Page 48 of You're So Vine
I notice Jackson looking at me over his coffee mug. In the face of my return stare, Jackson’s face reddens, like I’ve caught him out. I wonder what his story really is. I mean, you’d have to be desperate to accept an offer of accommodation at the Durants, no matter how great Mom’s cookies are.
I shift my attention to save him any more embarrassment. “What’s the latest car, Danny?” I ask. “Who did you bilk this time?”
“Bilk?” Danny is mock offended. “I made a great trade. The 550 for a 1961 190SL Mercedes. Factory hardtop, Solex carburetors. Been restored once, back in the eighties, and showing its age. But a simple refurb will put fifteen, even twenty grand on it, no problem.”
“Hardtop? You mean it’s a convertible?”
“Yup.” Jackson is grinning. “Me and Dan’ll be cruising down the coast highway like Thelma and Louise.”
“They drove a Thunderbird,” I tell him. “But apart from that, the resemblance is uncanny.”
“So, you live in Los Angeles?” Mom asks Jackson.
“No, ma’am.” Again, a quick look in my direction. “I’m … following up some opportunities.”
Knew it! Heisunemployed! Then again, so am I. And I know how much it sucks.
“Jackson’s in sales,” says Danny. “I’m setting him up with some contacts.”
I catch Danny’s eye and he gives me the faintest nod in return. A nod that means: I’ve got it all under control.
I nod back: thank you. Danny may be an ego on legs but he’s notentirelyselfish.
Mitch coughs, pointedly. A signal that he’s tired of this interruption and wants to get back to grilling me about medical stuff. Right. Time to go. Time to face the music with Cam.
“Danny, can you drive me back to the winery? I’ll just grab my stuff.”
And I hop up from the table before anyone can ask me about viruses, fatigue, blood tests, Cam, or what in hell I’m actually doing with my life.
But Danny says, “I’ve got a million emails to catch up on. Can Jackson drive you? I’ve named him on the insurance policy.”
“Have you namedme?” I inquire sweetly.
“No, because I’m not insane.”
Danny tosses the keys to Jackson, whose grin now stretches ear to ear. “Take it easy, big fella. She’s a feisty little thing and needs to be handled carefully.”
Oh, boy. He’d better be talking about the car.
ChapterSixteen
CAM
Ishould go to work. Early November’s a busy time for vineyards. Got to maintenance check the equipment, clear out the drainage channels, compost the grape pomace—that’s all the stuff leftover after the crush, skins, stems, pulp, etc. Javier’s crew will be checking the vines for any that are struggling. Got to do that while the leaves are still on; you can’t tell when the vines are bare. They’ll mark the ones they’ll need to remove over winter.
I should go to work. But the fight with Ava this morning is circling in my head like vultures over roadkill. Screeching at me about how useless I am, how weak. It keeps circling and circling and I can’t shut it up.
Keeping busy would help. Doing something physical. Like my job.
But I give in to old habits, pick up my phone and call Lee.
And get her voicemail.
I won’t leave a message. What would I say? Can I dump all my emotional baggage on you again? Use up all your time and energy when you have a hundred better things to do?
I sit in the Dodge, knowing I should make a rational decision andgo to fucking work. Instead, I replay the concern I had when she left so quickly after the wedding. Unlike Lee not to hang around and be social. And even though she’s told me since that she’s fine, I persuade myself that I should go check up on her, while knowing full well that the only reason I’m going is so thatshecan helpme.
When Lee’s husband died, Flora Valley Wines became hers, and she didn’t want it. She’d loved Billy with all her heart and put in stupid hours for years to help him keep the vineyard afloat. But when he died, she wanted to be free of the pressure. She wanted time for herself, to take up painting again in a small studio of her own. Preferably by the sea.
