Page 11 of Que Será, Syrah

“Complaining. It rhymes with explaining. Also raining, and entertaining. It’s not about anyone in particular. It’s just something I do for fun.”

“So, you wrote that yourself?”

“Not the melody, just the words. Well, most of them. I have a collaborator. Sometimes we bounce ideas back and forth.”

I felt a spike of jealousy. “Oh, yeah? What’s his name?”

She pulled back, pouting again. “Why do you assume it’s a guy? Because women can’t write song lyrics? Really?”

“What? No, I…I don’t think that. I was actually hoping it was another woman.”

“Oh,” she said, looking slightly confused. “Well, good.” She started to lift the bottle again, then changed her mind and held it out toward me. “Here. Did you want some?”

I lifted my beer bottle in a small toast. “Thanks. Think I’ll stick with beer, though.”

“Beer? Blech!” She doubled over, pretending to be sick. Then she grabbed hold of my arm and lifted it so that she could peer at the label on my bottle. “Blech! Blech! Blech! Are you kidding? It’s not even craft beer! And you call yourself a local?”

“Yeah. ’Cause I am.” After a moment, I nodded at the bottle in her hand. “You know, you still didn’t answer your own question. Is it a Sauterne?”

“What, this?” She shook her head. “Nooo. Of course, not. We don’t make Sauterne. That just fit the music. This is…hmm…I can’t remember.” She took another drink and rolled the wine around in her mouth, looking pensive. “Okay, let’s see. Lemon…nutmeg…maybe nectarine. Full bodied and…ooh, buttery. Yeah, that’s gotta be Chardonnay, but...”

She leaned closer, peering at the bottle, angling it to read the label in the nearly non-existent light. “Oh. Well. This is embarrassing.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s my family’s wine.”

“And that’s not good?”

“Well, no. I mean, it was. Once. But it’s past its peak. So no, not as good as I was expecting it to be.”

“You’ve been drinking out of that bottle for a while now,” I couldn’t help but point out. “Couldn’t you tell it was bad without the label?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t say it was bad. Also, it would obviously taste better in a glass. Plus, it’s not chilled, so I figured there were reasons why it didn’t taste as good as it should. But until I read the label, I didn’t realize that it’s been in the bottle for five years.”

“What difference does that make?”

“All the difference. Chardonnay is meant to be drunk within a few years of bottling.” She shook her head and said, “Rookie mistake. Next time I steal a case of wine I’ll be sure to check the vintage.”

“Wait. You stole an entire case?” You didn’t have to know much about wine to know that a whole case of expensive wine was no small thing to lose. “Who from? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble?”

“Oh, they’ll never notice,” she assured me casually and, I couldn’t help but think, naïvely. “Or even care, most likely, given that it’s so old. Who were they going to sell it to, at this point? I may have even done them a favor by saving them the trouble of having to get it hauled away. Besides, it’s my party, isn’t it? So, I had to supply something to get us started.”

“This is your party?”

“Yeah. Birthday and graduation.” She nodded, looking so sad that I clamped down hard on the inevitable next question, then why are you out here all by yourself, while everyone else is back up the trail, enjoying themselves without you? It was clear that she didn’t need the reminder—especially when she raised her bottle in a toast and said, “Happy Birth-a-gration to me.”

“So…the lights in the trees—that was you?”

She leaned back on her elbows, stared up at the branches and nodded again. “Yeah, that was me.”

“You did a good job,” I told her and was rewarded when her eyes lit up and she smiled. “Everyone’s saying it looks like fairyland.”

“Yeah? Do you like it?”

“I do.” Then, taking a chance, I reached over and took the bottle from her. She gave it up willingly, which I took as a good sign. “You know what else I’d like?” I asked as I set both our drinks aside then turned back to face her.

She glanced up at me, smiling in anticipation. “What?”

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