In His Eyes

He sucked in a breath and then sighed heavily. In annoyance or regret? Zoe didn’t trust herself to guess.

“I wish…” he began, before trailing off.

“What?”

Before he could answer, another car crunched on the gravel and pulled up beside them. Zoe ripped her hand from Hugh’s grasp and pushed her sleeve down, feeling suddenly exposed. Her scars—physical or metaphorical—were no longer any of his business, and they were certainly not the business of any other Tangawarra townsperson who might look through the window. Townspeople who were turning up to honor her grandfather’s memory, even though it was against his explicit instructions.

Righteous—and very welcome—anger flooded through her, but before she could explode again about this betrayal of Mack’s wishes, Hugh was out of the car, walking around to open her door. Her new neighbor, Patricia, was standing right there to greet her.

Another three cars arrived and people began climbing out.

She needed to control her responses. She was an adult now, and she’d left that angry teenage Zoe behind long ago. Even if anger was still her default defense mechanism, she’d since learned to control it better.

Just not when Hugh Lawson was around, it seemed.

Screaming at him might help let off some steam, but even if Tangawarra had changed since she’d left, she bet it was just the kind of thing that the gossip-hungry townsfolk would still love to watch.

“Hugh, it is so kind of you to do this.” Patricia stood on tiptoe and gave Hugh a peck on the cheek.

“I’m sure Mack would have really appreciated it.” Patricia smiled sadly and then walked over to a small gathering of women to chat.

No, he wouldn’t! Zoe wanted to yell. Somehow she kept the words to herself. How was it possible that the people who had known Mack for years, lived with him in their community, had so little understanding of how the man worked? She’d shared a house with him, sure, but they’d never shared their inner selves. Even still, it just seemed so obvious to her that this was wrong.

“Shall we head inside, Zoe?” Hugh took a step closer to her and Zoe refused to move back, even though she wanted to. “I need to make a few arrangements.”

Then his hand was on her arm again, leading her up a long ramp to the entrance. She was sure that from an observer’s perspective it seemed perfectly correct—yet another example of saintly Hugh comforting the grieving granddaughter. They couldn’t see that his fingertips were ever so slightly stroking the inside of her elbow. She wondered if he was even aware that he was doing it himself. And if so, was he doing it only to rile her? She still couldn’t help the physical response of her body. It had been trained too well to respond to his touch.

* * *

THENEXTHOURPASSED in a blur. Accosted on every side, Zoe could barely catch a breath as everyone wanted to pass on their condolences and, more subtly, find out what the naughty Zoe Waters had been up to these past ten years.

“So you didn’t end up in jail, then.” An older man she didn’t recognize had remarked with a laugh. The woman next to him laughed, too, and Zoe figured she was supposed to think it was a joke. Very funny. Not.

“Or did you?”

Zoe didn’t dignify the question with a response.

Other people were nicer—asked about her life in California, made sincere-sounding comments about Mack’s passing.

On the one hand, she was genuinely surprised. She wondered if her gruff, antisocial grandfather had had any idea just how many people cared enough to turn up to say farewell. Or perhaps they were here for the free Lawson Estate wine on offer, her more cynical side couldn’t help thinking. She did note that it was their table wine being poured, not their premium label, but even still.

She shook her head in bewilderment at some of the stories people were telling—her grandfather turning up to repair fences when George Armino had his tractor accident, donating wine as an auction prize to raise money for the primary school, sending his pickers to spend an extra day helping out the DiAngelos when they hadn’t had enough cash to pay for their own.

Surely they were making it up? None of that sounded remotely like the grandfather she’d grown up with. Other stories—Mack turning the hose on a particularly persistent person who’d come to help him when he was sick—seemed more familiar.

People were curious about her, but again Zoe was surprised—Mack seemed to have shared some of her various moves and achievements with a couple of people. Which, in Tangawarra, meant everyone knew. He had talked about her current position as winemaker at the Golden Gate Estate in Napa; mentioned her work at wineries all around the world. When they’d had their occasional phone calls every year or two, he’d responded to her tales of what she’d been doing with little more than a grunt. If he’d been proud of her, she’d had no idea.

