CHAPTER 54

On his first day back at the vineyard fulltime, Joe stood at the edge of the property, the late afternoon breeze brushing against his face, carrying with it the earthy scent of soil and grapes. He breathed in deeply, savoring the clean country air, and nodded.

He had done it.

After years of sweat and sacrifice, of wading through a world filled with crooks, criminals, and corruption, he had carved out his little piece of paradise. ‘Luca’s Vineyard’ was his now, built on the back of hard work, sacrifice, and grit.

The land stretched out before him in an endless patchwork of rolling hills, farmlands, and untouched woodlands. Its vastness seemed infinite, stretching far beyond the reach of his gaze.

In the distance, storm clouds gathered over the mountains, heavy and dark, their edges silver-lined by the late sun. They loomed large, immovable, casting shadows over the valleys below, a reminder of nature’s indomitable power.

Joe turned slightly, letting the evening sun warm his back. It burned low and strong, its golden light spilling over the fields and softening the cool bite of the breeze. This was his home. The place where he had raised his two daughters, loved his wife, and built a legacy in his son’s memory. Charleston might hold his heart, but this land, these hills and fields, these vines and valleys, were part of his soul.

Above him, a bald eagle soared high, motionless in the sky, its wings spread wide as it floated effortlessly on the wind. It seemed timeless, like the land itself. Joe watched it for a long moment, admiring the way it moved without moving, gliding over the world as if it owned it.

As the sun kissed the horizon, the sky was painted in an array of colors—blue giving way to fiery orange, orange bleeding into crimson.

The light bathed the land in a surreal glow, turning every blade of grass and every leaf into something almost otherworldly. The clouds shifted, casting long shadows and painting the landscape with shades of cosmic wonder. It was a scene too perfect, too profound, to feel accidental.

Joe stood there, watching the world change before his eyes, and felt the quiet pulse of something bigger, something eternal.

There was a rhythm here, a heartbeat, a pulse, a feeling of something bigger than one person, something profound, something spiritual.

As he looked at the lands before him, he felt at peace. This was the South—his South—and as the last sliver of sun slipped away, Joe thought about how he would spend the next thirty years tinkering, toiling, and trifling until his body could take no more.

He knew Wendy would be there for all of it, by his side every step of the way. She’d be the one to lighten the hard days with a smile, soften the blows with a joke, and steady him with her unwavering heart. She was the cornerstone, the one thing he could count on as sure as the sun rising over the vineyard each morning.

He knew his daughters would come and go, spreading their wings to build lives of their own. They’d leave for cities and careers, new opportunities pulling them away. But they would always come back. Back to the vineyard for Thanksgiving dinners and summer reunions, for birthdays and anniversaries, for the milestones that tied them to this land and to each other.

He knew the vineyard would bring seasons of triumph and disappointment. There would be years where the grapes came in perfectly, when their wine would earn accolades and praise. And there would be years when the storms were too strong or the sun too relentless, when the crops failed, and the profits dried up. They’d weather it all, just as they always had. Together, they’d care for the workers like family, rebuilding after droughts and devastating storms, after floods and fires. Because the vines always regrew. Life always found a way.

He knew he’d see his brother now and then. Their visits would be filled with laughter, the kind that only brothers who’d survived boyhood scrapes and Charleston streets could share.

Barry would visit, too, just as he always had, rolling in with a cooler of beer and stories too wild to be true, and they’d laugh like teenagers all over again. They would share a lifelong bond.

Jacinta would find time in her whirlwind life in the city to make several trips Upstate, where her family were welcomed with open arms, a table set for delicious meals, and a friendship that would last decades.

He knew his daughters would one day have families of their own—husbands, children, in-laws. The grandchildren would grow up here, running barefoot through the vines, learning to listen for the seasons and to respect the rhythm of the earth. He could already see them, tiny hands clutching baskets at harvest time, the same way he’d once held his own children’s hands. Those grandchildren would carry forward the family’s legacy.

But above all, he knew Wendy would be the constant. She’d be there through every up and down, through sickness and health, pain and joy, worry and success. They would grow old together, loving each other more with each passing year, weathering life’s storms just as they did the storms that swept across the vineyard.

And one day, when the years had run their course, when his hands could no longer work the vines and his body had given all it could, he would wake for his last day on the land.

He’d stand beneath the wide sky, breathe in the scent of the earth, and smile.

He would feel the peace that only comes from a life well-lived, surrounded by the people he loved and who loved him in return.

And on that day, when his body could take no more, when he had lived his life to the fullest, he would look to the sky and be filled with happiness.

It would be time to see his son again.

THE END