Page 37 of A Vintage of Regret
Sandy sighed. “I don’t think Bryson was ever happy when he was with her. I know he was absolutely miserable when they were married. We all saw it. He wouldn’t admit it, but I think he married her to punish himself for… well, for everything that happened with you.”
The words landed like pebbles in Riley’s stomach—small but rippling out in every direction. “Punish himself? That sounds dramatic.”
Sandy lifted one shoulder. “Maybe. But it’s like he wanted to feel pain, and she was one way to do it. At least, at first. When the dust settled, I think he thought it was… safe. Predictable.”
“Monica?” Riley scoffed. “Safe?”
Sandy’s lips curved in a humorless smile. “Safe in the sense that she didn’t matter to him the way you did. He could keep her at arm’s length. Give her a few charities to work. Let her have the spotlight there, and he could live his days in the vines. Trouble was, Monica’s not the type to be tossed aside. She wanted her man to dress her up and show her off.”
“That sounds horrible… for Bryson,” Riley said, picturing Monica’s sharp-edged smile.
“When she realized Bryson wasn’t going to worship her the way she wanted, she started playing the crowd—charming the people she could use, icing out the ones she couldn’t. That’s why most of us don’t bother with her anymore. It’s exhausting.” Sandy laughed.
“I can’t believe Kim still puts up with her. She always called us out on our shit. Besides, she never liked overly pretentious people.”
Sandy snorted. “Kim’s a good egg, and she’ll often tell Monica she’s being an ass. She’s the kind of person who’ll hold the door open for someone who just shoved her all while giving a lecture on being a butthead. But even Kim’s patience has limits. I think she’s getting close to them.”
“What about Mae?” Riley asked.
“She’s in full avoidance mode. If she sees Monica in the grocery store, she’ll leave a full cart in the aisle and come back later. I’ve seen her do it.”
Riley laughed. “Some things never change. Mae and I were shopping in one of the boutiques once and ran into her ex with his latest conquest, and she ran out with her shirt half done up because we’d been trying on clothes.”
“That’s Mae.” Sandy leaned in, lowering her voice even though the diner was only half full. “You should know, though, Monica still talks about you.”
Riley’s stomach tightened. “Oh, I can imagine.”
“It’s not even original anymore. Same tired digs—how you left, how you couldn’t hack it here, how you ran away when things got hard. She spins it like she’s the authority on your life.”
Riley rolled her eyes. “Classic Monica. Rewrite the story until she’s the hero, but I don’t like being at the center of it and certainly can’t deal with it this week.”
“Let her talk,” Sandy said, sitting back. “Most people don’t buy her version anymore. They’ve seen too much. And besides—” she gave Riley a knowing look “—you’re back now. That alone changes the narrative.”
Riley tapped her nails against her cup, thinking about that. She hadn’t come back to change anyone’s mind. She wasn’t here to win a popularity contest. But the idea that her presence could shift the balance in any narrative—maybe that wasn’t the worst thing. It was already moving in the right direction with her siblings. Things weren’t half as tense with Bryson as she’d envisioned.
And this chance meeting with Sandy? Well, it was damn refreshing.
“Tell me about Stephanie,” Riley said. “I haven’t spoken to anyone since I left.”
Sandy hesitated. “Steph’s fine. Married, two kids, runs the gift shop on Main. She’s… careful. Doesn’t get involved in much anymore. I think she’s still figuring out where she fits, you know? For a while, she trash-talked you with Monica, but she was in the wedding, and I think she got caught up in it all. When shit hit the fan, and Bryson literally threw Monica out of the family mansion, Steph felt like she’d betrayed you. But I’ll admit, everyone was hurt that you didn’t reach out, Steph maybe a little more than most. But that might have been because you two were pretty close.”
“I was close with all of them, but yeah, I can understand that.”
They fell into an easy silence for a moment, sipping coffee, watching a couple of teenagers outside loiter by the bike rack.
Finally, Sandy said, “Look, Riley. People have long memories here, but they’re not unshakable. You left on weird terms. But you didn’t burn the place down when you did. You might besurprised at how many folks are glad to see you back—me included.”
Riley smiled faintly. “Thanks.”
Sandy’s grin widened. “Just… be ready. Stone Bridge loves its drama and secrets. This town was built on them. And with you and Bryson in the same zip code, Monica’s going to make sure you’re the headliner. And not in a good way.”
Riley shook her head, but she couldn’t quite suppress her own smile. “Let her try.”
The Rusted Rail was half-lit and half-empty, the way Bryson liked it. But that would change in less than an hour, considering it was Friday night. The low hum of conversation blended with the crackle of an old jukebox in the corner, warbling out a country ballad that had probably been stuck on repeat since before he was born. The air smelled of hoops, fried food, and that faint metallic tang of spilled beer soaked into the floorboards over decades.
He sat at the far end of the bar, a bottle of lager sweating in front of him, watching the condensation pool into a ring on the wood. Most people eyed him suspiciously when he ordered a cold brew. As if a man who owned a winery couldn’t enjoy anything other than vino. Truth be told, Bryson sometimes got sick of wine and needed a change of pace, if only to cleanse his palate.
Tonight, however, he wished he’d ordered that nice Pinot they had staring him down from behind the counter like they were in a showdown at high noon.
