Page 34 of Blush
Sadie, one arm full of photo albums, pointed to the spot at the back of the shelf. Her mother crouched down on her knees to get a better look.
“It’s locked,” Leah whispered.
“It’s not—I sprung the lock last time. We can pull it open.”
“Do you need another set of hands?” Vivian called from below. “Should I summon Asher?”
“No, Mom—we’ve got it,” Leah yelled back. She turned to Sadie. “We really shouldn’t invade her privacy.”
“I know,” Sadie said.
“But I have to admit, I’m curious,” Leah said. “I never knew her to keep any kind of journal.”
“She wrote stuff in there about feeling pushed aside, not having a lot to do. This was, like,herthing. A project.”
“Pushed aside? I always saw her as so busy and in control of her domain.” Leah bent lower, peering again into the shelf. “Well, I don’t want to snoop.”
They sat in silence. Sadie, trying to justify her own behavior, said, “If you just read, like, the first page it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Maybe just a few sentences?”
Sadie glanced nervously at the stairs, hoping no one was walking up to bust them. Then she pulled open the compartment door and retrieved the journal, passing it to her mother.
“What in heaven’s name is taking you so long? At this rate we’ll be here all day!” Vivian called out.
“Coming down now,” Leah said, tucking the journal in her arms behind the photo albums. They reached the first floor and unloaded their armfuls of books onto the table.
“Wonderful,” Vivian said. “Peternelle, please hand me a box.”
Leah began organizing piles. Sadie looked around for the journal but had lost track of it. She had to trust that her mother would take care of it.
Vivian walked around the room, directing Peternelle to pull certain books, and then they all pitched in to seal them in boxes. The efficient operation ended with her mother calling for staffers to help carry out the boxes. Vivian trailed behind them, muttering about the indignity of having to pack up her personal belongings to keep them safe.
When she was alone with her mother, Sadie said, “Do you have the journal?”
“No,” Leah said. “I slipped it under your Susan Sontag book.”
They glanced back at the table, completely empty. “Notes on ‘Camp’” was gone.
And so was the journal.
Twenty
Leah took her place at the dinner table. A light breeze blew off the nearby bay. The veranda was pleasant except for the buzz of mosquitos. Peternelle lit citronella candles.
“To good health,” Leonard said, raising his glass of Pinot Noir. If he was fazed by the impending sale, he didn’t let it show. Her mother, on the other hand, was in a mood and refused to take off her sunglasses even as daylight began to fade.
“Sounds great, Dad,” Asher said.
“Would you mind if I had vodka tonight?” Bridget said. “I’m trying to cut carbs. We can’t have a puffy bride.”
“Young lady, at my table we drink wine,” Leonard said.
Leah wouldn’t have minded some hard liquor herself. Before dinner, she’d had a conversation with her father that left her frustrated and more anxious than ever. He’d been on the phone in his office, and she stood in the doorway, waiting for him to finish so she could talk to him. He waved her in, and she sat in the threadbare armchair across from his desk. Despite the many renovations and upgrades of the main house and other parts of the winery over the years, her father had had the same office furniture since the day he moved in.
She waited, feeling inexplicably nervous. She had a right to an opinion, didn’t she?
“What’s on your mind?” he’d said when he finished the call.
