Page 124 of Before We Say Goodbye
“For sure, man.” A beat eased by. “How’s the harvest up there? You figured out what you’re doing yet?”
“Not at all, but it was a nice year. Balanced. Still trying to find my way, though.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Otis rode shotgun and caught up with Paul, while Rebecca and Sparrow chatted nonstop all the way back to Sonoma. Paul drove them by Lost Souls. As they’d heard, the new owners had built a fancy tasting room, and the lawn where Otis and the boys had once thrown the football was now a parking lot packed tight with cars and two buses.
They chose not to go inside. Some parts of the past were best left buried.
At Paul and Sparrow’s place, where they were spending the next two nights, Otis and Rebecca unpacked in the guest room, then went downstairs to pull corks and catch up.
By sunfall, fifty people had gathered in the back of the red barn to celebrate the life of Carmine Coraggio and to welcome back the Tills. All the winemakers brought their latest vintages, including Otis, and he felt proud to set a couple of his latest Red Mountain efforts onto the table.
“Look at you now, Otis Till,” Paul said, clapping him on the back. The two men sat across from each other at one of the picnic tables overlooking the vines. “To think you stomped your first grapes here, what was it? Twenty years ago?”
“Thirty.”
“Thirty? God, we’re old.”
Otis raised his glass. “À ta santé, my friend. With age comes beauty.”
“À ta santé,” Paul said. Without breaking eye contact, he asked, “You heard about Lloyd, didn’t you?”
“Oh, boy. No, I haven’t heard a thing of him lately.”
“I think he might be going to jail.”
“What?” Otis said, hoping his inner joy didn’t sprout into a smile. “When did this happen?”
“The last few weeks. Tax problems. He tried to cut some corners. Thank God we bought him out last year.”
Otis kept what he wanted to say lodged in his throat. Instead, he let out, “Then I’m glad we’ve both washed our hands of that mess.” Helowered his voice. “Speaking of jail, did I mention I spent last night in a cell?”
Paul’s mouth fell agape. “Otis Till.”
Otis searched for Rebecca among the crowd and found her sitting in the grass with Sparrow. “Shhh, keep your voice down. I promised Bec I wouldn’t bring it up.” His filter had fallen off about three glasses of wine ago, and he told Paul the tale.
“How’d you get to leave the state?” Paul asked.
“I had an attorney get permission.” Otis stretched his arms. “I feel bad, honestly. Vance didn’t grow up the way I did. My dad may have pushed me too hard, but at least he was there. Both my parents. This kid ... never had a father. Brother died in a NavySeals training accident. Mom has dementia. Is it any wonder he’s struggling?”
“Life, man,” Paul said.
“That’s right,” Otis agreed. “Life.” He recalled the night so many years ago when Paul, Sparrow, and Bec had danced naked on this table. A gentle urge nearly pushed him to do what he had been too afraid to do back then, but he paused. He wasn’t the same man he used to be, and he no longer had anything to prove.
The next morning, properly hungover and short on sleep, Otis and Rebecca grabbed a breakfast burrito and drove up to Santa Rosa to see the in-laws. He would have far preferred to have a kidney removed—even if the kidney were destined for either Lloyd the Beardsplitter or Bedwetter the Fopdoodle—but he knew he didn’t have a choice.
On the drive Otis didn’t complain. Didn’t even grumble under his breath. This visit home wasn’t about him. It was about supporting Rebecca as she worked to patch her broken relationship with her parents. It had been two years since they’d last seen them, as the Bradshaws hadn’t been able to travel to Bozeman for Eloise’s funeral due to all three of them fighting health issues.
Marshall pulled back the door. Old age was getting the best of him. His back hunched more than it used to. Red blood vessels collected around his nose. He looked worn out in the way that a good night of sleep couldn’t fix.
He tried his best to smile. “I’m sorry about your mentor.”
Otis thanked him and shook his hand, then moved inside to greet Olivia and Jed. Olivia’s liberal application of makeup failed to mask what the years had done to her. Jed had cut his hair short but still had a scraggly beard. His frail frame seemed too small for his new motorized wheelchair. Things had never been the same between Jed and Rebecca since Jed exploded in the backyard. Rebecca hugged her brother, but warmth was missing.
They sat in the living room. The ugly red paint on the walls was cracking.
“So ...” Rebecca started. “What’s new?”
