Alexandria where, along with two hundred or so others, she signed her naturalization document in front of the judge, then pledged allegiance to the United States of America. After that, she was an American.
The only people allowed in the crowded room were the newly minted citizens-to-be, so Joe never got to witness the big moment. When they got back to the vineyard, we carried on with plans for a family dinner at the house, though the atmosphere was more like a funeral than a party. No one spoke about what had happened, but it was like trying to ignore a hundred elephants in the room. Fortunately, the presence of a baby—Eli and Brandi had brought Hope—provided a welcome distraction. Mia excused herself when we brought out the cake and Dominique didn’t want us to serve the champagne, but I insisted.
The party we’d scheduled for all of her friends on Sunday afternoon at the villa was now up in the air, especially after the news of the accident made the front page of the newspapers, including photographs of Mia and the two other kids. The last thing anyone felt like doing was celebrating.
“Why don’t we postpone?” Dominique said. “It’s terrible timing.”
“I’m so sorry about this. Maybe in a few weeks we can reschedule,” I said. “But we ordered all the food, so what if we just invite your staff over for a buffet? We can call everyone else. I don’t think we’ll have to explain much. If we miss anyone or someone does show up, they can join us.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll get a couple of my waitresses to make the calls.”
“I’ve ruined her citizenship party along with everything else I’ve done,” Mia said the next morning as she sat cross-legged on my bed, watching me change into a sundress. “She’s waited years for this. I’m not going, you know, even if it is just the staff from the Inn. Everyone will look at me like I’m a monster.” She pulled a pack of tissues out of the pocket of her jeans, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t believe I killed that boy,” she said. “I just can’t.”
“You don’t remember anything,” I said. “So what makes you so sure you didn’t? You already have a history of drinking and driving. You pushed your luck that you didn’t get caught before. This time you did and you killed someone.” I was so angry with her, but so scared for her, too.
“No,” she insisted. “That’s not true! Okay, I drank. But I
“You actually thought about a designated driver? What about that ticket?”
“Of course I did. And the ticket was for public drunkenness. Just a fine. Not DUI.”
“Did any of the kids you were hanging out with drink and drive?”
She made a face like she’d just eaten something nasty. “A few.”
“Who?”
“Brad. Abby’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. And a couple of the others. I don’t know them too well.”
“I don’t know why Abby didn’t take your keys away from you,” I said. “‘Friends don’t let friends drive drunk.’”
Mia swallowed. “She’s no friend anymore. Not after what she told Mr. Constantine. She was already loaded when I got there, crying about Brad. She found out he slept with someone else. I thought she was gonna kill him. It’s not true that I’m the one who insisted on making those drinks. Anyway, I had a horrible headache when I got there. She gave me something for it and I lay down for a while. When I woke up she handed me a drink.”
“What’d she give you for your headache?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I dunno. I thought it was aspirin. Whatever it was, it worked.”
“Well, the way this is going down it’s your word against hers. Sam said she claimed you took off before she could stop you. Her father said Abby was home when he got in around midnight. In bed. He knew she had been drinking, but she’s not underage. Sam wasn’t sure Hugo wasn’t going to get fined or worse for allowing a minor to consume alcohol on the premises, considering what you did after you left there. The fact that he wasn’t home doesn’t get him off the hook, but it’s probably a mitigating factor.”
She buried her head in her hands. Her voice was muffled. “God, I just don’t know. It didn’t happen like that, I swear.”
“Then how did you end up at the scene of an accident?” I demanded. So far I’d been trying to keep my voice even, but what she said was physically impossible. I ticked things off on my fingers. “You were banged up. You were driving that car. No one else was there except you and the other two kids. What other explanation is there?”
She looked up, her pretty young face ravaged and grief-stricken. “I swear on Mom’s grave, Lucie. I think I got set up. But I don’t know how.”
“Stay here,” I said, “while I’m at the villa. And stay out of trouble. The strongest thing you can drink is coffee. Got that?”
“What should I do?” she wailed. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“I don’t know,” I said, exasperated. “Watch a movie. Watch TV. Read a book. Do your laundry. But do not leave this house under any circumstances.”
She nodded, looking completely broken. I swallowed the lump in my throat and left for the villa. I should have hugged her and told her it would be okay. But it wasn’t okay and she’d been playing with fire. She had taken a life. The newspaper photographs were the high school photos for all three of them. The boy had been a good-looking kid, though the bow tie of his tuxedo was slightly askew and his smile had a bit of the devil in it. But his eyes were intelligent and hopeful and now there would be one lucky wait-listed person who would take his place at Princeton. At least his girlfriend was reported to be in stable condition, thank God.
Almost everyone who wasn’t actually working the Sunday lunch shift at the Inn showed up for the buffet. As expected, it was a subdued afternoon. I was in the kitchen removing the plastic wrap from another tray of hors d’oeuvres when Quinn showed up, sunburned from the beach and sporting a new Hawaiian shirt. He looked good.
He leaned against the doorway. “You’ve had the weekend from hell, haven’t you?”
“Not as bad as the weekend the family of the boy Mia killed is having.”
He walked over to me. “Why didn’t you call me?”
I said unsteadily, “It’s a family matter. And you were…away.”
“I would have come back immediately if I’d known.”
I hadn’t cried the whole weekend, for the dead boy, for the grief my sister had caused their family, for the absolute tragedy of the situation. “It has nothing to do with the vineyard. You don’t need to be involved.” The tears streamed down my face and I looked around for a napkin, anything, to wipe them away.
He pulled me to him and stroked my hair. “I’m sorry what I said about Mia before. I had no right to do that. It was out of line.”
“It’s okay,” I said into his shirt. “Don’t worry about it.”
He kicked the kitchen door shut with the heel of his boot and let me cry it out in choked hushed sobs while he held me. “What if they can hear me out there?” I said, finally. “Everyone will wonder. And I should take this tray out to the terrace.”
“Shhh,” he whispered. “No one wonders anything. I’ll take it out in a few minutes. Calm down and take a deep breath. That’s a good girl.” He handed me a cocktail napkin that said “Congratulations” on it in flowery script. “You going to be all right?”
I wiped my eyes. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I’ll be right back.” He picked up the tray.
“That’s not what I meant.”
He’d been about to open the door, but he stopped and set the tray back down. “What did you mean?”
I twisted the small napkin into a knot. “I don’t want you to leave the vineyard. I want you to stay.”
He looked at me for what seemed like an eternity and I could see the futility in his eyes that meant my plea was too little too late and the die was already cast. But all he said was, “I’ll be back.”
When he finally returned with two more empty trays, I was leaning against the counter with wet napkins pressed against my eyes like compresses. “How do I look?” I took away the napkins and blinked. “Can you tell anything?”
“You look fine,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get back out there.”
The party broke up not long after that. Dominique left for the Inn with Joe. Her staff stayed behind to clean up.
“We’ve got things under control here,” Quinn said to me. “Why don’t you take off?”