On the other hand, there was no mistaking her appeal as a novelty here today. The sly glances and hushed conversations where people looked at her, then looked away when she caught them staring. The constant stream of people wanting to talk to her, each subsequent person interrupting to ask the same round of intrusive questions, the same gleam in their eye. How did a girl like you make it? They all seemed to silently ask. Or maybe it was just her own paranoia. From an outsider’s perspective it probably looked like pretty average curiosity about the naughty teenager who’d been sent away to get straightened out. And some of the people had been genuinely friendly and sweetly concerned for her. It was just so hard to let go of her ingrained memories of Tangawarra—and of the people who’d watched her live through some of the most miserable years of her life.

It was exhausting. Not only the nonstop chatter, but the constant second-guessing of herself. The only good thing was that Hugh Lawson had turned invisible—he’d organized this thing, dumped her in it and then disappeared. It annoyed her, even while she knew she should be grateful that he wasn’t around to further upset her equilibrium.

Patricia appeared just as Zoe’s polite smile was growing ragged around the edges.

“Zoe? Why don’t you come over here with me and take a seat?”

Zoe could have hugged the woman in gratitude. She’d worn her heels—still thick with mud—figuring she’d be on her feet only an hour or so for the funeral. But now, after three hours, her toes were blistered and the balls of her feet were burning. Patricia steered her to a padded-leather bench seat that ran along one wall of the restaurant.

“Have you had anything to eat or drink?” Patricia fussed around her like a mother hen. Usually the attention would have made Zoe uncomfortable, but for the moment she was immensely grateful.

Zoe grimaced. “I haven’t had a chance. Too many people want to grill me.”

Patricia gave her a frowning look. “Grill? I don’t think—”

Before she could finish, the crackling sound of a PA system interrupted. Someone blew into a microphone and the din of conversation in the room hushed.

“Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?”

A chorus of people yelled out that it was, in fact, on. A rotund man Zoe vaguely recognized struggled to stand on a chair and everyone turned to face him. Grateful for her seat, Zoe stayed where she was.

“We’re here today to celebrate the life of Mack Waters.”

A muted cheer went up and everyone held their wineglasses aloft.

“Mack kept himself to himself, but as many of you know, the Waters family were the original trailblazers of wine-making in this valley—a trail that many of us here today have followed. Mack carried on his family’s tradition in his own way. He only ever sold his wine by mail order because, in his own words, it meant he’d never have to deal with any bloody customers.” The portly man laughed at his own wit and an answering ripple of laughter ran around the room.

“We also know that although he wasn’t a joiner, Mack was a part of this community in his own manner. He helped out his neighbors—well, some of them, anyway…”

The man paused for the wave of hushed tittering at his unsubtle reference to the long feud between the Lawson and Waters families—a matter that was widely known but rarely discussed publicly.

“…although I guess today goes some way to seeing that put to bed.” He gestured to their surroundings. He didn’t have to say anything more. A member of the Waters family being farewelled on Lawson Estate property spoke volumes in itself.

Zoe watched everyone nod. The lump in her throat rose again to block her windpipe, surprising her with its intensity. No crying. She tried to take deep breaths to hold the emotion at bay, but her chest just wouldn’t expand properly.

“Mack also raised his granddaughter, Zoe, after Margie was killed in that awful car accident.”

Zoe tried hard to ignore the fact that almost everyone in the room turned to look at her as they tut-tutted in what could only be fake sympathy. No one in Tangawarra had liked her mother, either.

She swallowed again, but the lump didn’t move.

“We all know Zoe gave him a run for his money.” He paused for a hearty chuckle that a few in the crowd joined. “But we also know that once she found her way onto the straight and narrow he was rightly proud of her. Mind you, she tested him—and most of us—along the way.” Another jovial laugh. “I remember when she was fifteen and she was caught spraying graffiti on my store…”

That’s where she knew him from. Frank from the hardware store. He’d just put on a lot of weight and aged ten years.

The room closed in. Her lungs seized. There was no air.

Whatever Frank said that caused another wave of laughter in the room passed her by as her ears buzzed with growing panic.

“Zoe, are you all right?” Patricia whispered nervously at her side.