Page 94 of Que Será, Syrah

“Okay, well…” I struggle to find the right words, finally settling on, “I had some business to attend to. Now that’s done, so I’m looking for Nico. He’s not here, is he?”

“No,” Bee answers. “We thought he was with you. That’s why we were worried.”

I frown. “Well, I don’t know why you’d think that.” Then, pointing at the open bottle chilling in the ice bucket I ask, “What’re we drinking.”

“Goldfinch,” Jake replies, naming an award-winning Take Flight Chardonnay blend from a few years back. And I don’t think I’m imagining the faint hint of sorrow in his voice. “Would you like a glass?”

“Please.”

“The reason we were concerned,” Jake says when he brings me my wine. “Is because you weren’t answering your phone and apparently, your— I mean, Nico—has checked out of his hotel. So…”

“Mm,” I reply, not really listening. “I know. I already checked there.” The wine is lovely. Pale gold in color, very bright nose. Lemon zest, dried apricot, bitter almond, wet stone. If this were my family’s wine, and I knew there’d be no more of it, I’d be inclined to hoard every last bottle. But you can’t really do that with Chardonnay, which (like so many things in life) doesn’t age well, and is best served within a few years of bottling.

And it occurs to me that Jake and I are in similar boats, right now. That, down the road, he might be a good mentor for me, someone to show me the ropes. But then his words finally register. “Wait. How did you know that Nico had checked out?”

“Well, when we couldn’t reach you…”

“Of course, we checked!” Rosa glares at me.

“Why? What did you think we were going to do?” I glance around, meeting blank faces. “Run off to Reno to get re-hitched? Really?”

“No. Not that.” She shakes her head. “We didn’t know what to think. Except that…that maybe he had hurt you?”

A snarky, ‘sorry to disappoint,’ is already lined up on my tongue, when the hint of a tremor in my sister’s voice cuts through my own self-pity. “Oh. No. Sorry, Rosy-posey, I’m fine. I promise. I’m just frustrated that no one seems to know where he’s gone. I’ve been looking forward to finally kicking his gold-digging butt out of here.”

“Can you do that?” Bee asks, eyes widening with interest.

I nod and drain my glass as my anger deserts me, sliding back into panicked denial. Oh, I can, dear sister. I so can. But at what cost? I hold out my glass. “This is delicious. Can I get a refill pleases? Or are you saving it?”

Jake shrugs. “No. Not much point in that, is there?” This time he fills my glass almost to the brim. “Enjoy.”

I take a small sip and try again. “So. I just came from seeing Jimmy. Davenport.”

“Oh, did he find something?” Rosa asks eagerly. “Is there a plan? When I talked to him yesterday, he didn’t sound optimistic at all.”

“A plan?” I shake my head and snort derisively. “We don’t need no stinking plan.”

“Legs!”

“C’mon, now,” Jake says frowning. “That’s not nice.”

“Sorry,” I say, flashing a conciliatory smile. Or something that’s supposed to be a smile. Another L. “What I mean is, we came up with a solution. That’s better than a plan—right?”

“What kind of solution?”

My lips twist, an involuntary reaction that I try to hide by gulping more wine. “We don’t really have to talk about this now, do we?”

“I think we should,” Rosa says. “Don’t you?”

“No. I think we should all have some wine and enjoy this lovely day. Look around you; look where we are! Could life get any better?” I drain my glass, glance up at Jake and say, “Mm. What else d’we got? I don’t want to be drinking up all your memories, Jake. They’re too precious. You should cherish them.”

Jake’s eyes widen. “Well…there’s always the Carleo,” he suggests.

“Perfect!” I tell him. “Bring it on.”

Jake exchanges a worried glance with Rosa, then turns and goes into the house. As the screen door slams behind him, my sisters converge on me.

“You know, alcohol is a solution,” Bee says as she joins me on the swing. “So, is your solution to just keep drinking until you pass out?”

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