Chapter 20 Present Day
PRESENT DAY
OSCAR
By the time Oscar left the cemetery, dropped off his camping gear at his apartment and drove to his parent’s house, it was almost ten-thirty.
His dad sat in his recliner as the Thursday night evening news wound down, and his mom, happy to see him, flittered around trying to fix him something to eat.
Neither seemed eager to start the conversation.
While Sadie and Buki wrestled, Oscar watched the body language between his mom and dad. They had never been very demonstrative to each other, but a hard frost had settled over the home.
The news ended on the television, and his father sat up with a clunk of the footrest. His mother sat down on the edge of the couch. The wall clock ticked loudly.
“What the hell, Oscar, you gave us a scare, running off like that.” His father finally spoke.
Oscar shot him a look. He had never been one to confront his father, but flames of anger rose from his belly.
Before words made it to his tongue, his father acknowledged the disapproving look of Oscar’s mother and said, “Yeah, sorry…we were just really worried about you. I’m sorry.
And I’m sorry about Caroline. But you’re probably better off. ”
Anger choked Oscar’s throat.
“What your dad is trying to say, dear, is that we know how hard this is, and we care about you and love you.” His mother tried to mollify the situation as compassionate tears rolled down her cheeks.
His mother’s kindness dampened the flames slightly.
“Have you talked with her?” his father asked.
Oscar crossed his arms. “No, but I’m going to ask for the ring back.”
His father nodded. “Not sure legally you have a leg to stand on, but…”
Oscar caught the look that his mother shot at his father. His father reacted and added. “I’ll help you to pay it off if necessary,” he said in his professional tone.
Oscar glanced at his father who had never been exactly loving, always aloof and focused on his law practice, but Oscar appreciated that he’d always come through if he needed him. “Thanks, Dad…we’ll see.”
“I’m sure disappointed in Ben,” his father said with sadness in his voice.
Oscar didn’t know how to process this part of the puzzle, either. Ben was his best friend growing up and had spent just as many dinners at the family table as Oscar had with Ben’s family.
“Some guys just can’t keep their junk in their pants,” his father said with anger, and shot a glare at Oscar’s mom.
Aww…now we’re at the heart of the issue.
Oscar looked at his parents and slumped down in his chair.
“How was your meeting with Pat?” his father asked.
His mother huffed.
“Yes, we are going to talk about the elephant in the room,” his father said definitively. “Sorry you’re finding out about this at the same time as your breakup, but…”
Oscar’s mother cried and her hands tremored. “Oscar, I’m so sorry. I know how awful this must be…finding out your mother is such a…terrible person,” she wept. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Oscar hated it when his mother cried. The world felt off axis somehow. “Of course, Mom. You’re not a bad person. I just kind of wish I hadn’t found out like this.”
“I know…you didn’t deserve…I’m so sorry.” She blew her nose in a tissue. “I just feel terrible.”
“Look, Oscar, I know I’ve never been the best father. But I chose to raise you as my own,” his voice cracked. “I’ve never thought of you as anything but my son.”
Oscar looked at his father, who actually had tears in his eyes.
“I chose, Oscar. Some men raise their non-biological sons out of obligation…but I chose.”
Oscar realized he had been judging his father for things out of his control.
“Betrayal is a bitch, but somewhere you must decide where to place it. Let it rot in your heart or move on. I chose to move on the best I could. Sometimes, like now, it’s harder than others.”
“But I look just like him,” Oscar said and shook his head.
“This is true.” His father shrugged.
“You knew him?” Oscar asked, surprised.
“Missoula wasn’t that big back then. Everyone pretty much knew everyone. Besides, I helped him with his divorces.”
“You what?” Oscar and his mother said simultaneously.
“Well, I am the best,” Oscar’s father smirked.
“Business is business.” He shrugged and lowered his voice as if he had a secret.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Probably didn’t try as hard for a fair settlement, though.
” He sat back and smiled. “I kind of like his work. He offered to horse-trade me for one of his sculptures, but I didn’t think having that sit in here would go over well. ”
Oscar looked at his mother, who had her hand over her mouth.
