Page 132 of Red Mountain Burning
Lit Up like Times Square
The howling woke Otis. His eyes snapped open like a robot that had been switched on from its control board. Gathering his bearings, he realized he’d fallen asleep in the recliner in his study. An unsteady lowball glass of Scotch bobbed in his hand. He fought through the haze of too many drinks to read the time on the antique wall clock. It was one-thirty in the morning, and he assumed Joan had made it home from her jaunt with the bride-to-be and was currently dreaming of never-ending fields of wildflowers in the bedroom.
As he set the glass on the side table, the coyotes howled again.
Sitting up, he looked through the window in front of him, finding that the full moon had lit up his front vineyard block in a silver and purple glow. He’d often seen one of the song dogs hovering there in the dark hours, as if it liked to watch Otis sleep. There were no animals out there tonight.
On the other side of Sunset Road, he could see a few wineries on higher ground that always left their lights on at night. More than two miles away, red lights from antennas on top of the mountain flashed rhythmically, warning off any low-flying aircraft.
When the coyotes howled again, he perked up. He’d never heard songs like these in his life. Typically, he could hear the low howls of the elders rumble like a double bass in an orchestra. The younger pups would call out in much higher octaves with staccato yelps that seemed to offer a melody to their savage symphonies. Tonight, the calls sounded like a fleet of British police cars rushing across London, the now foreign tones evoking Otis’s childhood.
It took a moment for his old bones to get moving, especially considering the various forms of alcohol he’d indulged in. A night that starts with Champagne and ends with Fro-grias was sure to come with great pains in the morning. He pulled on his boots and cardigan and slipped out into the night.
The moon was huge in the black sky, almost like a planet drifting toward earth. Another alarming round of coyote sirens rose up from the desert, and Otis knew something was wrong. He surveyed his property, looking for disturbances.
Jonathan must have heard him and ran to the pasture fence and jumped up, resting his paws on the top. His giant wooly white tail wasn’t wagging like usual, and there was an urgency to his cries.
Otis was relieved to hear that the DJ at Château Smooth had apparently played his last set, as the thundering bass that had been shaking the mountain since sunset had finally quieted. The neon lights were still flashing above the wall, though, and he could hear a few drunk voices, so he figured a few stragglers were splashing about in the pool.
Looking again at the neon lights, he realized the pink and green had been replaced by yellows, reds, and oranges. He didn’t spend much time pondering the mystery before a wave of acrid smoke hit his nostrils.
Taking off in the fastest run his body would allow, he raced toward the fire. After 100 yards, he confirmed that the lights flashing above the wall were actually red and orange flames licking the air. The drunken voices he thought he’d heard sounded more like screams now, and his fears were confirmed when he heard the sound of fire trucks off in the distance.
Otis felt a shot of adrenalin fill his veins as thick smoke filled his lungs. Rounding the wall, his eyes went to the front doors of Château Smooth, where people were piling out with a cloud of smoke. He ran across the grass and along the gold driveway and raced up through the crowd.
As terrified people pushed past him, Otis entered the tasting room and saw a wall of fire rising from the back door.
Grabbing the last person to leave, a young man with a UW hat, Otis asked, “Is there anyone else in there?”
Fear had plastered the man’s face. He shook his head and pulled away.
Seeing a door to his right, Otis rushed through it and found himself standing at the edge of a cellar that looked like a long airline hangar. A line of brand-new fermentation tanks still wrapped in plastic ran down one wall. Stacks of new barrels covered the other.
“Is anyone in here?” His voice echoed off the metal walls as he raced inside with his eyes peeled.
A minute later, the door flew open behind him, and a firefighter appeared. “I need you out of here. Let’s go!”
Otis followed him back through the tasting room. The wall of fire had grown and was consuming the building. His eyes stung as they pushed through the smoke and ran back out into the night. Coughing, he stumbled away from the building and up the driveway toward the crowd of people standing on Sunset Road next to a line of fire trucks and police cars.
He turned back and watched as Château Smooth became engulfed in flames. Fire trucks were shooting blasts of water into the worst of it, but Otis knew their efforts were futile.
* * *
Though Brooks wasno stranger to the night, he rarely stayed up past midnight. The life of a wine farmer didn’t allow it. Tonight was different, though. Brooks had mentioned Otis’s offer to sell him Till Vineyards, and it had launched into a two-hour heated discussion about his and Adriana’s future.
At one point, Adriana edged away from him and said, “Maybe you shouldn’t come to Florida.”
Those six words stuck in the air.
Brooks lay on the bed with his ankles crossed and his eyes focused on the spinning ceiling fan. Over the course of this two-hour conversation, he’d come to the same conclusion.
“Maybe you’re right. I’m done trying to convince you that we’ll work,” he said. “I know you have stuff going on, and I’d love to be there for you. I’d love for us to overcome all of our issues together. But you don’t let me in. Half the time, I’m five feet away from the tight circle that you and Zack have created. I can’t go to Florida with the hope that it will change. This has felt like a one-sided relationship all year, and I need more than that. I deserve more than that.”
He glanced over. Was she listening or stewing?
It was time to say exactly what had been wearing on him. “I’ll tell you what all this feels like, A, and you may not like it, but I’m not going to Florida unless we address it. I think that, in your eyes, the best thing about me is my relationship with Zack. I think you’re afraid that Zack would lose another father figure.”
Brooks wasn’t surprised when she didn’t argue. He pressed on. “I’m guilty of the same fear. Every time I start doubting us, my thoughts go to Zack, and I can’t bear to think of saying goodbye to him.” He whispered, “But the thing is, he can’t be the reason we stay together.”
