completely different way.

This was the life he and my mom wanted to live. Going out to nice dinners, a beautiful house in the city, family vacations.

Then, in a blink, it was gone.

And he was back here, the last place he wanted to be.

“I’ve never regretted that choice, Memphis. Coming back here,” he says, breaking the silence, his voice quiet. Reflective. “It gave all of us a beautiful life. Especially you three. And that was always what was most important.”

Something inside me aches at his words.

There’s a truth I know now, not only about my grandfather, but about my father as well. The type of sacrifice he made for us ... I get it in a way I didn’t before.

Then I ask him something I’ve always wondered. “If you never wanted to be here, why were you so upset when Murphy left?”

He sighs. “Watching your sister leave ... I don’t know.” He glances around, avoiding my eyes. “It was like losing your mother all over again.”

We tuck the box safely on one of the shelves in the corner, then stand there, both of us staring at the boxes in silence.

“I struggled with the vineyard. Struggle,” he corrects. “Still struggle, sometimes. But I don’t doubt you’re going to do right by this place. You’re going to do with it all the things my father wantedmeto do.”

I huff a laugh. “I’m not so sure, sometimes.”

My dad pats his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

“You will. I believe in you.” He pauses for a minute, licks his lips. “I should have checked in with you more. Or offered more support. I think I just ... finally hit my wall. And when things kept getting worse, I thought maybe selling would have saved us all a lot of headache.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help when things started going south?”

My dad snorts a laugh. “We Hawthorne men are not the best at asking for help,” he says. “I mean, look at you. You’re working fourteen-, sixteen-, sometimes eighteen-hour days. When was the last timeyouasked?”

“I ask for help.”

“With things that you don’t need help with,” he says, laughing. “Wine labels? That’s a decision you can make on your own. You don’t need my input. Or your aunt’s. I’m talking about the day in and day out of running the vineyard, Memphis. It’s exhausting and draining and shouldn’t be all on one person’s shoulders.”

The truth behind his words resonates, as if it’s something I’ve always known. My mind briefly revisits the conversation I had with Micah a few weeks ago, though I set that thought aside to mull over later.

My dad takes a step back, his eyes scanning the boxes along the wall.

“Maybe it’s time to unbox some of these,” I suggest. “Might be nice to see some photos of you and Mom around the house.”

“Maybe,” he says, then gives me a tight smile.

Then I realize, maybe he doesn’twanta constant reminder of a version of him that no longer exists. Of a life that he can barely remember.

“Or maybe it stays right here,” I offer.

At that his smile softens into one that’s real, and he squeezes my shoulder again. “Or maybe that.”

My dad and my aunt have both communicated things to me over the past few weeks that make me realize ... it’s time to really change things around here. Not just make some shifts to how we’re managing the budget, but real, significant change.

So I put some finishing touches on my proposal, and then I call a meeting with my siblings. I know what I’m going to say will shock them—my sister, much more than my brother—but I think my ideas are going to move us in the right direction. I just have to hope they agree.

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