Page 61 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

Between the encounter with Candace Prescott and then running into Joselyn unexpectedly, the weight of the world is bearing down on my shoulders. But I’m not about to give up now. I’ll talk to my sister about Candace, but first, I need to take some time to decompress and regain my center.

The only thing I’ve spent any of my own money on, other than Kerry’s upkeep, is restoring my vintage 1965 Mustang convertible. I chose the silver exterior paint and buttery soft white leather seats in order to help deflect the heat from the Florida sun. Sliding behind the wheel, I hit the button to put the top down and head toward Cedar Grove, just west of Hibiscus Harbor. The best part of the drive over there is the twelve-mile stretch of scenic highway lined with majestic oak trees adorned in Spanish moss on both sides, which bend over the road to create a tranquil tunnel of seclusion. As I make my way along Madison Highway, I take in deep breaths and exhale. The cocoon of silence caused by the massive trees and the cool air from the shade work together to calm the noise in my head.

As I enter the basement of the secluded mansion in Cedar Grove, my hands tingle in anticipation of handling my shibari ropes. The stress I carry in my back and shoulders, along withthe tension that leaves knots in my muscles, all melt away as I place the ropes and tie the knots on demonstration mannequins. The art that I create through intricate patterns grounds me, preparing me to face all of my demons.

The next morning, still invigorated from the rope session last evening, I tend to the garden, my normal morning ritual, then head over to the caretaker’s cottage to meet with Carlos. After I spoke with him on the phone a second time, he accepted my offer to move back into the cottage and return to his role as maintenance manager. I’m still determined to set my personal feelings aside and place the needs of the family business first. But I can’t forget the difficult encounter with Joselyn and the vision of her looking more beautiful than ever among the sunflowers. Those scenes are stuck on repeat in my head, in direct conflict with one another. As I approach the cottage, Carlos steps off the porch. He’s aged over the last five years since my father died. He used to be stocky, but strong, from years moving wine barrels and climbing ladders. Will the job be too much for him to handle?

After a brief pause, I dismiss the thought. I’m not too concerned about that since we have other employees to handle physical tasks. It’s Carlos’s institutional and operational knowledge that makes him an asset.

“Welcome back, Carlos.”

He takes the hand I offer. “Thank you, Brennen. It feels good to be back home.” I watch as he looks around and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the vineyard’s air.

“This place needs you. Since you left, we’ve had a revolving door of maintenance people. The last one really did a numberon us. The equipment hasn’t been maintained properly, and the operation has gone to hell. We have a new chief winemaker who’s been trying to perform miracles, but it’s holding back our production capacity. We’ve got to get everything back in order to keep up with the new wines she’s developing. I have no doubt your expertise will get us back where we need to be in no time.”

“I appreciate your kind words, Brennen, but before I begin working here again, I have to tell you some things I should have told you long ago. Things that need to be saidentre hombres,between us men. Now that Patrick is gone, I want you to know everything. And if you still want me after that, I’m determined to regain your trust and demonstrate my loyalty to the Murphy family.” He ducks his head in humility. “I’m sorry for everything I did.”

I don’t doubt his sincerity, and I want him to know that. “I appreciate the apology. You were a loyal friend to my father, even though he didn’t deserve it. I don’t hold you responsible for his misdeeds.”

Carlos rubs the back of his neck and I can hear the tension creeping into his voice as he continues. “I was loyal to a fault. Yes, your father was my friend and did a lot for me and my family, but he also took advantage of that friendship. And I let him. I am ashamed to admit it, but he blackmailed me. I was weak and didn’t stand up to him, which cost me everything. My wife. My daughter. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you and to Joselyn. If you’ll both allow me to.”

My jaw tightens at the mention of her name. “I know she’s back, Carlos. But she has nothing to do with why you’re here now.”

“That may be true. But I owe it to you both to make sure you know everything.”

Do I want to hear this?Maybe it’s for the best, so we can all move forward.

“Walk with me. I want to introduce you to Sophia Garrett. She’s already doing great things, and she’ll rely on you to keep everything in working order so she can focus on her craft. She’s most likely in the fermentation room.”

Carlos continues speaking while we walk. It feels surreal, Joselyn’s father and I walking the grounds of the winery as if the past nine years never happened.

“I want to start by telling you about something that happened when you and Joselyn wereniños pequeños,just kids. You already know your father was not a good man. I was constantly called upon to clean up his messes. I spent so much time doing that, I neglected my own family. The fire that killed my wife might never have started had I been home taking care of my family instead of doing Patrick’s bidding.” His lip trembles as he struggles to continue. “I could have saved her. I should have saved her. Even though she got herself and Joselyn out of the house, her heart was weakened from smoke inhalation. By the time I got to the hospital, it was too late. My precious Luciana was gone.” He pauses and takes a breath.

I had no idea about the pain he’s been carrying all these years. And Joselyn…she lost her mother in a tragic accident when she was just a little girl. I didn’t know what had actually happened. Just that she was very young and barely remembered her mother. She must have blocked the traumatic details from her memory since she never spoke about it. I have no words of wisdom to offer him, but I can let him get it all off his chest.

“You probably don’t know this, but your father was involved in some really heavy shit with Judge Stanley. He’s always been the most corrupt judge in Florida, and I heard his crimes recently caught up with him. Anyway, Patrick constantly used the judge to his advantage, including holding it over my head anytime I resisted doing his bidding. If I didn’t agree to participate in the sabotage of the wine competition, hethreatened to have Judge Stanley bring me up on false arson and murder charges for the fire that killed my wife. I couldn’t let that happen. Not because I feared prison or ruining my own reputation, but because of Joselyn. I couldn’t risk losing my only child, the onlyfamiliaI had left. But if I had gone to prison, at least I would have been free of your father’s grasp. As it was, I lost her, anyway, and that’s been worse than any prison.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. The depth of this man’s pain is nearly as deep as my own. “Well, one thing is certain; none of us have to worry about my father any longer. We’re all free of him. And I truly hope you can rebuild your relationship with your daughter.”

But can I? Am I willing to take a chance…to trust and love again?

Following the meeting with Carlos and his revelations, my thoughts go back to the threat from Candace Prescott. The clock is ticking. I can’t risk waiting around for the other shoe to drop, and clearly, I can’t handle this on my own anymore. I need to talk to Emma.

Brennen: Hey, how about some lunch?

Emma: I can spare an hour if you’re buying.

Brennen: I need to talk business so it’s a write-off.

Emma: Whatever. Meet me at the pub in fifteen. I’m feeling like some shepherd’s pie.

Brennen: On my way.

Twenty minutes later, I walk into Kavanaugh’s tavern, appreciating the nostalgic old Ireland interior, a vivid contrast to the heat of the beachside bars. The polished mahogany wood bar and stained glass windows blocking the bright sunlight provide anatural coolness, so the air conditioning doesn’t need to work as hard. I spot my sister at one of the enclosed wooden booths near the bar, a spot that will provide some semblance of privacy for our conversation.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile that’s hard to muster as I spot the foamy pint of Guinness sitting in front of me.

“No problem. What’s going on?”

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