afternoon helping Meg tidy the house. She was in the middle of adding water to the four floral arrangements in the living room when a small card fell from the lavish purple and lavender arrangement. She was tucking the card back into the plastic holder when the message caught her eye.
To Meg & Family,
From all of us at Dark Horse Winery
Craig, Chad, Jennifer, and Victoria
So Chad knew Meg had lost her mother. Or someone at Dark Horse Winery knew.
Sarah felt the corners of the small, heavy card stock in a silvery cream. It wasn’t your usual cheap florist enclosure, and somehow it felt weighty and thick. Sincere.
But perhaps she was reading too much into it. Perhaps Jennifer, the winery receptionist, or this new Victoria, had ordered the flowers and purchased the elegant card. Perhaps Chad had nothing to do with it.
But looking at the darkly lush arrangement in deep, passionate purples and delicate violet, Sarah felt emotion, as well as love and loss.
Someone cared for Meg. Someone cared enough to send something beautiful. Meaningful.
Someone like Chad.
Feeling ridiculously emotional as well as conflicted, Sarah grabbed a bottle of wood polish and a dustrag from the mud room and tackled the dining room furniture, dusting and polishing everything made with wood. She needed the work to occupy her hands and distract her thoughts from Meg’s affair with Chad.
Sarah didn’t like Chad Hallahan. Didn’t respect him. Couldn’t respect a man who’d make a move on a married woman, threatening her marriage and family. Marriage was sacred. Families were to be protected.
But as she rubbed and polished the dining room buffet with the enormous arrangement of orchids, hydrangeas, calla lilies, and sweet peas, she tried to picture Meg smiling, laughing, but couldn’t. It’d been a long time since Meg had been happy. Sarah couldn’t even imagine her as light, or joyous, never mind bubbly.
What had Chad seen in her? What had they been like together? Had Chad been able to make her laugh? Was Meg happy when with him? Had he made her feel good? Girlish? Beautiful?
Sarah snapped the dustcloth in frustration. She didn’t even know why she was thinking these things. Meg was married. Married to Jack. Chad didn’t factor into the equation. He didn’t.
And yet . . .
Jack didn’t seem to want to be with Meg, not now, or in the future. And if that was the case, if it was true that he’d soon be out of the picture, then Sarah wanted Meg happy. She wanted to see Meg smile, and hear her laugh, and know that someone loved her deeply. That there was a man who wanted her, and would protect her, and stick with her through thick and thin.
But even more importantly, she wanted Meg to feel the same love and desire. She wanted Meg to run to her man the same way she herself still ran to Boone.
Heart heavy, thoughts tangled, Sarah moved into the living room and tackled the end tables before going to the piano with its half-dozen framed photos. Family shots, individual portraits, and a picture of Mom that immediately caught her attention.
It was Mom the night of her fortieth birthday, and she was smiling up at the camera, glowing in her bronze metallic gown, her dark, glossy hair tumbling over one shoulder. She was smiling with her mouth and her eyes and the photograph radiated joy. Joy and love.
My God, how Mom loved Dad. And life.
She knew how to live. She’d known what mattered. Faith, family, friends, community.
Hearing footsteps behind her, Sarah blinked hard and turned toward Meg with a shaky smile. “I love this one of Mom,” she said.
But it wasn’t Meg in the hall, it was Jack in shorts and a T-shirt, flushed, sweaty, tan following his run.
“I like that one of Marilyn, too,” he answered, mopping his brow. “Meg said it was taken the night of her fortieth birthday.”
Sarah nodded and put the photo back on the piano, surprised to see Jack in running shoes, looking fit and trim. She’d thought of him as academic,
To Meg & Family,
From all of us at Dark Horse Winery
Craig, Chad, Jennifer, and Victoria
So Chad knew Meg had lost her mother. Or someone at Dark Horse Winery knew.
Sarah felt the corners of the small, heavy card stock in a silvery cream. It wasn’t your usual cheap florist enclosure, and somehow it felt weighty and thick. Sincere.
But perhaps she was reading too much into it. Perhaps Jennifer, the winery receptionist, or this new Victoria, had ordered the flowers and purchased the elegant card. Perhaps Chad had nothing to do with it.
But looking at the darkly lush arrangement in deep, passionate purples and delicate violet, Sarah felt emotion, as well as love and loss.
Someone cared for Meg. Someone cared enough to send something beautiful. Meaningful.
Someone like Chad.
Feeling ridiculously emotional as well as conflicted, Sarah grabbed a bottle of wood polish and a dustrag from the mud room and tackled the dining room furniture, dusting and polishing everything made with wood. She needed the work to occupy her hands and distract her thoughts from Meg’s affair with Chad.
Sarah didn’t like Chad Hallahan. Didn’t respect him. Couldn’t respect a man who’d make a move on a married woman, threatening her marriage and family. Marriage was sacred. Families were to be protected.
But as she rubbed and polished the dining room buffet with the enormous arrangement of orchids, hydrangeas, calla lilies, and sweet peas, she tried to picture Meg smiling, laughing, but couldn’t. It’d been a long time since Meg had been happy. Sarah couldn’t even imagine her as light, or joyous, never mind bubbly.
What had Chad seen in her? What had they been like together? Had Chad been able to make her laugh? Was Meg happy when with him? Had he made her feel good? Girlish? Beautiful?
Sarah snapped the dustcloth in frustration. She didn’t even know why she was thinking these things. Meg was married. Married to Jack. Chad didn’t factor into the equation. He didn’t.
And yet . . .
Jack didn’t seem to want to be with Meg, not now, or in the future. And if that was the case, if it was true that he’d soon be out of the picture, then Sarah wanted Meg happy. She wanted to see Meg smile, and hear her laugh, and know that someone loved her deeply. That there was a man who wanted her, and would protect her, and stick with her through thick and thin.
But even more importantly, she wanted Meg to feel the same love and desire. She wanted Meg to run to her man the same way she herself still ran to Boone.
Heart heavy, thoughts tangled, Sarah moved into the living room and tackled the end tables before going to the piano with its half-dozen framed photos. Family shots, individual portraits, and a picture of Mom that immediately caught her attention.
It was Mom the night of her fortieth birthday, and she was smiling up at the camera, glowing in her bronze metallic gown, her dark, glossy hair tumbling over one shoulder. She was smiling with her mouth and her eyes and the photograph radiated joy. Joy and love.
My God, how Mom loved Dad. And life.
She knew how to live. She’d known what mattered. Faith, family, friends, community.
Hearing footsteps behind her, Sarah blinked hard and turned toward Meg with a shaky smile. “I love this one of Mom,” she said.
But it wasn’t Meg in the hall, it was Jack in shorts and a T-shirt, flushed, sweaty, tan following his run.
“I like that one of Marilyn, too,” he answered, mopping his brow. “Meg said it was taken the night of her fortieth birthday.”
Sarah nodded and put the photo back on the piano, surprised to see Jack in running shoes, looking fit and trim. She’d thought of him as academic,
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