Page 136 of Before We Say Goodbye
“I’m from California. And sure.”
Otis stood. “I’m a West Coaster too. I might get myself a pretzel, that sound good? Mustard?”
“Sure, thanks.”
Otis came back with two hot pretzels. Brooks took a fast bite, and Otis could almost hear his body thanking him.
They made shallow conversation as they ate, then: “Anyway, I know what it’s like to be down and out. I don’t know your story, but it looks like you need a hand up.” Otis searched his wallet for a business card. “I’m a winemaker in Washington State and always looking for good men to help me.”
Brooks made a quick attempt at eye contact. “I don’t know shit about wine.”
“That’s the one thing I know about, and I’m an okay teacher. It’s good, honest work, a way to work with your hands and make something that matters. If you have a drinking problem, probably not the bestidea, but otherwise, it’s a good way to spend a life. I could teach you, if you wanted.”
“Because I look like your son?”
“There’s that. Maybe the only way I feel like I can heal is by helping those around me. I could put you up, show you how to work the vines, teach you how to make wine. Where I live, Red Mountain, it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s hard to find help. Maybe you’re different, maybe you have something. There’s a reason I’m on this bench right now.”
Feeling like his best version of himself, Otis handed him the card. “There’s my number. You need a second chance, I got one for you. Nothing in it for me, other than trying to find a way through my own grief, and I’m trying to build something special on this little mountain out there. So clean yourself up. I don’t know if you’re doing drugs, but that’s not welcome. The cigarettes don’t help your palate, but that didn’t stop the man who taught me. Either way, call me and I’ll get you out there, get you set up. But don’t bother unless you’re ready.”
Brooks stared at the card.
Otis rose and started to go, but Brooks stopped him. “Your son was a lucky guy, having a dad like you. I didn’t grow up like that.”
“Maybe luck found you now. A pleasure to meet you, Brooks.” He offered a wave and turned to go.
That night, back on Red Mountain, Otis lay in bed with Rebecca. Her head rested on his bare chest. “I don’t want to leave you again,” he said. “It’s too hard.”
“I know.”
He glided his hand down her lotioned arm. “Do you think it ever stops hurting?”
“I doubt it, but I think we’ll learn to live with it, learn to sit with the pain. I can’t stop seeing him, reliving all the moments we had together.”
He felt her pain blend into his, their hearts beating to the same agonizing rhythm. “I saw a guy today, a homeless man in the park, looked a lot like him. Same age. I sat down and talked to him for a while, gave him my card.” Otis elaborated. “I don’t know where to go from here, Bec. I’ve lost my passion for life. I want to keep lying in bed with you, holding you, not ever letting you go. I want Mike to move back home, and we just be together, the three of us.” He shrugged his shoulder. “I don’t even know that I have what it takes to keep growing wine.”
Rebecca pressed up and brushed away his tears. “I’ve been writing in my journal, trying to make sense of it all. Trying to find a way through. All I can come up with is that it means we need to live our lives even brighter. We need to live enough to make up for the huge hole Camden left in this goddamn world.”
She was right. He knew something else too. It was time to give Bec a break. She’d been carrying him and the boys since the beginning, and it was time that he carry the weight for a while.
Otis returned to the cellar and took the helm with the strength he found in Rebecca’s words. He set out to make wine, because that’s what he did best, and he would do it for Cam. This year would not be one that went down as a failure, as a year of grief and sadness. It would be a year of joy, a vintage celebrating a young man who was taken too early but who had figured out life, nonetheless.
He would never forget the day Cam died, the way his son looked at him with that confident smirk. He’d figured things out, and maybe that was why he’d been taken away. Otis, on the other hand, had a lot of work to do, and he would no longer do it by letting life beat him. He would do it on the wings of his amazing son, who would expect nothing less of his parents and younger brother than for them to give their all.
Taking a weekend off, Otis and Rebecca stayed in their place in Capitol Hill in Seattle. Michael was supposed to meet them for dinner at the Pink Door but had to cancel at the last minute due to work. He’d taken a job as a criminal defense attorney and was deep in the middle of a case.
Otis and Rebecca consumed far too much fresh pasta, and Otis convinced the owner to bring in one of his Red Mountain wines. Then they walked through town, holding hands, two broken pieces trying to find a way back together again.
In the morning they met Michael for coffee at the original Starbucks at Pike Place Market. He was a mess, clearly already a cup or two ahead of them. “Sorry about last night, guys,” he said, kissing his mother’s head. “This job ... it’s insane.”
Otis straightened his son’s tie, then pulled him in for a hug. He might not have been much of a hugger back in the old days, but he was like a dog with separation anxiety now. Even if he hadn’t seen his family in five minutes, he’d race over for a hug and kiss.
They caught up while they stood in line, and Otis could see clearly that his son was struggling, despite trying to hide it. Or maybe he didn’t even know it. Last they’d spoken, Mike had told them he was still taking his medicine.
“You wouldn’t believe how much work we’re taking on,” he said. “The staff shortages are crazy, and prosecutions are at an all-time high.”
“Are they all guilty?” Rebecca asked.
“No, not at all. I have my fair share of guilty clients, but some of them haven’t done a thing. Without a good attorney, they have no hope.” He tapped his fingers on his leg, a rhythm only he knew.
