Page 95 of A Vintage of Regret
Riley covered her mouth, holding her breath in anticipation.
First, Mateo went in for the kill.
Splat.
Jessica stood frozen, mouth gaping open, eyes wide with shock as Devon crept up behind her.
Another splat.
For a second, everyone stilled, gazing at her, waiting for teenage angst to explode. Finally, she turned. “O.M.G., Mateo. You’re toast. And Uncle Devon, payback is you know what.” She took off running, and somehow the world had simply righted itself.
Riley sighed, wrapping one arm around her middle as she waved to Mateo. She hadn’t expected him to show up to her father’s funeral, but she shouldn’t have been surprised. That man had turned out to be the best thing she’d collected from her travels. If someone could collect people.
And Bryson had the biggest man crush on him—it was pathetic.
He glanced her direction as he leaned forward, resting the football on the ground, getting ready to take a snap.
Chuckling, she covered her mouth as Mateo and Jessica slinked across the yard with more water balloons at the ready.
Hasley snapped pictures from the sidelines, trying to get the best candid shots. Brea and Ashley stood off to the side, sipping wine and chatting while Willa occasionally darted between them, calling to her father to watch, and to Hasley to make sure she got the shot.
The air smelled faintly of grilled food from the caterers, the bite of red wine, and the sweetness of whatever dessert the kitchen had tucked away for later.
It was loud, messy, and alive. And for the first time since she’d stepped foot back in Stone Bridge, Riley thought—this was home.
She let her gaze drift beyond the yard, over the gentle swell of the vineyard as it rolled toward the horizon. The vines shimmered in the light breeze, the leaves flickering between sun and shadow. She could almost see her father there, moving down the rows with his careful, unhurried gait, running his fingertips along the leaves as though memorizing their shape. She could almost hear the tune he whistled when he thought no one was listening.
Memories of Walter and her dad crashed into her mind. They’d discuss their fantasy football picks with enthusiastic voices, while she and Bryson followed them around in the early mornings because there was nothing better than a stroll in the vines with her favorite people.
The ache rose swift and hot, but it wasn’t the sharp pain of loss anymore—it was something rounder, deeper. The feeling of being rooted, of belonging. Of knowing there were no longer ghosts lingering between the grapes.
The sliding door behind her whispered open. Walter stepped out, his frame casting a long shadow in the gold light. In his hands, he carried a framed photograph, the kind of old wood-and-glass frame that had weight in both heft and meaning.
“That scene out there looks like trouble.” He waved his free hand. “And aching knees.”
She chuckled. “Bryson has so much dirt on hiswhiteshirt, it will never come out.”
“And it looks like his brother is covered with grass stains. Not much has changed over the years with those two. Same squabbles. Same brotherly love.”
“Same razor-sharp tongues and dirty jokes.”
Walter shook his head. “They get their sense of humor from their mother.” He raised a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell Brea I said that.”
“Never.” She smiled. “I’m glad for this moment,” Riley said quietly. “Your eulogy…” Her voice caught for a second. “It was perfect. My dad would’ve loved it.”
Walter’s eyes softened, his voice deep and sure. “It was an honor. Your dad was a good man. And one of my oldest and dearest friends. Much like you and Bryson used to get under our feet sometimes, we did that to our fathers.” He let out a long breath, rubbing his temple. “You should know that Harlan has agreed to be Parker’s attorney.”
“Why does he need one?”
“Legally, he can’t be forced to testify against his wife,” Walter said. “And from the two conversations I’ve had with Parker, all he knew was that they were in financial ruin and that his wife was working on a strategy with her son to fix it.”
“That sounds shady.”
“I think my good friend Harlan is keeping things from me.” Walter lowered his chin. “But he can’t break client-attorney privilege, so this one is gonna have to play out in the courts since your mother is still screaming her innocence.”
“I’m worried about bail,” Riley said.
“It’ll be a hefty sum. Unless Chad decides to cover the bond, I’m not sure she’ll be out anytime soon.” Walter squeezed her shoulder with his free hand. “Let the court system work while you enjoy a little reprieve from it all.” He extended the frame toward her. “This has been hanging in my office for years. I thought you might want it.”
