Page 66 of Before We Say Goodbye
“He’s our partner.”
“He’s evil.”
“You’re a child.”
The conversation felt like a hundred they’d had in the past.
“I know you don’t like football,” Rebecca said, “but this is about the boys. Look at their joy. Let them see what a real American life is like, getting the family together the way it should be.”
This was always her way, giving, giving, giving, and always talking about the perfect American life. How far she’d come from her hippie youth.
“There’s one thing, though,” Rebecca said, pouring both of them more water from the carafe. “With Jed getting out of rehab, I’d like to make the party alcohol-free.”
Otis’s head spun all the way around, 360 degrees of mind-bending shock. “You’re kidding. Just when I thought you had lost your humor. Not bad, actually. You nearly gave me another heart attack—not even a mini one, a full-blown affair. You’re funny.”
She wasn’t laughing. Hell of a poker face.
“Wait, you’re not being serious. Hold on. You are. You want to host a party with our extended family and friends—many of whom are in the wine business—and yet ask them to abstain from alcohol.”
Apparently Otis was having a conversation with himself, as she collected the bowl and bottle from the table and headed for the kitchen.He hated this, how she let him process things verbally on his own. She didn’t even have to participate in their arguments sometimes.
“If you are, in fact, being serious,” he called out to her, “this is not funny and not even a discussion. You win everything, but not this one. No way.”
Not a peep.
“With my father there. Your father. With Jed? Oh, I’ll be drinking. Everyone will be drinking, or it will be a nightmare. You’re going to punish me for Jed’s drug abuse?”
He followed her into the kitchen and waved a hand in front of her face. “Anyone in there? Do you hear me? We’re either having a party with alcohol flowing like the Nile River, or we will not be hosting anyone at all.”
She finally spoke, her deceptively sweet little mouth peeling open. “I don’t think it would hurt you to take some time off from drinking anyway.”
“Oh, here we go again. I only drink too much when I’m stressed out. That happens to be a lot lately.”
She went quiet again.
He knew he couldn’t win, but he tried anyway.
“I beg of you. Let’s not have a party. No one says we have to. I’m not inviting people to our house, to our vineyard and winery, and asking them not to drink. What they put in their mouths is their business. What I put in my mouth ismybusiness.”
Rebecca, ever patient, reached for his hand. “I love you.”
Otis’s shoulders slumped. He knew she’d won. No other woman on earth could control him like her, by bloody blue gods; that was why he loved her more than any other man could love a woman.
Her idea was still a bad one, though.
On game day, January 20, 1985, Lost Souls Ranch resembled a rehab facility. Everyone dead sober. The conversation stale and awkward. Not a smile within ten miles. It fit that it was cold outside. The long tables in the living room where they’d hosted countless wonderful meals inspired by European cooking now hosted buffalo wings, cheese curds, jalapeño poppers, hamburgers, and nachos. What a travesty.
Otis couldn’t get past being grumpy. This was not a time to expect everyone to be sober.
Except for Jed.
Otis wasn’t a monster. He was happy for Jed. He wasn’t happy that he’d had to pay for the rehab and now had to endure a sober family get-together. What was it that Sinatra had said? That he felt bad for a man who didn’t drink, as he woke up feeling the best he would all day. Sinatra’s heart would break for Otis right now. Actually, Sinatra would have had his people take care of Jed—and Lloyd—a long time ago.
This would be the last time Otis paid for rehab, though. If Jed slipped up, then Otis would enjoy one of the finest “I told you sos” in history, then make Rebecca sign a document agreeing that Jed was on his own next time.
The other thing. His father didn’t like football any more than he did. Addison Till sat next to Otis in a vacuum of awkward silence. Why? Because there was no wine to numb Addison’s ever-present grudge toward Otis for having dropped out of school, a grudge that would last until his dying breath. Talk about “I told you sos.” Addison could slam you with one without ever saying the words. His eyes shot “I told you sos.”
“How’s the new book coming?” Marshall asked Addison, surprising everyone with his attempt at making conversation. “What’s the topic?”
