CHAPTER 26

Hennessy sat on his balcony, laptop on the small table next to him, staring at Jacinta’s email about the media coverage.

The media had run with the story, and true crime podcasters were already sniffing about. They had been contacted by every major news channel in the state, radio stations, and even national news broadcasters. It was an outrageous Southern scandal—an accountant embezzling money from a charity foundation for his own personal gain. The hatred for Palin spewed into every comment section of the news stories, onto social media, and into the streets. At dinner two nights earlier, Hennessy heard a group of rowdy men loudly discussing what they wanted to do to Palin. It wasn’t nice.

“It’s getting a lot of attention,”

Wendy said, leaning over his shoulder. “It seems the entire nation wants to read about the latest southern fraud scandal.”

“We go to court in two days, and it seems the public has already decided on his fate.”

“All that hate is not good, Joe. People hate him for stealing from sick kids. They want to hang him for his crimes. And then they see your face standing next to him and wonder how you could defend him. Someone even asked me in church how you could do it.”

“Who?”

“Mrs. Hoover.”

Hennessy nodded with a grin on his face.

“Don’t say it,”

Wendy laughed. “We all know her husband likes to spend time with other men, and you don’t need to make any jokes about her. She might be mean to everyone around her, but that doesn’t mean we should stoop to her level.”

“Hey, I didn’t say a word,”

Joe smiled and closed his laptop. He tucked it under his arm and walked inside. “I’ve done enough for today. Let’s cook.”

Joe wanted to forget about work for a while. He wanted to forget about Palin and his repulsive demeanor. He wanted to forget about Garrett and his desire to win the case. And he wanted to forget about the law, how the pressure of the court case was giving him headaches, causing him sleepless nights, and sending him to the edge of exhaustion.

Joe went to the fridge and took out two beers. He held them up, and Wendy shook her head. “I was thinking about cooking some oven-fried chicken with roasted vegetables. I think a nice white would be great, perhaps a Riesling.”

“I have just the thing,”

Joe said, returning to the fridge. He took out the bottle, uncorked it, and poured two glasses of the sweet white wine.

“Thank you,”

Wendy said and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “Now, get the vegetables and start chopping.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

Joe smiled, walked to the other side of the kitchen bench, pulled out the chopping board, and started cutting up the vegetables.

“No,”

Wendy complained when she saw him cutting. “Smaller pieces, please. Like this.”

She pulled the knife from his hand and showed him how to cut smaller pieces of vegetables. “See?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Joe smiled again and started cutting again.

“Thinner,”

Wendy moaned and took the knife again. She cut up the potato how she wanted. “You know, we put a man on the moon years ago.”

“Ok?”

Joe responded, confused.

“Well, why did we stop?”

Wendy smiled. “I mean, we should’ve had all the men up there by now.”

“Ouch,”

Joe laughed. He leaned back and teased her. “You know, I hate it when guys say that women belong in the kitchen. I mean, how are women going to clean the rest of the house from there?”

“Oh,”

Wendy laughed and tossed a piece of potato at him. “You know what the difference between certificates of deposit and men is? CDs eventually mature.”

Joe laughed as he poured another glass of wine. Together, they finished cooking, served up the delicious meal, and ate sitting around the kitchen bench. Joe praised Wendy’s cooking, and Wendy praised Joe’s ability to stay out of her way.

As they ate, they talked and laughed, discussing news, rumors, and the happenings around town. It was one of Joe’s best meals in weeks.

After they finished their meal, they retired to the front porch to catch the evening breeze. They sipped their wine in the moonlight, listening to the cacophony of bugs fill the Southern night air.

The conversation remained light on the porch for the first part of the evening, but it soon became apparent that something was weighing Joe down.

“Are you sure you’re ok?”

Wendy asked.

Joe looked out to the street, catching a glimpse of the moon hanging over a nearby house.

“I’m done with this, Wendy. I’m done with all this. I’m done dealing with people like Bernard Palin. I’m done dealing with criminals, felons, and corrupt people who take advantage of others. It makes me angry that these people still exist in the world.”

“That’s what capitalism does,”

Wendy said. “It makes people greedy. That’s the whole idea of capitalism. It’s not about helping each other or looking after the planet. The idea of capitalism is to win. It’s not to look after your community, help your fellow person, or care for nature. It’s about winning, and to win, you need to be greedy.”

“Are you turning into a communist?”

Joe smiled. “I think you’re too late. The Cold War’s over, remember?”

“I’ve been talking to Casey about her studies. She’s taken a political science class in her first year, and she’s been talking about communism, socialism, and capitalism. She’s being taught that we’re at late-stage capitalism, and something will change soon because it needs to. People are getting sick of inequality and how wealthy the top are getting.”

“Is there another option?”

“I don’t know,”

Wendy said. “But it worries me that our grandchildren will grow up in a world where such inequality exists.”

“Is Casey pregnant?”

Joe laughed.

“Thankfully, there aren’t any grandchildren yet.”

Wendy slapped his arm lightly and then snuggled into it. “It’d be good to have you back at the vineyard full-time. I miss nights like this. We don’t do it enough.”

“Agreed,”

Joe said. “I need to be home at the vineyard.”

“Well, Joseph Hennessy,”

Wendy’s tone was soft. “You better win this case, then.”