“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.”
I moved in closer to him, trying to avoid sounding ironic when I said it, what I knew to be the truth. “Didn’t you just describe everything worth doing?”
He smiled. “Not everything, wiseass.”
“Give me the exception.”
“Making clocks. That, you can control.”
“Why does that sound familiar?”
“I tried to convince you to become a clockmaker. I even took you into San Francisco one afternoon to go to the oldest clock store in the city, to watch the clockmaker do his work.”
“Seriously?”
He shrugged. “You had trouble telling time. I thought at the very least it would help.”
“Did it?”
“Not really.”
He closed his eyes. He was getting tired. I patted his hand, getting ready to leave him, to let him rest, to let my mother come inside and rest with him, the two of them quiet together, the way they belonged.
“So you’re staying? And I’m going. I’m going boating. I’ll hate every second of it, but I’m going.”
I laughed. “Why are you doing that to yourself?”
“It’s the only way to get where we want to be.”
He looked at me, making sure I heard him. They weren’t coming back to Sebastopol, or if they did, it wouldn’t be on the terms I was imagining. The vineyard saved, my father’s legacy, the way it had been, intact.
Then he smiled. “But you’ll be okay. You’re going to be a great winemaker for the same reason you’re a terrible driver.”
“Why is that?”
He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “No one else has a clue what you’re doing, but at the end of the day, you get to where you want to go.”
I smiled, leaning in toward him, starting to cry.
“Okay, let’s not get dramatic. You really do have to work on the driving.”
He motioned toward the doorway, where my mother was walking down the hall toward us. “Are we not going to talk about the other guy?” he said. “Before your mother gets here?”
“What guy?”
He tilted his head. “Your mother will make a big deal about it.”
“Who?”
“Jacob. I’m talking about Jacob, of course.”
I pointed at him. “Don’t cause trouble.”
He smiled. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, just say that,” he said. “Just say, ‘Shut up, Dad.’ ”
“He’s not the reason.”
He shrugged. “In a way, he is. Actually, he’s the reason for all of it. A guy decides to buy a vineyard from a winemaker. Weddings get cancelled. The daughter goes crazy.”