Eight Hundred Grapes (76)

He stopped me with his arm, with a quick wave of it. My father had never liked tears and he didn’t want to watch mine now, not on his watch, not when he didn’t have the energy to stop them.

“I hate it in here,” he said.

This instead of hello.

“I really hate it,” he said.

“Then leave.”

“Working on it. Your mother is getting me checked out as we speak. She’s talking to the doctors and the administrators. Or at least, that’s what she said she’s doing.”

“You think she’s lying to you?”

“She could be running to get a sandwich.”

I laughed and took a seat on the edge of the bed, took hold of my father’s hand. Scare or no scare, I never wanted to be sitting there again.

“Are the brothers working?”

“Yes, the vineyard is all good.”

“Good.” He paused. “Do they still want to kill each other?”

“Yes, but the normal amount.”

“Also good. Though it’s really about the grapes. Remind them of that. If anyone loses perspective again, remind them that the most important things don’t involve that much talking.”

“Of course.”

He closed his eyes. He was tired. There was no denying that. He needed rest. And all of this time, he’d had trouble asking for it. Now he was going to get it. “Thank you.”

“For someone who says he doesn’t care about that place anymore, you seem pretty concerned.”

“Who said I didn’t care? I’m just getting ready to care about something else.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? We had so much space in our heart. My mother was tired of giving it all to our family, so she gave it to Henry. Until she realized that wasn’t the answer either. My father realizing the same thing in time to save them.

“It’s time for me to get out of here, kid,” he said.

“You like to go out with a bang?”

He laughed.

He reached for my face, holding my cheek. “What happened?”

I shook my head without answering.

“You left Ben?”

I nodded, trying not to think about where Ben was now, what was happening with him. Maybe he was talking to Michelle, but probably he was letting it sink in for himself that he was going to London, that he was doing what he needed to do. We both were.

My father nodded. “It was the right thing,” he said.

I smiled. “Now you tell me.”

“You needed to get there yourself. Or it wouldn’t have been. You get that?”

“Well, if you say so.”

He smiled. “I think you’re going to be okay, kid. He wasn’t the person.” He shook his head. “Or maybe that’s just what I’m telling myself now so I don’t feel responsible.”

“Responsible for what?”

“Responsible for you. You don’t understand your worth. That was my job.”

I reached over and took his hand, my father, whom I loved more than anything in this world. My father. My mother.

“Daddy.”

“Oh no, you’re bringing out the big gun.”

“I’m moving home, not because I’m scared, but because I’m not anymore. I want to be here.”

He nodded because he could see that I meant it. Then he got sad, thinking about something else.

“It’s too late, baby.”

I nodded. “For our land, but I’ll find new land. And I’ll make Jacob give it back to me, the Last Straw name.”

“He won’t do it. He’s not going to be allowed by his board, even if he wants to.”

“Then I’ll fight him to give me B-Minor, unless you don’t want me using it.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll ask Mom.”

He shook his head. “You’re the most stubborn person that I’ve ever met. And if you think I mean that nicely, I don’t. It’s not a compliment, even if it sounds like one.”

“Will you help me?”

“If you tell me why you want to be here so badly?”

My mother’s words came to mind. Be careful what you give up. In a way, that was what I had done. I had focused on other things, on my relationship, on a life far from here. And I was glad I had. It had altered me in the ways that made it possible for me to want to be here. To know what that meant. I had given away a love that felt too dangerous, too risky, and being back here was the greatest reminder that it was real love. How I felt waking up here in the morning, and how I felt sitting on the winemaker’s cottage porch at night. How the smells and sounds and people seemed to grab hold of me every time I let them in. How the wine still did.

The wine. And the fearless piece of me that wanted to be a part of it, even if I couldn’t control it. The fearless part of me knowing that just maybe it was the way to build a life that I wasn’t only good at, but that I loved.

He smiled. “You remember when you were a little kid, and you came into the winemaker’s cottage and announced that you wanted to be a winemaker? I was relieved when you changed your mind.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s a life you have no control over. You do everything in your power and ultimately you have no control.”