Chương 11
“My brand is wine.”
“You know what I mean.”
Lila stood and went to the coffee maker. She poured the last inch into a mug. It had been sitting too long.
“Why did you come here instead of calling?” she asked.
“You don’t answer.”
“I answered Caleb.”
Savannah flinched. “How many times?”
“Three calls. One conversation.”
“What did he ask?”
“About you.”
“What did you say?”
“To ask you.”
Savannah’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“You could have destroyed me,” she said.
“I don’t want to.”
“Grandma did.”
“She knows.”
“Mom says Grandma is devastated.”
“Mom enjoys reporting other people’s devastation.”
“She made a file for Eleanor.”
“I saw it.”
Savannah turned. “She showed you?”
“Yes.”
“She has never shown me.”
“Ask her.”
“You make everything sound simple.”
“It isn’t simple. It is direct.”
“You think those are the same thing.”
Lila sipped the bad coffee.
Savannah returned to the chair.
“I didn’t exclude you because of the flower argument,” she said.
“I know.”
“I told Caleb that because it sounded normal.”
“It didn’t.”
“He’s from a family where arguments end.”
“No, he’s from a family where arguments are scheduled.”
Savannah laughed unexpectedly. It came out rough.
“His mother sends agenda emails,” she said.
“I believe that.”
“She sent one after the wedding.”
“What was the subject?”
“Next Steps.”
Lila laughed too.
For a moment, they sounded like sisters.
Then Savannah looked at the box on the desk, and the moment closed.
“I excluded you because I thought Caleb’s family would compare us,” she said.
“They did not know me.”
“They knew enough. Mom talked about the vineyard. Grandma talked about you buying your first apartment at twenty-eight. Beth told them you paid for Dad’s rehab.”
“I paid one deposit. He left after nine days.”
“That detail doesn’t make it less impressive.”
“It wasn’t impressive.”
“It was to them.”
“Savannah—”
“I wanted to be the successful one.”
The sentence was small and ugly and human.
Lila set down the mug.
Savannah picked at a loose thread on her cuff. “Caleb’s mother liked that I sold houses. His father liked that I knew people. Every dinner, I felt like I was performing the version of myself that had finally escaped being the younger Pierce daughter. Then Grandma would mention you. Mom would correct some detail about my childhood. I could see them changing the story.”
“What story?”
“That I was self-made.”
“You are.”
“Not next to you.”
“That is not my fault.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Savannah looked up. “I do now.”
Lila sat across from her.
Savannah said, “I found the article and panicked. I thought you had let me book the winery because you wanted me to owe you without knowing it. That is something Dad would have done.”
The comparison stung.
“You could have called.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that after the useful moment.”
“I know that too.”
Lila leaned back. “Why did you really come?”
Savannah took a folded paper from her purse.
It was a statement.
Not from a consultant. Lila could tell from the crossed-out words and uneven sentences.
Savannah read aloud.
“Three weeks before my planned wedding, I learned that my estranged sister owned the venue. Instead of contacting her or changing the booking, I chose to hide that information because I had already lied to my fiancé and grandmother about inviting her. On the wedding day, when my grandmother left the ceremony, I wrongly assumed my sister had arranged it. I confronted her and put my hands on her. She did not provoke me or threaten me. The venue staff acted professionally. My wedding was postponed because my fiancé learned I had lied to him, not because my sister owned the property.”
She stopped.
Lila said nothing.
Savannah lowered the page. “You hate it.”
“I don’t.”
“You made a face.”
“I have a face.”
“Is it accurate?”
“Yes.”
“Will it help the winery?”
“Probably.”
“Will it hurt me?”
“Yes.”
Savannah folded the paper once. “I thought you might tell me not to post it.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s too much.”
“It is the truth.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Lila looked at her sister.
Savannah’s eyes were steady, but the paper shook between her fingers.
“You want permission not to,” Lila said.
“I want to know what you would do.”
“That has been your problem for years.”
Savannah looked away.
Lila reached across the desk and took the statement.
“I would remove the sentence about Dad.”
“He isn’t in it.”
“He is between every line. But the public does not need him.”
“I wasn’t going to mention him.”
“Good.”
“What else?”
“Change wrongly assumed to believed without evidence. It is less polished and more honest.”
Savannah took out a pen.
“Change put my hands on her to grabbed her shoulders.”
The pen stopped.
“That sounds worse.”
“It is more specific.”
Savannah wrote it.
“Remove professionally,” Lila said. “People know corporate language when they see it.”
“What should I say?”
“The staff continued the event according to the contract.”
“That sounds corporate.”
“It is a contract.”
Savannah crossed out the sentence.
They worked for twenty minutes.
At the end, the statement was shorter.
Savannah read it once, then opened her phone.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
“You don’t have to do this in front of me,” Lila said.
“If I leave, I won’t do it.”
“That is possible.”
“I hate you a little.”
“I know.”
Savannah posted the statement.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the phone began vibrating.
She turned it facedown.
Lila pushed the box of wedding favors toward her. “Take these.”
“Why?”
“Give them to clients.”
“They have the date.”
“Olive oil does not care.”
Savannah looked inside the box. “You want me to use failed wedding favors as closing gifts?”
“I want you to stop wasting nine-dollar oil.”
A laugh escaped Savannah before she could stop it.
She covered her mouth.
May you like
Lila smiled despite herself.
The statement spread more slowly than the confrontation video. Truth rarely had the same production value.
