Page 6 of A Vintage of Regret
“Come on.” Devon motioned toward the emergency bay doors. “Let’s go.”
Bryson followed his older brother. Once outside, he paused near the parking lot, where he’d illegally parked, grateful he hadn’t been ticketed. “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered. “Just yesterday, he was telling customers at the tasting bar stories about dad when they were kids.”
“He’ll be missed.” Devon looped an arm over Bryson’s shoulder and tugged him close for a much needed brotherly hug. “Do you think they’ll reach out to Riley?”
“I’m sure they will. I just worry about how that will go.” Bryson ran his fingers through his hair. “Sean and I discussed dozens of things on our walks through the vines. Riley was one of those topics. But we always kept it to her different jobs. All the places she’d been. He didn’t like discussing the problems between his children.” The unspoken family tensions had always hung in the air between them, thick as mud. “Not only did I respect that, but I also honestly didn’t want to hear about it. Not to mention, I didn’t want to dig too deep into the Riley conversation outside of hearing about her wild adventures.”
Devon glanced toward the parking lot. “Do you have any idea where Riley is right now?”
Knowing where Riley was and doing anything about it were two entirely different things. “After Monica and I divorced, I tried looking her up on the Internet. I just wanted to see what she’d been up to. She has no online presence. A few years ago, I asked Sean about that, and he told me that she’s never opened any kind of social media account. Nothing. But he’s kept me up on where she’s been, always teasing me about contacting her. She’s currently in Patagonia.”
“Are you gonna to reach out?” Devon stepped in front of him, giving him that older brother arched brow. “Because you’re still hung up on that girl.”
“I’m not hung up. I’m worried she won’t have a single friendly face in this town.” Bryson pushed past his brother andmarched toward his truck, waving his hand over his head. “I’ll see you later.”
“I can’t stand Grant. But even I have faith he’ll do the right thing when it comes to this,” Devon called.
“That depends on your definition of right.” As soon as Bryson slipped behind the steering wheel of his truck, he called his little sister, Hasley.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Hey. Dad told me what happened. Is Sean okay?”
“No.” Bryson dropped his head back and sighed. “He passed.” More tears filled his eyes. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop them now.
“Jesus. That sucks.”
“It does,” he said. “I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Could you call Dad’s lawyer and find the name of the private investigator he uses. I need to contact him,” Bryson said.
“I’m headed to see him right now. Do you want me to ask him to call you?”
“That works.”
“I just left yoga class. Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes,” Hasley said.
“I’ve got a few errands to run, and then I’ll be home.”
Bryson ended the call and dropped his head to the steering wheel and let out a soul-crushing moan. Growing up, Bryson had never been considered sensitive. Quite the opposite. He’d been an all-star football player and went on to play in college. He’d been brains and bravado. If he couldn’t charm his way out of something… he muscled through it. Sometimes literally. Showing his emotions hadn’t come easily to him. However, like a good wine, he’d grown into them—giving them the legs they deserved.
But damn, this hurt like fucking hell.
Two
The Patagonian peaks stretched endlessly before Riley Callahan. Their jagged silhouettes carved against a sky so vast it seemed to swallow sound. Here, at the edge of the world, the silence should have been absolute. Broken only by the whistle of wind through granite and the distant cry of a condor riding the thermals. But even in this cathedral of stone and sky, the past had found her.
The wind coming off the ridge still carried the bite of late-season snow, but Riley barely noticed. Instead, her cell tormented with the voice message from her brother had left an hour ago that she hadn't listened to yet. Grant generally called on holidays, birthdays, or when he wanted to argue. Though, last time they spoke, it had been random. They’d been trying to make things better. Trying to have a relationship that didn’t consist of insults and accusations. It had started off well enough. Grant talked about his kids. Their activities. How his daughter was turning out to be an angsty pre-teen. But then the conversation shifted—toward their parents—and landed firmly in the past.
Never a good thing. Riley and Grant didn’t shout, or even hang-up, but it didn’t make their relationship any easier.
She'd deal with her brother and the rest of her family later. If it were truly urgent, her father would've reached out. For now, she'd enjoy the moment. She'd earned it.
She sat cross-legged on a flat rock overlooking the river, a thermos of instant coffee steaming in her lap, boots kicked off beside her. Below, the last of their group picked their way back toward basecamp, laughter echoing faintly through the trees. Another successful hike. No sprained ankles. No altitude sickness. No couples fighting over who packed the wrong gear.
A win by Patagonian standards.
