Page 95 of Wild Abandon

With his hands in the air, Brent pleads his case, “I don’t understand why you want this place. You haven’t harvested in years. You’re letting someone else bottle your grapes. There’s no business here. I’ll offer you more than you can get on the lease.”

Ed shoots at the ground by Brent’s feet.

“Holy shit!” Brent screams as he dodges behind his car. “Are you fucking crazy?”

I step up beside Ed and shout at Brent, “We said, it’s not for sale!”

Brent stops and does a double take at me.

“Oh, and, Brent, I do not, will not, and will never want to go to Sausalito with you. Or Tahoe. Or anywhere.”

“Excuse me?” he asks incredulously, even with Ed pointing a shotgun at him.

“I’m busy. I have a vineyard to run,” I state proudly.

Ed shoots at the ground again, forcing Brent back into his car and kicking dirt up with the rapid speed he is driving away.

With Brent’s dust in the air, Ed lowers his shotgun and gives me a shrug. “Looks like it’s time to start harvesting again.”

chapter TWENTY

New York City has a reputation for people who sit on stoops and look out at the neighborhood. I’ve spent thirty years in the greatest city in the world, and I’ve never spent more time on a stoop than I have since moving in with Naomi.

I’m watching three of the neighborhood kids playing Star Wars in the front yard. When I was a kid, we’d hold a hairbrush and pretend there was a lightsaber pouring out the top. You’d have to announce to the crowd what color it was, so they knew what to picture in their heads. Today, kids have actual lightsabers, like in the movies. There’s no imagination involved.

Eh, listen to me, an old crabby lady complaining about the neighborhood kids.

Maybe this is who I’ll be. Most single girls worry about being the cat lady. I’ll be the lady on my lawn chair on the sidewalk, yelling at the kids to get off my grass.

The porch door closes behind me, and light footsteps approach. Scarlet takes a seat beside me. Together, we watch the kids.

“Why don’t you play with them?” I ask.

“They’re not my friends,” she answers.

“Why not?”

“Because they’re just not. Why? Because they look to be my age, you would assume I should just walk over there and play with them?” Her mouth is pursed. She is awfully defensive on the topic.

“Well, yeah. That’s what kids do. You’re kids. You play.”

“That’s like me telling you to marry a man just because he’s single,” she retorts.

Okay, she has a point. But still. “I’m not proposing a lifelong friendship. Just an afternoon of laser tag.”

“I don’t play laser tag.”

“Manhunt?” My suggestion earns me a scowl. “I don’t know. What do you like?”

She shrugs. “I like to read. I like to play chess and watch Harry Potter movies. I don’t like trading Shopkins or playing games where you have to find a base.”

“Scarlet, you have a million years to exclude yourself from things. These are the years to cherish your inability to isolate people.”

She is staring at me like I just spoke to her in another language.

“What I mean is, maybe there’s something you do have in common with them. You can’t choose your friends based on them only liking the things you like. Maybe you’ll learn something new from them. Or, better yet, you might be able to teach them something new. Like chess. Go on, and give it a try.”

Scarlet rolls her eyes at me and then looks back at the kids. “You really think they’ll play with me?”