Page 112 of Before We Say Goodbye
As they waited for her bag, she spoke of Bali and the people and how she’d found a new tribe over there. “You have to come with me next time.”
“Did you come upon any vineyards?”
“Vineyards in Bali?”
“How were the wine lists in the restaurants? Surely they drink wine. They’re not heathens, are they?”
“I didn’t drink.”
“Didn’t drink for a month?” Otis was repulsed. “Yeah, not quite my speed. I think this is one of those treasures of a vacation that should be for you alone. No talking either?” He wondered why anyone would impose such self-flagellation.
She smiled as if saying to herself,It’s back to the real world, Bec. Back to the man you married for some ungodly reason.
Oh, just wait,Otis thought.I’m in rare form.
“No, we didn’t go silent the entire time. We meditated and connected. Ate healthy food.”
He touched her warm cheek. “In the most mindful of ways, I’m sure. Tiny little bites, imagining your food’s origins, delighting in the textures.”
“Naturally.”
“Did you at least indulge in some Balinese hashish? Perhaps smuggle a tiny bit home for your handsome lover?”
“All sober, Otis.”
“Oh, dear.” He retracted his hand and felt suddenly guilty for the 1978 Château Latour he’d delighted in the other night—without her. At least they had a few more bottles.
“So you sat there, stewing in your thoughts, slowly picking at turtle food, and sharing in hypothetically soul-stirring conversation without a bottle of wine—or even a thimble full of a fine Sauternes? No, thank you. Not quite my speed, but I’m glad it made you happy. Do you feel recharged and ready to put up with your plagued artist of a husband for another fifty or so years?”
She chuckled in a way that meant the entire purpose of her trip had been exactly to prepare for another stint with her husband. “I don’t know if it wasthatmuch of a recharge, but it should get me through the vintage.”
He kissed her lips. “One vintage at a time, then. That’s the best way to live, I suppose.”
The people of the Tri-Cities were an interesting breed, and one could see the entire scope of them at the baggage claim: overalled farmers, wine people in business-casual dress, serious religious types in interesting costumes, traveling salesmen and scientists returning home to their families.
Bec slipped an arm around him. “So ... tell me, what’s new? Are all the plantings in?”
“All plantings accounted for. All’s well save our neighbor.”Dammit, I wasn’t going to bring it up.
“Vance?”
A month of frustration rose up within him and surely showed on his face. “He’s back. I offered to buy him out. No luck. Tried to appeal to his heart. He does not have one. It’s been shot up and shriveled by that metal music and cheap booze.”
Bec let go of Otis. “What happened?”
The light on the baggage carousel lit up, and the belt began to run.
“Vance is redefining what it means to be a bad neighbor.” Otis ran his fingers through his sideburns. “And given me my first gray hairs. These parties, they’re out of control. I called the cops. They won’t do a thing. So I hope you’re rested because you won’t sleep a wink on weekends. It’s really awful, Bec. A big deal. I ... I don’t ...”
She drew in a breath. “Do you remember the serenity prayer? Grant me the power to know the difference?”
“Oh, I’ve heard you quote it a time or two.”
“Maybe this is one of those things we can’t change.”
“I’m not ready for surrender yet.”
“Surrender? This isn’t war.”
