Page 65 of Before We Say Goodbye
Handsome smile alert. He didn’t even seem fazed by Otis’s threat. “It’s just a suggestion. I know money’s tight.”
Otis didn’t say a thing. Bec didn’t dare.
Lloyd took the hint, said a quick goodbye, then retreated to his race car and sped away.
Otis tried to take Rebecca’s hand, but she pulled it back. “You need to grow up.”
Christmas of ’84 was anything but joyful. Otis and Rebecca had been at each other’s throats throughout harvest. After one of her rants, Otis would throw himself on the sword. “You’re right,” he would say. “Iamimpossible. I don’t want to compromise my art and make white zin or fucking blue cabernet. I want to continue making wines that matter.”
She’d quieted about the white zin thing, though he suspected she’d been speaking to Lloyd on the side. If he found that out for sure, he would absolutely lose his mind.
What brought it all to a head was Rebecca’s statement—not question—on Christmas Eve. Bec’s parents had just left, and the boys were asleep, and Otis and Rebecca were playing Santa Claus. Rebecca wheeled in a new bicycle for Mike. Otis had gone to work setting up a train set for Michael that promised to take three hours, what with the awful instructions.
“Jed wants to go back to rehab,” Rebecca offered.
“Oh, yeah?” Otis had a proper buzz from having drained almost two bottles of wine. Marshall and Olivia’s presence always forced him to overindulge. Marshall had a never-ending evil eye, and Olivia’s fragility was too difficult to be around even halfway sober.
“I want to pay for it.”
“Pay for what?” He stuck a screwdriver into a hole in the track.
“We’re going to pay for Jed to go back to rehab. The VA is being difficult, and they won’t pay for a good one anyway.”
“What does he need, a Four Seasons?” Otis took a soothing breath, set the screwdriver down, and tried not to show how maniacally angry he’d become in a matter of seconds. “With what money?”
“With our money.”
“We don’t have money.”
“We do. We have savings.”
“What happens when we need our savings?” Their words came out faster by the second.
“We’ll be back in greener times by then?”
“How could you know that?”
“I know.”
Otis wanted to eat his wineglass when Bec started talking like that. He picked up the screwdriver and went back to work with determined fury. “What an epic waste of money. Like last time, he’ll go right back to using.”
“It doesn’t always take.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
“He’s my brother, and he wants to get better. Can you imagine what he’s been through?”
“I appreciate that, but we can’t put our security at risk for him.” Where was the bloody whiskey bottle?
“He’s family.”
Even as he continued to protest, Otis knew she would win. Was it any wonder why he had to work so hard? Sure, he’d simply spread himself a little thinner, because he hadplentyof time and energy and money. Who needed sleep? He could whittle his four hours down to two.
The real rage rose on the day the San Francisco 49ers made the Super Bowl. Rebecca, who wasn’t much of a sports fan at all, had suggested the wonderfully stupendous idea of inviting everyone over to watch the game. Not just everyone, buteveryone. Otis’s parents in Montana. Herparents. Her now-sober brother—coming off a rehab Otis and Bec had paid for. All the employees. Carmine. Paul and Sparrow.Lloyd.
The boys had run outside to throw the ball after losing their minds over the win. Otis and Rebecca still sat with Bubbles on the couch, facing the television. A reporter was wrapping up an interview with Joe Montana. A giant bowl with remnants of popcorn rested on the coffee table beside an empty bottle of rosé Champagne.
“You want to invite Lloyd?” Otis asked, wishing he could get away with opening a second bottle without being scolded.
