Page 8 of Just Like This
Chapter Four
Garrett
During the drive to theairport, I kept repeatingbro codeto myself over and over. If I pursued Cami, then I would have broken some unspoken rule between Palmer and me. He was in love with her, had wanted her for years, which meant she was off-limits to me, but the conversation I had stumbled upon replayed in my mind. Palmer had asked for another chance, which meant he had asked before, and she turned him down. I could tell from the slump of his shoulders and the way his head hung down that her rejection had crushed him. When she saw me in the window, her entire body seemed to relax, and I wondered if maybe she had been relieved that I was accidentally eavesdropping. Did she want me as much as I wanted her? That brought me right back to my current dilemma. Did I still have to seek permission from Palmer, or could I just go after what I wanted and ask for forgiveness later?
The flight down to San Francisco felt impossibly long, but that was because I was a ball of nerves. I fucking hated airports and airplanes. Before I had left Seattle, I’d called Ivan, the manager of my family’s vineyard, and asked him to pick me up. Ivan was the only person I wanted to see before the inevitable discussion with my father about my future happened.
The airport was crowded, and I walked quickly through it, dodging everyone and everything around me. Gift shops selling every cliché Bay Area souvenirs were a blur as I passed by them until one featuring wines stopped me. Hammond Wines were front and center. My stomach started to churn, and I suppressed the uneasiness because I knew it was time to take responsibility for my past actions and assume my role in running the family business.
As the oldest of the Hammond sons, I was expected to take the reins from my father when he retired. He had my entire life planned out for me: go to college to learn about running a business and a vineyard, then return home to learn my job until he was ready to retire. Instead, I joined the Army. No one was happy that I enlisted, and no one expected me to re-enlist over and over. With every deployment, I sent my father an unspoken message: I didn’t want to run Hammond Wines.
Down at baggage claim, I grabbed the large black duffel that contained the entirety of my life from the luggage carousel. I headed toward passenger pickup, and as soon as I stepped outside, I caught sight of a black Range Rover with the Hammond Wines logo emblazoned on the side parked front and center. This wasn’t Ivan’s usual choice of vehicle, which meant that he hadn’t come. I was facing my father sooner than expected.
Through the passenger window, my father saw me step out of the building, and he immediately opened the driver door and climbed out. I stood frozen, watching as he made his way slowly to the passenger side. We stared at each other in silence before he said gruffly, “Welcome home, son.”
“Thank you, sir,” I murmured as he unexpectedly enveloped me in a crushing hug. He held me longer than I expected before letting go. He bent down and reached for my bag, but I stopped him. “It’s pretty heavy. Let me do it.”
My dad nodded and walked back around to the driver’s side. I saw him quickly swipe at his eyes. He was crying? It was hard for me to picture my father exhibiting any emotion other than anger because he’d taught us that they were a weakness, and weaknesses were unacceptable.
After I finished loading my bag into the back, I hurried to the front and climbed inside. Now the only thing that lay between the airport and the comforts of home was two uncomfortable hours in the car with my father.
Silently, my dad navigated his way through San Francisco and onto the Golden Gate Bridge. From my window, I could see the fog dissipating from the bay, leaving patches of blue-green water in the midst of the gray murkiness. By the time we headed into Sausalito, it was raining, and I felt restless.
“Did you get the cases of Riesling and Gewurztraminer that I sent from Alsace?” The silence in the car bothered me. I glanced in his direction to see him nod.
“Yeah. Shit tasted like piss, but we got it.” His response didn’t surprise me, but I chuckled low. Last year, I spent my leave in Germany and traveled all around the region sampling many … things. But to my dad, if it didn’t come from California, then it was worthless.
“Well, that was some of the best tastingshitI’ve had.”
“You’ve been away too long. Wait until you taste what we’re pouring.”
“Speaking of tasting. How is Oliver doing?” Oliver was the middle child, the forgotten one who easily stepped into the role as the oldest, the role I was supposed to fill.
“He’s good. He and Tabitha are expecting their second baby.”
“Already?”
Oliver did everything that was expected of him, including getting married to the right girl who came from the right family with the right amount of acreage in the right appellation.
“He’s transformed our wine club and the tasting room. You’ll see,” my dad said with an added wink. It was hard to not be jealous of the pride he showed in Oliver; I wished that some of that pride was for me and what I had accomplished.
“And Neil?” My youngest brother could do whatever the hell he wanted because he was the baby. He didn’t have to run the winery or major in business. Honestly, he was probably the happiest of the Hammond boys.
“Oh, you know Neil.”
No, I didn’t. I enlisted when he was eight, so I had no idea what my youngest brother was like. “Tell me.”
“He’s a freshman at Stanford. Got a swimming scholarship. The coaches think he might be the next Michael Phelps.”
“So, no winery in his future,” I mumbled.
“What was that, Garrett? You know I can’t stand it when you mumble.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I asked if the Olympics were in his future.”
“That’s a question you’ll have to ask him.”
For the remainder of the car ride, I listened as my dad talked comfortably about the improvements to the vineyard. This was his life, and the grapes were his lifeblood. The only thing he loved more than running Hammond Wines was my mother. But it was obvious he was starting to slow down. His hair was more salt than pepper, and his face was thinner. His eyes were tired too; their twinkle had dulled a little. He surprised me by asking for my opinions, but I soon saw the plan hidden in his questions; he was going to have the retirement talk with me while I was home on leave. And with a year left on my current contract, I might finally listen to him.
