Page 125 of Before We Say Goodbye
Her family didn’t have to say it, but they still held her departure from California over her, as if she were the reason they were miserable.
Leave it to Olivia to try to brighten up the conversation—even if it was a weak attempt. “Jed’s working at Friedman’s in Sonoma.”
“That’s exciting,” Rebecca said, genuinely upbeat. She’d told Otis on the way over that she didn’t want to get dragged down by them, and she was doing a good job so far.
“If we don’t have it, you don’t need it,” Otis offered, referring to the hardware store’s motto.
A round of nervous laughter followed.
“Beats sitting around here all day,” Jed said.
Dear God,Otis prayed,please deliver me from this place.
“What else?” Rebecca asked.
“We’re getting old, Rebecca,” Marshall said. “That’s what’s new. Your mom needs knee surgery. Needs to stop eating all that sugar. Doc’s got me on a statin.” He raised his hand, then dropped it on his lap. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything worth celebrating to bring up.”
“I understand,” Rebecca said. “No need to apologize.” She diverted the conversation to Camden and Mike, catching everybody up.
Jed seemed to want to repair his relationship with Rebecca. He didn’t speak as much as usual, but when he did, he was kind and gentle.
“That went well,” Otis said sarcastically, as they pulled away in Paul’s car.
“What can be done?” Bec asked. “They choose to live this way. It reminds me why I left, you know?”
Otis took her hand. “They love you. You know that, right?”
She looked over at him. “I do.”
“And I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
“Thank you.”
They held Carmine’s funeral in the only place that made sense: in his vineyard. As Otis listened to the whisper of the farm Carmine had tended to for most of his life, he recalled the sense of wonder he’d felt the first time he’d come through those gates.
By the time the preacher said his words, the farm was packed with people from all over California. Otis recognized and said hello to maybe fifty winemakers, including one of Carmine’s best friends, renowned organic farmer Amigo Bob Cantisano, and also the Drapers, the Coturris, the Sangiacomos, the Grgiches, the Mondavis, the Petersons, and the Martinis.
Carmine’s brother, Sal, had the final word. Though they bore a physical resemblance, Sal had taken a route that had led him to Wall Street. The gold watch and bespoke shirt and blazer indicated he’d done well for himself. Carrying the ashes in a bag in his hand, he said through a microphone, “I worried no one would show up.”
Laughter rose over the quiet whisper of the vines.
“My brother, he was polarizing, but he did what he was meant to do. All of you are here because he did it the right way. His wines spokeof a place. This place. He was a hard man to get to know, challenging to love at times, but those of you who broke down his walls learned what I knew ... he had a big heart and took care of those who worked with him.”
After the ashes were spread, people started to leave. Otis told Rebecca he’d find her in a little while and then meandered into the depths of the vineyard and slipped down one of the rows. He sat on the ground, amid the red leaves that had begun to fall. He and Carmine had sat in the rows like this so many times, talking about wines and life, which were always one and the same to Carmine.
Tears welled up in Otis’s eyes as he pictured the old man grabbing the trunk of a vine and guiding Otis toward the energy of his farm. He’d died out here doing what he loved, spent a lifetime doing it. In an instant, Otis felt old and wondered when his time would come.
Had he done enough?
He could dwell on the years he’d screwed it all up, the years he missed out on his family, but he would not do that today. Today he’d focus on the years to come. Because there were plenty left.
It wasn’t about the fight anyway, was it? Carmine had told him that. Otis wiped his eyes, thinking that he’d been such a lost soul when he’d stepped onto this property and first introduced himself. If it weren’t for this man, Otis wasn’t sure whether he ever would have found his way.
Everyone needs someone like that,he thought.
Everyone.
Back in Washington State, Otis drove the farm truck with theRedmtnlicense plate to the police station in Kennewick and posted bail for Vance Mason. When the kid came walking out into the lobby, he said, “Yousprang me? What for?”
