Page 18

In the weeks leading up to the trial, Joe made frequent trips to the vineyard, savoring every moment among the vines. He knew he wouldn’t see the vines for weeks once the trial began. He would be tied to his desk, working early and late, and everything in between.

As he drove into Luca’s Vineyard one Friday evening, he stopped at the entrance sign on the left side of the property. The entrance was for the events held on the grassed area outside the chateau, where loved ones were married, milestones were celebrated, and where families enjoyed a Sunday afternoon picnic.

The shop was closed, the workers had gone home, and the area was empty. Wendy had messaged him earlier and stated she had forgotten to close the gate and asked if he could do it on his way in. As he swung the gate closed, he paused and looked up at the vineyard’s name.

Joe always ensured the painting on Luca’s name was touched up every year. A faded sign felt like a faded memory, and he couldn’t bear that—not for Luca.

Standing under the sign, the memories of Luca came flooding back. They were always there, crammed deep inside of him, waiting for the smallest crack to pour out. As soon as one memory surfaced, the rest followed—a stream of moments, a world of memories, hopes, and dreams.

The waves came, rolling in and easing out.

He thought of Luca’s birthdays, his paintings, his broad smiles when swimming. He thought of the moments when they threw the baseball together, when they spent a week building a soapbox cart, and when they played football in the pouring rain because Luca refused to go inside. The times when Luca presented work at school, when he was learning the guitar, and when he proudly gave Joe a Christmas present.

Joe remembered the eulogy he gave at Luca’s funeral, barely able to deliver the words over his tears. Being a stoic man, he was embarrassed to cry, but time had taught him that emotions matter and shouldn’t be hidden from the world. Joe remembered the church, the photos of Luca that were displayed, and the faces of those in attendance. Most of the day was a blur, but he remembered the eulogy clearly.

Standing under the sign for Luca’s Vineyard, he softly repeated the final lines of that eulogy, as if speaking them aloud could bring him closer to his son, “Love means there’s no end. Not today, not tomorrow, and not a single breath I take, will be without love for you. In the stars, in the oceans, and in the woods, you will find my love. I’ve had the opportunity to love you, to feel deeply, and there is no end to that love. To my beautiful Luca, I will love you always. Rest in peace.”

He placed his hand on the wooden post holding the sign and stood silently.

Death was not the end of Luca.

Luca still lived strong in the minds of his father, his mother, and even the sisters he never met.

Over his decades of struggle, a truth had settled with Joe. There would always be sorrow in his soul.

He accepted it now. He acknowledged it. Through that pain, through that sense of melancholy, he could find happiness. Happiness that he was allowed to share ten years with Luca. Happiness that they had so many great memories together. Happiness that he would see Luca again one day.

Despite Joe’s reluctance to return to church, he still believed in an afterlife. He still believed he would see his son again.

And that meant the world to him.