Page 50 of Before We Say Goodbye
“You’re the one who makes me bring the itemized receipts.”
She let her chin fall. “Is that the point?”
He didn’t tell her that he’d also taken his first sniffs of cocaine with a distributor in Florida who’d overpaid to get only fifteen cases of Lost Souls. What else does one do on a fast boat in Miami while the speakers are blaring Hall and Oates?
He took her hand. “My dad barely says anything when I send him wine these days. He wouldn’t know a good wine if it hit him in the head anyway, but helovesto read Bedwetter, and I’m sure this article solidifies his argument. His soldier son, a.k.a.fellow, should have done something of which I was capable. I should have finished Berkeley and should be writing for theTimesright now. Lord knows, the baris not high, if they’re letting Bedwetter in. Instead, I’m the failed and forgotten disciple of Carmine, and a lackey of Lloyd’s who doesn’t even get a mention.”
“A lost soul,” Bec said.
“That’s right. My dad raised a lost soul.”
“Please don’t let Ledbetter get the best of you.”
“His name is Bedwetter.”
“Yeah, well, he makes you act like a child.”
Otis breathed into lungs that felt like rocks and looked into the eyes of this nearly perfect being he’d married. She was cheerleading for the wrong man.
Though he wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d left him alone with his misery, Bec grabbed him and held him tight, not a word said, conveying her reassuring and unwavering love, holding him till their hearts began to beat at the same rhythm again.
Later in August, Lloyd came to town, rolling in with an arm crooked out the window of his new Ferrari. He slid out wearing jeweled boots. His jeans were tighter than green tape around a vine. His shirt was pressed with so much starch you could have driven his fancy car over it without making a crease.
Meanwhile, Otis had been repairing irrigation all morning. He stepped out of the south vineyard block and wiped the sweat and dirt from his face. Bubbles had been hovering around him all day and followed him toward the Ferrari. Otis wished he’d taught his dog to attack, but it was too late now.
Lloyd knelt to pet Bubbles and said to Otis, “There’s my Brit Boy. How’s harvest looking?”
Otis’s fists tightened. “What was that Ledbetter article all about?”
Lloyd recalibrated. He apparently hadn’t expected a standoff. “He didn’t get it quite right, did he?”
“No, he did not.” Otis stood three feet from him, looking up at this exquisite specimen of a man.
Lloyd waved it off as no big deal. “Don’t pay those things any attention. Hey, at least we got more press. People are starting to get what we’re doing.”
“What is it exactly thatyou’redoing?” Otis asked, standing his ground.
As if he kept reserves, Lloyd unpeeled another layer of handsome. “I’m doing my part. You’re making good wine, but I’m pulling strings in the background.”
“Pulling strings?” Otis raised a finger. “Don’t take credit for my wine, Lloyd. I’m grateful that you helped bankroll this thing, but it’s mine and Rebecca’s blood and sweat out there in the fields. Don’t ever forget that.”
A flash of anger threatened like thunder, but Lloyd wrangled it in quickly. “No one is forgetting what you do.”
“Bedwetter is. Maybe remind him next time.”
“I’ll do that. More importantly, I have big news. Bec around? I think she’ll want to hear.”
Otis didn’t like how Lloyd brushed the Bedwetter issue aside, but he was too damned taxed to do anything about it. He’d just returned from two weeks on the East Coast, securing new distribution. He never imagined what slinging juice on the road could be like, the toll it took.
Otis gathered Bec and watched her kiss Lloyd on the cheek. He seemed all too delighted by her touch, and Otis wondered whether anyone would notice if he chopped Lloyd up and buried him in the vines.
They sat on the terrace under the shade of a pergola. A noisy bird called out from the patch of trees nearby. The subtle scent of ripening grapes had started to fill the air.
Lloyd crossed one leg over another. His pant legs rode up, revealing more of his fancy boots. “Gallo wants to buy us.”
Heads spun; eyes popped out.
Lloyd directed his attention at Bec. “The brand and the land. They regret not buying the property in the first place. They love the label and wines and see big potential. They’d want you to stick around as winemaker, and you could keep living on the property.”
