“Well, don’t worry, son,” Dad said as Pops pried the head off the barrel to dump it. “Happens to everyone.”

“I’m really sorry,” Jack said.

“Smells like your grandmother’s perfume,” Pops said, winking at Jack. “Speaking of the old bag, I should get back.”

“That’s my mother you’re talking about,” Dad said mildly.

“And the love of my life. Just don’t tell her I said that.” Pops smiled and ambled off to his battered old truck.

“Let’s get rid of this,” Jack said.

“It can wait till tomorrow,” Dad said. “So how are things, son?”

“Good. Fine.” Dad waited. “A little tense,” he admitted.

“I ran into Hadley the other day.”

“Yeah. She’s like a dog with a bone.”

“Any chance of you two getting back together?”

“No.”

Dad tapped another barrel and started siphoning that one. “This is better,” he said, filling a glass. “Smell that. It’s beautiful.”

Jack obliged. This batch was fine, no oxidization, a nice jammy aroma. He took a sip and felt his shoulders drop a notch.

He’d never screwed up a batch of wine before. Wine making was all about science and luck, but mostly about science, and he prided himself on the quality of wine that came out of Blue Heron. He’d grown up watching his father and grandfather make wine, and he had two hefty degrees that said he should know better than to forget something as basic as sulfites.

“Anyway, I was just wondering about Hadley,” Dad said, not quite meeting his eyes. “She was very, ah, forthcoming with me. Said she’d made a terrible mistake with you, but she’d grown up and learned her lesson and hoped that we’d be supportive if you decided to reconcile.”

“There’s no reconciliation,” Jack said.

“You sure? Because if you were over it, we could be, too.”

“Mrs. Johnson will never be over it,” Jack said, forcing a grin.

Dad smiled. “No, maybe not her. But the rest of us would follow your lead, Jack. If that’s what you wanted.”

“It’s not.” He put his glass down. “And I sure am sorry about this barrel.”

His father gave him a long look. “Jack, maybe you need some time off.”

“I just took some, Dad.”

“If you need more, just say the word. You’ve been through a tough time.” He gave Jack a slightly awkward hug. “I love you. We all do.” He pulled back and cleared his throat. “You want to come for dinner? Mrs. Johnson would sure love that.”

“Dad, you two are coming up on your first anniversary. Aren’t you allowed to call her Hyacinth yet?” Jack asked.

“Sometimes,” Dad admitted with a sheepish grin.

“I’ll take a rain check on dinner. You go home. I’ll finish this up.” He took the siphon from his father. “And thanks, Dad.”

His father squeezed his shoulder, then left to go home to his bride.

Odd to feel jealous of your own father for having a wife to go home to. As for doing something fun... There wasn’t a lot of fun to be had in the middle of winter here in Manningsport.

“Hallo, Jack.” His British brother-in-law came into the barn. “Just saw your grandfather. He said I’d find you here.”

“Hey, Tom. What’s up?”

“I got an email today from Dr. Didier, the high school principal. You know her?”

“Only a little,” Jack said. “I’ve seen her at the gym a few times.”

“Right. A bit terrifying, isn’t she?” Tom grinned. “At any rate, they’ve got a group of at-risk kids. The usual lot—hoodlums and the like—and she’s looking for a chemistry tutor. I help out with math from time to time.”

“Did Honor tell you to ask me?”

“Spot-on, mate. She said it might be good for you.”

Honor. Always trying to run the world (and succeeding much of the time, he’d admit). But the thought of being around teenagers other than his niece and maybe Charlie, Tom’s stepson, gave him pause.

They’d all know Josh Deiner.

“Levi’s deputy runs the program. Emmaline Neal. You two are friends, aren’t you?”

Jack looked up. “Yes. We are.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t ask you herself.”

Jack wasn’t. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Brilliant. Thanks, mate!” Tom clapped him on the shoulder and went off, whistling.

* * *

EMMALINE PEERED AT the faux hostage taker. “What did she do that made you mad?” she asked.

“She took the last Twinkie. Those were for my apocalypse shelter. Now what will I have for dessert?”

“Atta girl, Shirley,” said Jamie, the badass instructor. “Sounds crazy, class, but I swear, you can’t make this shit up.”

Em tried not to smile, but damn! This sure beat out Consciousness and Form in Eighteenth-Century England, which she’d had to take her junior year. (She’d gotten a B–. She was fairly sure she’d be getting an A in Crisis Negotiations). Jamie, who was a negotiator with the state police in Buffalo, was filled with stories, curses and good advice. “Em, what’s your response to Crazy-Pants here?”

“Stole your Twinkies, huh? That’s not good,” she said. “I love them. Thought I’d tear my hair out when they stopped making them. Good thing they’re back on the shelves, right?”

“She’s establishing empathy, people, and creating a bond between herself and the hostage taker. Keep it up, Neal!”

“You know, I can get you some more Twinkies,” Emmaline said. “I can bring them inside and we can talk.”

“I can’t risk that,” Shirley said. “There are zombies everywhere.” The rest of the class snorted.

“That’s okay,” Em said. “I’m really fast. And I don’t want you to go without Twinkies.”

“Fantastic, kids,” Jamie said. “We have to call it a day, but good job, everyone! Your homework is to read chapters four through six and deal with your in-laws without losing your cool. Think you can handle that?”

“If ever there was a time to barricade myself in a room with a gun,” muttered Ingrid, a cop from Ithaca.

Jamie came over and leaned against Em’s desk. “You’re doing great in this class,” she said. “You ever think about working for us?”

“I’ve only been a cop for nine months,” she said.

“So? Think about it,” she said. “There’d be more chances to climb the ladder than in your department.”

That was true. Levi wasn’t going anywhere.

The state police handled the big stuff for a town like Manningsport—if there was an actual hostage situation, for example, it’d be the job of the local police force to keep everyone calm until the staties got there and took over. Homicides, kidnappings, bank robberies—not that they were commonplace occurrences—were handed over to the big kids.

It was a thought. She wouldn’t leave the Manningsport Police Department anytime soon, but maybe someday.