Page 104 of Sweet Escape

“Naomi.”

“You want her to work the last shift at the booth and then do a harvest at two a.m.? Besides, she’s covering crew dinner for Sarah.”

I sigh. “Micah. Dad. One of your waitstaff.”

“Micah’s in San Francisco meeting with a distributor. Dad is also working the morning harvest. And our waitstaff are busy with the restaurant. I’m telling you, Memphis. You were my last ask.”

Groaning, I take a bite of my sandwich.

I don’t dislike the Fall Festival. I used to love it when I was younger. But now that I’m in my thirties, I struggle to jump into community events anymore. Everyone always seems so happy and carefree, and that’s not the reality of my life right now.

Maybe it will be again. Someday.

I hope it is.

I believe it can be.

But not right now.

So the idea of handing out wine samples, or worse, managing whatever idiotic game has been set up, sounds like the exact last thing I want to do tonight.

“Fine,” I grumble. “What time do we need to leave?”

“Probably thirty minutes?”

I give her a sarcastic thumbs-up and she laughs, telling me she’s going to get ready and we’ll head out soon. Then I’m left behind to enjoy my sandwich in peace.

About forty-five minutes later, Murphy and I are pulling into the dirt lot across the street from Rosewood High School. The bright lights from the football field are like a glowing beacon to anyone looking for a fun evening. It takes a few minutes to park, and then we’re walking across the field, weaving between families and couples holding bags of popcorn and stuffed animals.

“Hey, guys! We’re here to release you into the wild,” Murphy says as we approach the booth with the big Hawthorne Vines banner across the top.

Mira and Enid wave and smile at us, then do a quick overview of how they have everything organized.

“How does the game work?” I ask, peering at the table with dozens of wine bottle corks sticking out of it, each with a red or black dot on the end.

“Okay, so it’s ten dollars to play. Each person gets three rings, and they toss them onto the board. If it lands on one of the red dots, theyget a standard bottle. If it lands on a cork with a black dot, they get to pick from the nicer vintages we brought.”

“And if they miss on all three?”

“They get a ticket for a free glass of wine at the restaurant.”

I smirk at Enid. “That’s smart.”

“It was Murphy’s idea.”

I glance at my sister, who is listening to Mira explain how she’s been handling the wine samples and showing Murphy where the wines are boxed under the table. I need to stop being surprised by the things my sister does, by the mind she has and the things she’s capable of handling. But for whatever reason, she keeps impressing me all the same.

Eventually, Enid and Mira take off, and then it’s me and my sister, manning the booth and interacting with festival attendees. We stay pretty busy for about the first hour, doling out samples and encouraging people to play the cork and ring game. It’s not as horrible as I thought it would be.

When there’s a lull, we take a seat in the camping chairs set up behind the table, enjoying the break.

Murphy glances at her watch. “They’re supposed to start the bands up on the stage soon,” she tells me. “Apparently Gigi invited everyone who has ever performed at open mic night.”

There have been some incredible performers over the years. The monthly open mic night is a beloved tradition in our small town. But of course, my mind immediately pulls up the memory of Vivian on the stage, singing that song she wrote while she was here. The sound of her beautiful voice filling the bar, everyone staring at her, enraptured. Including me.

I don’t doubt I’ll hear her singing on the radio someday. She’ll take the world by storm and achieve all those big dreams she has for herself.

It’s what I want for her.

---