Page 58 of Que Será, Syrah

“Rosa, I got this,” I tell her when she pulls to a stop besides me, folding her arms and squaring off with Clay in a way that—again—would almost be laughable. If I didn’t want to cry in frustration.

“It’s fine,” Rosa brushes my assurances aside. “We do this all the time.” She glares at Clay and asks, “So, what’s today’s problem?”

“As I was just telling your sister,” Clay says, with a nod in my direction. “The Sheriff’s Office has received a report that you may be in violation of Ordinance 947, which?—”

“The Winery Definitions Ordinance.” Rosa nods. “Yes. I’m familiar with it. What part are we supposedly violating this time?”

“In this case, the problem involves section eleven, sub-section h, paragraph 2,” Clay responds, and if I didn’t know him as well as I’m starting to, I might’ve missed the way the corner of his mouth quirks up—like it does when he’s trying not to smile. Rosa stares at him blandly. Clay stares blandly back. And now—hand to God—it looks like they’re both hiding smiles.

I’m on the verge of asking if they’d like to be alone, when Rosa says, “Refresh my memory. Paragraph 2 has to do with what again?”

“It has to do with the artwork in your tasting room,” Clay explains, grimacing apologetically in my direction.

“What artwork?” Rosa asks, as she, too, turns to face me.

“Really?” I’m distracted from my annoyance with Clay—who at least knew about the artwork—by my annoyance with my sister, who should have known, but clearly didn’t. “The installation has been up for nearly a week!” I mean, technically, I’m talking about a work week, which is five days, and today is Thursday, so in actual time, it’s been three days since the pictures were hung. But still!

“Perhaps we could go and see it?” Clay suggests, and since no one has a better idea, that’s what we do.

“I’m sure I told you,” I say to Rosa. “Didn’t I? About the deal I made with Vin Vista?”

Rosa shakes her head. “Sorry, Legs. That’s not ringing any bells. What’s…Vin…what did you call it?”

“Vin Vista. It’s one of the galleries in town. We get to display a rotating collection of paintings and artwork. You get to keep your anniversary poster in the kitchen, where you wanted it—right?”

And yes, I’m loading on the guilt, because why not?

“Wait.” Just outside the tasting room door, Rosa stops in her tracks. “We are allowed to display artwork.” She turns to Clay and demands, “Aren’t we?”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you can’t sell it.”

“Well, of course,” Rosa says. “But we’re not selling artwork. Right?”

They both turn to me. I shrug. “No. I mean, not technically.”

“Not…technically?” Rosa repeats. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Oh, just come and see it,” I urge as I take hold of her arm and propel her through the door.

“Isn’t it great?” I ask, as I spin around, gesturing to the art that decorates the tasting room walls. There are paintings of grapes, glowing in the sunshine. Studies of vines and leaves. Still lifes with wine bottles, or glasses, or barrels. Landscapes— “That one’s my favorite,” I say, pointing to a street-side view of the valley, with the Vaca mountains clearly visible in the distance.

I sneak a look at Clay and catch him looking back. We share a long look, and I just know we’re thinking of that conversation we had about his having lived in those hills. “The gallery has a stack of cards they’ll be handing out to direct people here to see the exhibit. And then, while they’re here, maybe we’ll sell them some wine; or perhaps they’ll want to have a snack, or a picnic.”

“Yes, but?—”

“Oh, and we have a bunch of the gallery’s cards on hand, too. So that people who want to see even more artwork will know where to go. It’s a win/win.”

“Great,” Rosa says. “Terrific. But we’re still not selling them—right?”

“Well, how could we? They’re not ours to sell, right? They belong to the gallery. Or maybe to the artists? I don’t really know how that works. It’s like a consignment arrangement, except the winery doesn’t profit from the sale. That’s the important part, isn’t it?”

But Clay is already shaking his head. “No,” he says as he turns from examining one of the exhibit labels. “It’s not a matter of whether or not you make a profit. This isn’t like the food clause. The ordinance is really clear on artwork, for some reason. You cannot sell it here. Period.”

“Wait. Food clause?” Rosa asks, sounding wary. “Why are we talking about that?”

I shrug in response. “’Hell if I know. I don’t even know what a food clause is.” At that, they both turn identical looks in my direction—made up of maybe one part irritation, three, or four parts concern. “What?”

“I’m talking about the clause that says wineries can’t charge the public more for any food item they serve than it costs them to provide said item,” Clay explains. “In other words, you can’t make a profit from any food that’s sold here. I assumed that’s what you were referencing when you mentioned profit?”

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