Page 34 of Red Mountain Burning
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
Were they? Brooks had been here before, where the poison resided, where the demon yet to be exorcised housed itself. He knew exactly how she’d react if he offered some parenting advice. He looked right, avoiding her trap.
A man driving a tractor bumped along a few rows down, and he and Brooks exchanged a wave.
“I don’t want you to judge me,” she said.
Brooks twisted his head back toward her. “I’m not judging you.” Though he kind of was.
“When you have children, you’ll understand. Sometimes, you need to make their decisions for them.”
Brooks inclined his head. “I see.” The words he wanted to say were chambered and ready to fire, but he focused on not pulling the trigger, not giving her a reason to bite.
For the sake of Jake and Emilia and the others, he said, “I’m walking away now.” With that, he pivoted and was gone.
As much as he wanted to tell Emilia what Carmen had just said, he knew he couldn’t. Today had just confirmed that his worst fears were correct. No matter how sober Carmen might be, no matter how hard she tried to be a better person, she was a dry drunk and had a long way to go in terms of personal growth. In the meantime, she could—and probably would—tear Lacoda apart.
Several rows down, Brooks sat on a stack of vineyard poles. He dug his hand into the earth and pulled up a handful of Red Mountain dust. As it fell from his fingers, he closed his eyes and saw palm trees and turquoise water. The Red Mountain dust turned to powdery white sand, as if the tropics were calling him through the vibrations of the earth.
* * *
InfiltratingBellflour’s property and planting the pinotage vines had given Otis a welcome boost emotionally. Though he was short on sleep, he’d attacked the day with youthful verve. Something about taking the upper hand against his enemy had given him the fuel he needed to focus back on his own life.
He and Joan ate lunch together and then went for a stroll around the property. They’d taken a moment to put fresh hay in the chicken coop and collect eggs when Joan said, “I’ve been thinking about our chat last night, and I have something you might try.”
“I can’t wait to hear this,” Otis said, emptying the dirty water from the waterer.
She was filling a basket with eggs from the back hatch. “Have you ever heard of eye patching?”
“I don’t believe I have.” Otis could only imagine where she was going with this notion. He turned on the hose and began to fill the waterer.
“I want you to try wearing an eye patch over your right eye for a little while.”
He nearly dropped the hose. “Are you kidding me?”
“As I’m sure you know, the right eye is connected to the left side of the brain, which is the more analytical side. You, my love, have an overactive left brain. By covering the right eye, I think we could simmer it down some, give you a chance to reconnect with the right brain—that’s the one you need right now. That’s where your love ofterroirand your farming instincts come from.”
“An eye patch?” He twisted the top back onto the waterer and lifted it up into the coop. “I know you’re not serious. You want me to run around like the bloody pirate of Red Mountain?” Otis laughed from his gut. “I can’t imagine the looks I’d get.”
“You’re nearing seventy years old,” Joan said. “Do you really still care what people think of you? I’ll wear one too…for solidarity.”
“Oh, give me a break. Sometimes I must draw the line with all your voodoo. I’d rather have a lobotomy.” He shook his head. “An eye patch…”
Having collected all the eggs, she shut the back hatch. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I know you are, and I so appreciate it. You know I do. It’s just…we might need to explore some other ideas.”
