The Best Man

Levi knew she’d been back over the years—Christmas and Thanksgiving, a weekend here and there, but her visits were short and sweet. She sure never stopped by the police station, though he was friendly with her family; sometimes her grandparents would ask him to stay for dinner after they’d summoned him to the house, and once in a while, he’d have a beer with her father or brother at O’Rourke’s. But Faith would never think to drop by and say hello.

Yet once upon a time, when she’d cried herself dehydrated, she’d fallen asleep with her head in his lap.

Levi got back into his cruiser. Plenty of work to do. No point in dwelling on the past.

* * *

FAITH KNOCKED ON THE BACK door of her father’s house and happily braced for impact. “I’m home!” she called.

“Faith! Oh, honey, finally!” cried Goggy, leading the stampede. “You’re late! Didn’t I tell you dinner was at noon?”

“Just got hung up a little,” Faith said, not wanting to mention Levi Cooper, Ass Pain.

Abby, now sixteen and so pretty, wrapped herself around Faith, burbling out compliments: “I love your earrings, you smell so good, can I come live with you?” Pops kissed both her cheeks and told her she was his prettiest girl, and Faith breathed in the comforting scent of grapes and Bengay. Ned hugged her amiably, despite being twenty-one, and tolerated a hair muss, and Pru gave her a hard hug, as well.

Her mother’s absence was still the most powerful thing in the room.

And finally there was Dad, who waited his turn for a solo hug. His eyes were wet when he pulled back. “Hi, sweetpea,” he said, and Faith’s heart gave a tug.

“Missed you, Daddy.”

“You look beautiful, sweetheart.” He ran a purple-stained hand over her hair and smiled.

“Mrs. Johnson’s not here?” Faith asked.

“It’s her day off,” Dad said.

“Oh, I know. I just haven’t seen her since June.”

“She doesn’t approve of Grandpa’s girlfriend,” Abby whispered as she petted Blue.

“Hi, sis,” Jack said, handing her a glass of wine.

“Hello, favorite sibling,” she answered, taking a hearty slug.

“Don’t drink it like it’s Gatorade, sweetpea,” her father chided. “We’re winemakers, remember?”

“Sorry, Dad,” Faith said. “Nice aroma of freshly cut grass, a rich, buttery texture, and I’m getting overtones of apricot with a hint of lemon. I love it.”

“Good girl,” he said. “Did you get any vanilla? Honor said vanilla.”

“Definitely.” Far be it for Faith to contradict Honor, who ran everything under the moon at Blue Heron Vineyards. “Where is Honor, by the way?”

“On that phone of hers,” Goggy said darkly. She tended not to trust anything invented after 1957. “Get in the dining room before the food gets cold.”

“I was serious when I asked to come live with you,” Abby said. Prudence sighed and took a slug of her own wine. “Plus,” Abby went on, “then I can establish residency in California and go to some awesome school out there at half price. See, Mom? Just saving you and Dad some money.”

“And where’s Carl, speaking of my favorite brother-in-law?” Faith asked.

“Hiding,” Pru answered.

“Well, well, well! You must be Faith!” A woman’s voice boomed as the downstairs bathroom door opened, the sound of a flushing toilet in the background.

Faith opened her mouth, then closed it. “Oh. I—I am. Lorena, I’m guessing?”

The woman Honor had warned about was a sight to behold indeed. Dull black hair, obviously dyed, makeup so thick you could carve in it and a squat body shown in horrifying detail through a clinging, leopard-print shirt.

The woman shoved a Sharpie pen in her cleavage where it stayed, quivering, like a syringe. “Just touching up my roots!” she announced. “Wanted to make a nice impression on the little princess! Hello there! Give us a hug!”

Faith’s breath left her in a whoosh as Lorena wrapped her in a python grip. “Nice to meet you,” she wheezed as Pru gave her a significant look.

“Can we please eat before my death?” Pops asked. “The old woman here wouldn’t let me have my cheese. I’m starving.”

“So, die already,” Goggy answered. “No one’s stopping you. I’ll barely notice.”

“Well, Phyllis Nebbins would notice. She got a new hip two months ago, Faithie. Looks like she’s seventy-five again, out there with her grandson, always with a smile. Nice to see a happy woman.”

Goggy slammed down a massive bowl of salt potatoes. “I’ll be happy once you’re dead.”

“That’s beautiful, Goggy,” Ned said.

“You two are such hoots!” Lorena practically yelled. “I love it!”

Faith sat down, inhaling the scent of Goggy’s ham, salt potatoes and home.

There were two houses on Blue Heron Vineyard: the Old House, where Goggy and Pops lived, a Colonial that had been updated twice since being built in 1781—once to install indoor plumbing, then again in 1932. Faith and her siblings grew up here, in the New House, a graceful if creaky old Federal built in 1873, where Dad lived with Honor and Mrs. Johnson, the housekeeper who’d been with them since Mom died.

And speaking of Honor... “Sorry, everyone,” she said. She paused, gave Faith a brief kiss on the cheek. “You finally got here.”

“Hi, Honor.” She ignored the slight reprimand.

Pru and Jack were sixteen and eight years older than Faith respectively, and generally viewed their baby sister as adorable, if slightly incompetent (which Faith had never minded, as it got her out of a lot of chores back in the day). Honor, though... She was four years older; Faith had been a surprise. Maybe Honor had never forgiven Faith for stealing the title of baby of the family.

More likely, though, she’d never gotten over the fact that Faith had caused their mother’s death.

Faith had epilepsy, first diagnosed when she was about five. Jack had filmed a seizure once (typical boy), and Faith had been horrified to see herself oblivious, her muscles jerking and clenching, eyes as vacant as a dead cow’s. It was assumed that Constance Holland had been distracted by one such seizure and therefore hadn’t seen the car that had smashed into them, killing Mom. Honor had never forgiven Faith...and Faith didn’t blame her.

“Why are you just sitting there, Faith?” Goggy demanded. “Eat up, sweetheart. Who knows what you’ve been living on in California?” Her grandmother passed her a plate loaded with smoked ham, buttered salt potatoes, green beans with butter and lemon, and braised carrots (with butter). Faith imagined she gained a pound just by looking at it.

“So, Lorena, you and my dad are...?” Faith asked above the background noise of her grandparents bickering over how much salt Pops should put on his already heavily salted meal.

“Special friends, sweetheart, special, special friends,” the woman said, adjusting her rather massive breasts. “Right, Johnny?”

“Oh, sure,” he agreed amiably. “She was dying to meet you, Faith.”

According to Honor, Lorena Creech had met Dad about a month earlier during a tour of Blue Heron. Everyone in the area knew John Holland had been devastated by his wife’s death, had never wanted to date anyone, was happy among his children, grandchildren and grapes. Any attempts at a relationship had been gently rebuffed in the early days until it was accepted that John Holland Jr. would remain a widower the rest of his life.

Enter Lorena Creech, a transplant from Arizona, clearly a gold digger, and not a candidate for stepmother. All three local Holland kids had discussed this with Dad, but he’d just laughed and waved off their concern. And while Dad was many things, Faith thought, watching as Lorena held the silverware up to the light, he wasn’t the most observant of men. No one had anything against Dad finding a nice woman to marry, but no one wanted Lorena to be sleeping upstairs in Mom’s old bed, either.