Page 3 of Kiss My Glass
“True,” said Nate. “But you should have checked.”
“I got slugged in the kisser,” I say, snippily. “Is that enough punishment for you, or should I go order a hair shirt from Penitents ’R’ Us?”
Nate grins. “I’ve got a subscription to their newsletter,Flagellation Monthly.”
He puts his serious face back on. By which I mean his usual face.
“Danny, Shelby’s pregnant.”
I’m confused. This should be cause for congratulations, but he looks like someone died.
“Was that not in the plan?” I ask. Shelby, my sister-in-law, is a little loose when it comes to organization, to put it mildly, but Nate plans everything.
“A little in advance of schedule,” he admits. “By about three years.”
“But you’re happy, right? This is agoodthing.” I have a sudden thought. “I’m going to be an uncle!”
“I’m happy,” says Nate. “We’re both thrilled. But there’s a complication: Shel’s just been diagnosed with pre-eclampsia.”
“I have no idea what that is. If it involves needles, don’t enlighten me.”
I can cope with many terrifying things, but when it comes to injections, I’m a gigantic weenie.
“It’s a condition that puts both mother and baby at serious risk,” says Nate. “Basically, Shelby’s blood pressure is way too high, and she’ll have to be monitored regularly and given medication. And the baby might have to be delivered early.”
“Shit, Nate, I’m sorry,” I say. “I thought we were all done with the medical crises.”
Last year, our dad, Mitch, nearly died from a heart condition because he refused to acknowledge that goji berries and willpower wouldn’t cure him. And hard on the heels of that, our sister, Ava, underwent tests for all sorts of alarming ailments. Luckily, the final diagnosis was burnout, which is debilitating but curable. Ava’s now chilling and looking after horses for a riding therapy charity. Well, as much as any of us Durants knows how to chill.
“Yeah, well, let’s hope shitty luckdoescome in threes because now we’re done,” says Nate. “Thing is, Shel’s on medical orders to do as little as possible so as not to raise her blood pressure any further. I’ll need to do the physical parts of her job as well as mine. So, uh…”
A weirdly sheepish look crosses his face. My big brother is not normally on the back foot. He likes to be in control at all times.
“Look,” he says, rapidly. “I wouldn’t ask if there was any other way I could manage this. But money’s still tight at the winery, and I was wondering … could you come up for a month or so in July/August and take some of the admin load off my shoulders?”
“You wantmeto helpyou? At Flora Valley Wines?”
I just need to be clear here. Nateneverasks for help. He’d sooner sink beneath quicksand than grab an offered rope. He was only half-joking when he said he subscribed toFlagellation Monthly. Nate’s like Atlas, born to carry the biggest burden he can shoulder.
“I know it’s not ideal, asking you to leave L.A.,” says Nate. A flicker of a grin. “Unless the guy who gave you the shiner isn’t done yet?”
“Ha, ha,” I reply. “He ambushed me, threw the punch, and ran. I think he’s done.”
“So—?” Nate’s looking sheepish again. “Do you think you can help out?”
Mentally, I review the business commitments I have coming up. I travel a lot anyway, and there’s nothing that absolutely requires me to be in L.A. I live alone. No dogs or cats, or the weird kind of pets that people in this town like to own. Bactrian camel, anyone? Until last year when Dad almost died, I’d been a little slack about coming home for visits. Dad can be a pain, but Mom is great. It’d be nice to see more of her.
That said, I don’t know about actuallylivingwith my parents for any length of time. One stretch of eighteen years was enough.
Nate’s read my mind. “You can stay in the workshop accommodation. Cam’s moved his barrel-making gear to his new place, so you won’t be bothered. You’ll just have to be okay about sleeping alone in the middle of a dark forest.”
“Who says I’ll be sleeping alone?” A typical me quip.
“I’ll need to rely on you, Danny.” Nate’s back to being judge-y.
That stings. I might give the impression of a stereotypical car dealer, all slick showmanship and shiny teeth, but I’m not in the habit of letting people down.
“Youcanrely on me. But I will need time to keep my own business going,” I tell Nate. “You know I’ve been approached by a film production company who want to make a reality TV show about buying classic cars? We’ve made a demo tape and they’re hoping to pitch it to Netflix.”
