I can’t help but notice that the small buds of the new plants, created from the seeds of the older ones, are fresh and green, and grow hardy in the shade of the parent. If Mackenzie were a gardener, she would know that it’s the rare shoot that survives outside the nurturing of the parent plant-that it takes the strength of the whole to give way to a full harvest.

I Skype Roberta in Buenos Aires. The first face I see is baby Enzo’s, who sits on his mother’s lap. Roberta shifts her screen.

“He’s getting so big!”

“I can’t believe it.” Roberta smiles. “I spoke with Alfred. You know I had my doubts about taking on new product. We’ve been making men’s shoes all of these years. Why would we change? But I was walking around the mill yesterday, and I was thinking, the last time we grew the business, and tried something new was when my father started manufacturing. It was that long ago. And then, when you came to visit, and you had so many sketches, so many ideas-I thought, I’ve lost touch with the art of my work. So I went to my staff. And Sandra in cutting has always wanted to cut women’s shoes, and also to work with new fibers. She likes change. And then I went through and looked at each department. We can handle the work-and if we can’t, and if you decide that you don’t want to use us, we will still consider expanding our physical plant, and pursuing new business.”

“Good for you.”

“Thank you for giving me a push.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And no matter what happens, if you choose Caminito Shoes or not, we will always be friends.”

“And family.”

“And family.” She smiles.

The early morning sun fills the workroom with light. The work table is covered in small stacks of deep blue suede, a sea of pattern pieces pinned with sheer paper, and measurements marked by June.

I open the ledger on the desk and view Alfred’s report chronicling the comparables between Chinese manufacturers and Roberta’s factory. He has done his homework.

Our squabbling days are, hopefully, over. Maybe it’s distance from the end of the affair with Kathleen, or his efforts to get along, or mine, but whatever the reason, we are on the right track. June has been helpful-she doesn’t play referee, but she is the Common Sense Cop when we need her. Bret and Alfred have found a way to communicate. Alfred is no longer threatened by Bret’s ideas, and Bret has come to a place where he sees that Alfred, when he puts the company first, makes sound decisions.

This has been difficult for Alfred. I’m sure he wanted to focus on the big picture for the future of the shoe company, but I needed him to run the business on a daily basis. Bret is out in the world, and he knows how to raise money and find it in places Alfred would never have access to. A common goal will do that. It took all of us, becoming better listeners and considering one another’s ideas, to bring us to this morning, when we will finally choose the factory that will make the Bella Rosa.

Alfred pushes through the entrance, carrying two coffees from the deli. He’s learned the basic laws of life in our shop-whoever ventures inside from the outside is responsible for the coffee run. We’ve been so busy of late, the old pot on the cart in the back of the shop has been empty, and we rely on the neighborhood Greeks for our caffeine hit.

“Sorry for the early morning,” I tell him.

“The train was empty-it’s actually an easier commute.”

Alfred sorts through the paperwork sent by our cousin Roberta while I pull the box filled with Roberta’s samples of the Bella Rosa off the shelf to show Alfred.

Roberta made two dozen pairs of flats from the patterns we sent to her. I also bring down the box filled with the Chinese samples-Roberta’s competition. We asked Sung Ma Inc. to run the same pattern and assembly and price it out for us.

“The Chinese samples are solid,” I tell my brother.

“Are you leaning toward going with them now?”

“They do good work,” I concede. I have learned how to negotiate with my brother. If I came on strong and insisted we go with Roberta, he’d fight me. So I let him think that I have an open mind. I lift Roberta’s samples out of the box and hand them to Alfred. “But, I really like Roberta’s work,” I say.

“There is a delicacy to her stitchwork. The Chinese are bolder,” Alfred says.

“I’m sure we could have the Chinese mimic Roberta’s stitchwork, if we go that way. I would still like to do the finishing here-because I have more control-but Roberta’s finishing is fine.”

“Not great?”

“There’s a finesse to our finishing here-you know, the buckles are given an extra buff, I re-press bows when they don’t lie perfectly flat-but the general construction is excellent.”

“Maybe you could design embellishments that don’t require handwork to set them,” Alfred offers.

“Like a fabric buckle?”

“Yeah, something that can be stitched on. Simple.”

“That’s a good idea,” I say.

“Roberta’s company assembles some of the big names. She is used to high standards. You can tell her what you want-she’s used to the demands.” Alfred picks up a sample. “In the end, her overall technique really is the best.” He studies the seam along the heel.

“Well, you old pro.” I take the shoe from him. “I agree.”

“I’ve gone from a banker to a cobbler’s assistant in nine months. I think it’s apparent I’m a prodigy,” he jokes.

“Just ask our mother.”

“So it’s your call,” Alfred says. And this is the biggest change in him over the past few months. He actually defers to me. “Shall we go with Roberta?”

“Let’s do it,” I say.

“I’ll get the paperwork to Ray.” Alfred stacks the files for our attorney.

“How long will that take?”

“Quick turnaround. I made copies of these and sent them over three weeks ago when you were leaning towards going with Roberta,” Alfred says.

“Efficient. I like it.” I smile at my brother.

“I think this line is going to take off, Val.” If anyone had told me last February that Alfred and I would reach this point, this moment in our partnership where he could admit that we could make a go of this, I would have never believed it.

“Wouldn’t that be great? For us?”

“Absolutely.” My brother beams.

I hand the rest of the business files over to my brother.

“How are things at home?” I ask.

“We had a good break on the Jersey shore with Pam’s family. I really needed it-and she needed it. Things are much better. I owe a lot of that to you-for screwing my head on straight when I needed it the most.”

“Alfred, don’t give me any credit. You love your wife, and you got through it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And you won’t have to,” I tell him. “Nobody is more surprised than me that our situation here is working. And I owe you an apology. I didn’t think we’d make good partners, but you’ve been very generous with me. You let me do what I do best. I don’t know if I could have done it all by myself. You deserve whatever success we have as much as I do.”

“Fingers crossed,” he says. “I’d like nothing more than to fight with you over profit margins.”

“You’re on,” I tell him.

Gabriel enters the shop. “The apprentice has risen and is shining.”

“That’s what you call yourself now?”

“No, my master and mentor June Lawton calls me her apprentice.”

“Oh, please. She doesn’t care about your skills as a junior pattern cutter, she just likes to hear about your love life.”

“That too. I like to call it a combination of high brow artistry-pattern making-and down-and-dirty details of my life as a single man looking for love. There’s only so much excitement in cutting leather.”

“Can you count me out?” Alfred jokes, turning away from Gabriel and back to his work.

“No one ever counts you in, Alfred. Relax.”