Page 42 of Gone With the Wine

I gaze around the space, mouth wide open.

I’m in the Caparelli cave a couple of days later.

It clearly hasn’t been used in years, but the lights still work (some of them; we’ll need a few more bulbs) and cobwebs stretch across shadowy corners, but the brick walls and floor are still amazing and beautiful. I shiver at the cool air and slowly walk farther into the cellar. Oak barrels line the walls—empty barrels—and I run a hand over the smooth old staves and hoops. They’re in good shape, albeit dusty.

I haven’t been in this cave for years. As kids, Rosa and Allegra thought it was creepy, but I was always fascinated by it. Nonna stopped using it years ago when new stainless-steel tanks were purchased for the cellar. This cave isn’t a huge cellar, unlike other wineries in the area, but it’s fascinating and full of history and character.

At the far end of the cave, I stop and stare. I narrow my eyes, unsure what I’m seeing. Rings in the brick floor encircle wooden lids. “Can this be real?” I step closer and pull up one lid to peer into the hole. “Oh my God.” It’s a huge terracotta vessel. “Qvevri tanks?”

I learned about these in school, the history of winemaking that utilized these huge pots to make wine. White grapes are poured into the container along with skins and stems, left to ferment with natural yeast, and then sealed to age. The wine produced has a deep color often referred to as orange.

“Wow.” My mind is racing, possibilities bouncing around. This is something I don’t have hands-on experience with but oh my God, it’s so intriguing. I need to do some research into making orange wines. Could I do that here? I gaze around, wide-eyed, my blood fizzing with excitement.

But first I need to deal with Uncle Geno.

I find Rosa in her makeshift office in front of her computer.

“I’m going over to Belmonte,” I tell her. “If I’m not back in an hour, call the cops.”

She snorts. “Don’t joke like that. I’m coming with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do.” She stands. “We’re a team.”

I don’t move for a second, my heart shifting in my chest.

Yeah. We’re a team.

We drive down the road to Belmonte. Cars fill the parking lot there. My sunglasses and baseball cap shield me from the hot afternoon sun and our feet crunch on the gravel as we walk toward the tasting room. Voices from the patio on the other side of the building float on the soft air. No doubt the place is full of customers tasting (and buying) wine.

I want that, too. The tasting room may be Allegra’s dream, but I do love that aspect of the business—watching people savor my creations. It’s a wonderful feeling to bring joy into the world. Sure, it’s great when we sell cases of wine to wholesalers, but you don’t get that personal gratification of seeing people face to face getting pleasure from what you’ve produced. Maybe some day we’ll have that at Caparelli. But will I be here to enjoy it?

We walk inside and stop at the reception counter.

“Hi, Rosa!” says the young girl working there. “How are you?”

“I’m great, thanks. You?”

“Busy!” She gestures at the indoor tasting room where people are gathered at the counter.

“This is my sister, Bianca.” Rosa introduces us. “Bee, this is Arleth.”

I smile. “Nice to meet you.” I don’t know why I expected the same people to be working here all these years later.

“We’re looking for Geno,” Rosa says.

“He’s in the cellar with Vittorio.”

“Okay, thanks.” She leads the way through a “staff only” door and down to the cellar.

Uncle Geno and my cousin Vittorio are standing near the entrance talking. They look up as we walk in, surprise flashing on their faces.

“Hi, Uncle Geno! I’m back!” I open my arms for a hug. I mean, he’s not an affectionate guy, but I’m his niece and he hasn’t seen me for a while.

He frowns but moves toward me and gives me a perfunctory hug. “Bianca. I heard you’re home.”

“Of course you did.” I roll my eyes, smiling. “Word travels fast here. Hi, Vitto.”

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