Page 85 of Before We Say Goodbye
Why had it taken him this long to understand?
Rebecca reached for his hand. “We pick on our dear Otis, but he had so much going for him back then. I was the lucky one. In this house, we talk about achieving our dreams, creating our own reality. Ididn’t understand these concepts growing up. My mom and dad had a far bleaker outlook. When I met this handsome devil—”
“Handsome, charming, brilliant,” Otis said.
“All of the above, that’s right. He blew the doors off my vision of what my life could be. Are you kidding me? I never imagined any of this: the farm, you two, the wines we’ve made, the experiences. The traveling around the world. That’s your dad orchestrating it all. He’s the one with the powers, the vision. He might look a little funny, but he’s my hero.”
Otis’s eyes watered with delight. Damn it felt good to be back.
Puberty had hit Mike’s body, and his voice cracked when he said, “That’s what Dad always says, that he’s going to jump out the window. He never will.”
“Don’t test me,” Otis said, wagging a finger. “One day it might happen.”
“I doubt it.”
“You don’t think so. Hey, I’m a man of my word. Don’t make me do it right now.”
“So stupid,” Cam said. “You’re all talk.”
“Please don’t encourage him, boys.”
“Nope,” Otis said. “It’s too late. I see how I’m looked at around here. A funny-looking man who doesn’t stick to his word.”
He approached the closest window, the one looking over Bec’s herb garden, and slid open the latch. “It was nice knowing you. Never forget, I was always a man of my word.”
“This is so dumb!” Cam said.
“Do it, do it, do it!” Mike chanted.
Bec looked at him like,Did I really marry this ... this being?
“Yes, honey,” Otis said in answer to the question she didn’t actually ask. “You did marry this.”
With that, he lifted up the window. Peeking back at his family, he said, “I hope they serve riesling in heaven. I’ll say hi to Bubbles. Bon voyage.”
Then he went headfirst out the window and tumbled smack into the basil. It hurt far more than he’d considered possible, and he felt his shoulder tear. Nevertheless, looking up and seeing the three heads of his favorite humans poked out the window in rib-rattling laughter made it all worth it.
He’d found his family again, and that was what mattered.
In the morning Otis pulled on his Carhartt pants and button-down shirt and sneaked down the stairs. The sun’s early-morning rays splintered through the windows. A peace had come over him in the last few days, and today it felt even more pronounced.
He decided to take his cup out into the vines. Mug in hand, barely having wiped the sleep from his eyes, he meandered into the chardonnay block they’d planted. Steam rose from his mug as he enjoyed a long sip. He spun around, looking at all the vines with their ripe grapes dangling in wonderfully imperfect clusters. It was time to pick.
But . . .
It didn’t feel right.
He thought of what Carmine had always said, how you can’t keep taking and taking and taking from your vines, taking from your land. You have to give back more than you take. Sometimes you must make sacrifices.
With his free hand, Otis walked through one of the rows, tickling the clusters and leaves with his fingers. “Talk to me. Tell me I’m not crazy.”
He listened with his entire being, wanting to hear the whispers that often came singing from the vines. A swoosh of energy passed by in the morning breeze. “Would it be so bad if we took a year off? I need it. I’ve lost my edge. Lost the fun, even. I’m tired. Perhaps we both are. What if we take time to heal together?”
Several rows later, once he’d emptied his mug, Otis knelt in the middle of another row. The sweet smell of chardonnay grapes teased the air. The sun rose over the horizon and splashed the fall leaves with light, causing the dew to sparkle.
He closed his eyes and listened. The vines didn’t speak with words. It wasn’t like that. They spoke in a way that could only be felt, like an electric current running right through his heart.
What he heard the vines say was that this vintage should be one of rest. A reset for the vines and the wines and for Otis Till, who had spelunked so deeply into the caves of his own demons that he best return to solid ground before it was too late.
