Page 10 of Finding Yesterday

“Thank you, but I’m not sure we could work together.” That would be a nightmare for both of us, and she knows it.

“Yeah, true,” she says. Then she manages to pinch a shoulder nerve that I swear hurts all the way up to my brain.

“Ouch!” I cry. “Can you please stop massaging me?”

“Oh, sorry.” She pulls her hands away from my shoulders before she rubs her fingers over my hair, something she always did when we were little. It was Emma who bore the brunt of the responsibility for comforting me after Mama died. Daddy’s grief was too deep, and Emma had to be the strong one. To this day, she still is the strong one.

And Nate, well, Nate just disappeared into his guitar. He and his best friend started a band, and eventually, Emma joined in. She has a gorgeous voice. The three were so good they almost hit it big.

But when Emma accidentally got pregnant, she stopped singing, and Dylan became her priority. It was the only thing in her life she didn’t do “perfectly,” although it was meant to be because Dylan is the most amazing kid ever.

“How about this.” Emma pats my head. “I need someone to go taste Daddy and Nate’s new wine and see if I should carry it. You could head to Blue Vine then bring it to the store for me if it passes the taste test. You can earn a little extra money while getting up and about again.”

I touch her hand on my shoulder. I’ll never get used to seeing the difference in our skin tones. Emma’s is flawless, like a porcelain doll. Mine’s rosy with freckles and imperfections. “Okay, thank you,” I say, just above a whisper. Right now, that feels impossible, but Emma’s right. I need to get out of bed and do something. Going to Daddy’s seems easy enough, and I’d love being in Blue Vine.

Emma steps back in front of me. “Oh, why don’t you go to River’s restaurant? I can arrange it. She can give you a lesson on how she runs her business.”

River Sache was in Emma’s sommelier class, and now River has a successful vegetarian restaurant, The Violet Root, in the Virginia-Highland neighborhood. I bite my lip before replying, “I don’t know. I hate to bother her.”

Emma sighs, cocking her head. “Claire, maybe you should consider looking for another partner.”

And there it is—what Emma really thinks: that I can’t do this on my own. I meet her gaze, my face hard. “You know what, I will meet with River. Thank you.”

I’m tired of Emma thinking I’m not enough. That has to change.

CHAPTER FIVE

SINCE I’M ATDaddy’s picking up wines for Emma, I’m going to make him a nice vegetable stew. There’s nothing like farm-fresh, so I’m headed to Daisy’s. She and her husband, Jessie Mac, have the best vegetables Blue Vine has to offer, not to mention amazing cheese.

Pulling up to the farm, I take in the view. I’d forgotten how beautiful this place is in the spring. With the daffodils swaying in the breeze in the field behind the rusty-red barn, it almost looks like one of Emma’s paintings.

I step out of the car, and the wind’s kicked up so much it whips my hair in my face. I’m pulling a strand from my mouth when I see Daisy in the pig pen. She’s putting her handmade hats on the teacup pigs, probably because she’s expecting visitors.

I wave with my free hand. “Hi, Ms. Daisy!”

“Claire,” she calls out. “Good to see you, darlin’! Can you gimme a hand with these hogs? They aren’t cooperating. They need their hats; we’ve got a Kindergarten class coming by.”

“Of course!” I rush over, realizing I left my vegetable basket in the car. Oh well, I’ll go back for it. I step into the pen, trying to figure out how to keep my boots clean. Georgia red clay sticks to shoes like wet tar.

I tiptoe over to Daisy where she hands me a pink crochet hat that has a hand-knitted aqua flower on it, just between the ear holes. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” I tilt my head.

“Aw, thanks, sweetie.” She holds it out. “Can you get this thing on that baby pig?” She points to the tiniest hog of the bunch. “He won’t let me catch him, and he’s a quick little bugger. This hat’s the only one that’ll fit him, so he’ll just have to be a little girly.”

“He won’t mind.” I laugh, waving at the baby pig. “Modern boys are embracing pink and aqua, along with their feminine sides.”

“Tell that to my old-as-dirt husband. Maybe he’ll do that load of laundry I asked him to do a week ago.” She lets out a laugh. “Right.”

I chuckle, approaching the baby pig, who has an adorable brown spot on his eye and the perfectly spiral tail that I can’t wait to touch. His hair looks like it’s still soft. He puts his snout in the air, like he’s sniffing me. Just when I think he’s going to dart away, he rolls over and shows me his adorable pot belly. “Well, hello, there.” I rub his tummy, and I swear he’s smiling.

This has to be the cutest pig I’ve ever seen.

My heart bursts as he wiggles his little hooves in joy. “Well, just look at you,” I say in my best baby voice. When he pops back up, I slide the hat right on his head, no problem. I’ve now named him Winston in my head.

I used to name the pigs we had on the farm growing up, which drove Daddy up the wall. He didn’t want any of us getting attached to the hogs since they were our food. I named one Vanilla Ice because he liked ice cream, and another Miss Peachy because she liked peaches and had vaguely resembled Miss Piggy. I once told Mama that if we ever turned a pig into a pet, I’d name him Winston because it was similar to Wilbur fromCharlotte’s Web. It was one of the few passing moments with her that, for whatever reason, stuck with me.

And if I thought Winston was cute before, that was nothing compared to now. He could be on a billboard wearing this hat, the aqua flower sitting perfectly between his ears. I take out my phone and snap a picture or two. Or ten.

“Wow, he never poses for anyone,” Daisy says, approaching. “Would ya look at that. I think you’ve made yourself a friend, Claire.”

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