Shirley, Goodness and Mercy (Angels Everywhere #4)(26)

Greg’s gaze lingered on Dr. Thorpe and his expression was oddly pained.

“You okay?” Matthias asked.

Greg’s nod was slow in coming. “I will be.”

Not understanding, Matthias frowned. “You want to tell me about it?”

“Perhaps someday,” Greg mumbled.

The tension was broken by the sound of carolers. “Joy to the World” drifted toward them, the music festive and lively, a dramatic contrast to their current mood.

“Is it close to Christmas?” Greg asked, seemingly unaware.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Matthias told him.

Greg’s eyes widened with surprise. “I didn’t realize…”

The music made for a pleasant background as the two men continued to talk, mostly about Tanner and Gloria. Several minutes later Matthias brought up the subject of the vineyard. “I read about the fan leaf problems in your area.”

“It wiped me out,” Greg said.

That accounted for his cousin’s haggardness and his beleaguered look, Matthias thought.

“A lifetime of work destroyed in a single season,” Greg murmured.

“You’re replanting of course.”

Greg shook his head. “Takes capital, more capital than I can muster.”

“Get a loan. That’s what banks are for.”

“You think I haven’t tried?” Greg’s voice rose. “I’m not a poor risk, at least not on paper, but money’s tight. Tighter than I realized. Despite everything, I haven’t been able to convince a single bank to give me a loan.”

“I’ve been working with Columbia Wines up in Washington. The vines there are stronger, more resilient. Say the word and I can arrange for you to replant with those.”

Greg shook his head again. “Hell, I’m sixty. Too damn old to start over now. Lately I’ve been thinking of selling out completely and hiring on with one of the other wineries.”

That wasn’t the answer, as Matthias was well aware. “You never could tolerate working for others. You like being your own boss too much. Besides, you’re still young. I’m damn near seventy and I don’t think of myself as old.”

“Well, I can’t get the financing.”

“What about Phil? He works for a bank, doesn’t he? He should be able to help you.”

Greg shook his head. “He has as much reason to hate me as you do.”

The carolers drew closer, drowning out any chance of further conversation. Matthias could only imagine what had caused such a rift between the two brothers.

Memory told him that Phil had always resented Greg’s good looks, his social skills and sense of purpose. Whatever happened had been building for years. Matthias didn’t doubt that Greg had played a role—but Phil had already been holding a grudge. Looking for a reason to justify his resentment.

Then, without warning, Greg rose slowly to his feet, almost as if he was being drawn upward against his will.

Matthias looked up and then he knew.

Phil saw his brother and Matthias at the same time as Greg saw him. His first reaction was shock, followed by unexpected compassion. Greg—head bandaged, features pale and drawn—stood beside Matthias Jamison, of all people.

Hardly conscious of what he was doing, Phil stopped singing. Sandy did, too. Slowly, involuntarily, he separated himself from the band of carolers. Almost before he realized his intent, he stood silently before his brother. They stared at each other, eye to eye.

Neither man spoke. For his part Phil couldn’t find the words. This was what he’d wanted, what he’d dreamed about—seeing his brother, his sophisticated suave rich brother, broken and humbled. Greg was certainly humbled, but to his own amazement, Phil experienced no glee at the sight.

He was incapable of speaking. His mind had emptied, but his heart had grown suddenly full. His eyes filled with tears, and he struggled to hold everything inside.

Then, wordlessly, compulsively, the two brothers strained toward each other and hugged.

“What happened?” Phil asked when they broke apart. He was looking at his brother’s bandage.

As if he’d forgotten, Greg touched his head. “Nothing much. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Matthias,” Phil said, glancing toward his cousin, “I didn’t know you still lived in California.”

“I don’t. I came to see my family—and to thank Greg. He was the bone-marrow donor for my grandson.”

Greg had voluntarily given his bone marrow? Phil remembered his brother’s aversion to needles—the way he’d always fainted in the doctor’s office whenever he had to get a shot.

“I…” Clearly Greg was flustered. “I was a match for the boy. Matthias is our dad’s cousin, remember?”

Phil nodded.

“How are you?” Matthias asked.

“Good,” Phil told him, and the two exchanged hearty handshakes.

“You still work for Pacific Union, don’t you?” Matthias asked him.

“Yes.” Phil already knew what his cousin was about to ask.

“Can’t you help Greg get the financing he needs to replant?”

“How are you going to answer him?” Sandy whispered, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. Phil was sure the two men hadn’t heard. He was reminded of other voices he’d heard that apparently no one else had. You hide behind a cloak of decency…The good brother…