Page 80 of Before We Say Goodbye
He looked at the bozos on either side of him, wishing that she and the boys were there.
Regret.
He shouldn’t have come.
It was as if he’d been ice-skating on a frozen lake, happy and carefree; then at once a crack had formed. Then another.
He looked down at the hot dog, the red and yellow and green. The countless hot dogs they’d eaten when they’d first started chasing this wild dream appeared before him. Here they were, they’d finally—
No. Herehewas.
They’d made it, but he was here by himself.
Another sip of Crown, then another. The thoughts wouldn’t go away.
A big play happened on the field, and everyone jumped to their feet.
Otis stayed in his seat, staring at the hot dog. What his mother had said back in Bozeman rang in his ears, about how his father had died at his typewriter, having skipped out on a lunch with her, so that he could finish a piece about road construction.
Was this any different? He could not have cared less about being here, about who might win. But he felt like heshouldattend this game as a successful entrepreneur. How could he say no to Joe?
His chest felt heavy, and his body began to tingle, like when he’d had his heart attack years ago.
Otis set down the drink and hot dog and stood. He pushed through the aisle, people’s knees angling sideways, and when he got to the steps, he started running.
“I’m coming,” he said. Quiet, at first. “I’m coming, my loves.” Tears pricked his eyes, and he ran harder, up and down the steps and out of Joe Robbie Stadium and into a waiting taxi.
“I just want to go home,” he said, his face now a mess of tears.
“Where’s home?” the cab driver asked.
“Where Bec and my boys are ...”
Chapter 18 (Interlude)
The Mentee
Red Mountain, Washington State
April 2011
I thought I’d lost him. The boys were old enough to think it too. How many more times could I keep answering their questions with “Your father’s grieving. He’ll be okay”?
Otis came back from Miami a new man, though. As he sits at his desk now, almost three weeks after finding Amigo, a hint of a smile plays on his face. Despite all the regret I know he feels, the same regret that ate at him in the years after coming back from the Super Bowl, I can detect the gratitude he feels for having climbed out from the darkness.
I didn’t know about the cocaine. Not till now, as I read the words over his shoulder. Of course I suspected that he’d experimented on the road, but I didn’t ask—didn’t want to know. What with Jed’s substance abuse issues, I might not have been able to handle it.
I suppose I’m reliving with him, and I feel no need to scold him. What I feel is unbridled joy. We went through the wringer, but we cameout the other side. Not unscathed, mind you. No, not at all, but we did come out on the other side.
If I might say something about my sweet Otis, it’s that he was such a focused man, that balance was hard for him. While he spent those first years in Sonoma breaking his back for his terroir, then the next few focused on growing our finances, he returned to Sonoma with an entirely different attitude.
As much as you don’t want your husband to overwork, you certainly don’t want him to underwork either. I loved Otis and adored having him around, especially when he was in a good place, but there comes a point. I didn’t need him telling me how to better organize our finances, or how to manage the starter for my bread. I certainly didn’t need him involved in the laundry, because thanks to his efforts, he, Camden, and Mike were all running around with pink underwear.
Upon his return, I could tell something had broken inside. Teary eyed and vulnerable, he had assured me that he’d finally realized how lost he’d been and that he was dedicated to change. He started to tell me about his life on the road, but I’d shushed him. “I don’t want to know, Otis. All that matters is what you do going forward.”
I’m not surprised cocaine was part of the equation. Though he’s had his bouts of drinking too much, he would always dry out, taking months off at a time after being on the road and spitting when he tasted. Now I know there was something else at play. It makes sense that Otis started being kinder to Jed, taking him out to lunch, inviting him over, teaching him how to drive the tractor. I wonder what conversations they had, as Jed started to show a transformation then too.
It’s April. The winds have died down. The Red Mountain sun has begun to warm the dusty soil. Days are longer. Otis still isn’t doing much. He takes Amigo out to play in the yard. He checks in on the animals, though the vineyard guys do most of the work. My husband still hasn’t gone up to the winery since Mike and I died. If it weren’t for Brooks, those wines would be in trouble.
