Page 114 of Before We Say Goodbye
Otis wondered if it was only him struggling. Not only with the climate, but life in general. “What are you reading?”
She covered it up. “Nothing you would like.”
“What is it?”
“A romance that I picked up at the grocery store.”
“The grocery store? Hold on, did I marry a woman who reads the books found at the checkout aisle in the grocery store?”
“You did indeed. Is there a problem?”
Otis sighed. “I suppose not. You know, I think the world is moving on without me. That’s what it feels like.”
“Then you best catch up.”
She sipped her water, then returned to her book.
Otis stared at her for a while. What a wonder it was that this woman could easily settle into this new life. Here he was fighting for his terroir, desperately learning, while she was reading a trashy romance novel, not caring at all that her tomatoes weren’t nearly as good as they had been in Sonoma. “We’ll get ’em next year,” she’d said as she slid a plate of salt-and-peppered heirlooms into the trash the previous evening.
We’ll get ’em next year.Had she really said that? As if they had all the time in the world.
Otis couldn’t wait until next year, and no, it wasn’t about the money. They had plenty. This was about conquering a new land, being part of something bigger than himself. Harnessing the wild beast that was Red Mountain and squeezing juice out of her that would knock the world off its axis.
There was no time to wait. What, could the Allied forces have waited another year to challenge Hitler? Could Monet have set down his brush for a fortnight to focus on his Pilates practice? Could Einstein have paused his work to learn how to fish?
The roar of a four-wheeler stole him from his daydreaming. He turned to find Chaco coming toward them. His vineyard manager leaped off the four-wheeler before it had even come to a stop.
He jogged up to the back deck and called up to Otis, “Jefe, no hay agua.”
“Cómo?”
“No tenemos agua.”
There was no water. Otis raced off the deck. “Cuál es el problema?”
Chaco switched to English, his silver tooth reflecting in the sun. “The aquifer ran dry. We’re out of water for the season.”
“Out of water? That happens?”
“Sometimes. It’s been a hot year.”
“What do we do?”
Chaco kissed the tip of his index finger and pointed it up to the sky. “Pray to God.”
“I’m not a prayer, Bec.” He kept his voice down so the boys, who were watching television in the living room, wouldn’t hear his frustration. Nothing got under Rebecca’s skin more than Mike and Cam seeing Otis have a meltdown.
Otis sat at his desk; Bec was in the recliner. “That’s Chaco’s answer. Say our prayers. I called Tom Hedges, Jim Holmes. Same thing. There’s nothing we can do. I guess I’ll go fill buckets up from the river tomorrow.”
“That’s silly, Otis.”
“It’s not. This is our livelihood. I swear, I wonder if we screwed up coming here. It’s the Wild West. I don’t know this land, these people. Had I any idea we might run out of water, I would have conserved, but we share the same aquifer with Vance, the profligate swine. He probably used it all up anyway, with his overhead irrigation. The guy sprays like he’s at a waterpark. Probably leaves his taps running while he sleeps.”
“He’s really gotten to you, hasn’t he?”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to say all summer.”
“He lost his brother, Otis. He’s grieving. Maybe he doesn’t have a father figure in his life. Give him some slack.”
