9.1

“I’ve been telling you that for years.” An amused male voice floated through what I’d thought was the empty tasting room. I looked up to find my brother Lincoln grinning at me. “What the heck, bro?”

For a moment, I considered telling him my actual problem. But I wasn’t really close with my brothers that way. I handled things. Just like Dad had. I didn’t bother them with the details.

“Everything is fine,” I said, tidying the counter and preparing to leave.

“Looks like it,” he said, shaking his head. It occurred to me then that Lincoln, at twenty-six, probably knew as well as I did the roles we’d each taken on since Dad died. I carried the burdens of the business, he checked in on Mom. The streams didn’t often cross. “Well, I just came to say hi to Mom, brought her some dinner. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I’m on my way out,” I told him.

“See you later,” he called, pushing through the door to the back rooms, carrying takeout bags.

***

El texted me as I was sliding into bed that night.