“Maybe if he would have cast a giant pile of grizzly bear poop…”
“That’s weird, Dad.” Oscar scolded.
“I knew Pat’s grandfather as well. Surly, old son-of-a-gun.
My staff hated seeing him push through the door.
One of those guys whose bite is truly worse than his bark.
Guess he served in World War II…wounded in action.
He lost his son in Vietnam. I’m sure that is where some of the hard edges came from. Such a shame.”
Oscar thought it strange how easily his father talked about this family that brought him such heartache. He also noticed that his father relaxed as he shared.
“Shoot, what was his name?”
Oscar nearly filled in the blank, but thought better of it.
“William…that’s it. William Hoshed. Also said he was the bastard son of some famous wine maker down in California. Always bitter at the fact that he got no inheritance from the winery.”
Oscar swallowed and his spit went down the wrong pipe. He coughed hard.
“That’s what I know of your gene pool,” his father said. “You may want to know more, but just be careful about digging too deep. You might find out things you don’t want to know.”
Oscar saw the look his father shot his mother. This was something between them that they would have to work out, something that had probably been brewing under the surface for a long time. Oscar decided not to mention the sword.
“You hear anything from your job applications?” his father changed the subject.
Oscar sighed and felt like slumping further in his chair. He always hated having these conversations with his father, as some judgment or unsolicited advice always followed. Instead, he pushed himself up to the edge of his seat and declared. “I’m moving to California.”
His boldness shocked his parents into silence.
“Doctor Richard Jō called and has invited me to come to Berkeley to teach kendo.” Oscar thought of leaving it there but added for his parents’ sake. “Doctor Jō is also setting me up with the business department. I’m going to get my MBA.”
His mother’s tears intensified, and Oscar looked at his father who sat silently and nodded.
Finally, he said, “I think that’s great son. I’m very proud of you.”
* * *
By the time Oscar returned to his apartment after talking with his parents that night, Caroline had sealed the deal. He found the engagement ring and the key to his apartment on the breakfast bar. A note from her just said: “Sorry.”
“Now she can go ruin someone else’s life,” he had said to Buki who barked in agreement.
It had only taken two days to unwind his life in Missoula, pack his car, and say a tearful goodbye to his parents.
Oscar shared a more emotional farewell at the animal shelter.
His co-workers knew this day would come once he’d gotten a job, but the sudden departure saddened all of them.
All except Buki who thrived on the extra attention and enjoyed a belly full of treats.
Oscar promised their star rescue would fill a prominent role in the new website he would finish soon for them.
His father reassured him that his firm would deal with the rental agency to get him out of his apartment’s lease early and get his security deposit back.
He had also slipped Oscar his credit card to help with the travel expenses, warning him not to put other expenditures on it.
“Especially not any hooker services in Nevada,” he’d grinned.
It was a crude joke but something positive had changed their relationship.
Maybe his father had grown weary of carrying the secret all his life.
Oscar and Buki’s journey took them from Missoula, south along the scenic Lochsa River in Idaho, to the southeast corner of Oregon, and through Nevada.
He decided to stay in Winnemucca just because he liked saying the name.
Then, to his shock, he understood his father’s joke.
There was indeed a brothel district. The motel clerk called it “The Line,” and was a set of five establishments—an entire block—starting at the True Value Hardware store and ending next to the Value-Inn Motel where Oscar stayed.
Just for fun, he considered going into Sheri’s Ranch and taking advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffet, getting a T-shirt, and charging it on his father’s credit card. But he lost his nerve and his appetite thinking about it.
The following day, when Oscar entered California over Donner Pass, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He was free, and it felt good. Maybe the old kendo master was on to something when he’d told Oscar, “Come to Berkry and heal your broken heart. Pour all your strength and passion into your marital arts and schooling and the rest will follow.”
Oscar had visited Berkeley before for a kendo summer camp and loved the California weather. This was so much better than taking some boring job designing games. The closer he got to the ocean, the more he could breathe.
But first he had another mission.
Last night in Winnemucca, Oscar tried not to think about what bodily fluids might have soaked the bed and focused instead on searching the internet for a California winery connected to his great-grandfather. It took no effort. Hoshed Winery in the San Joaquin Valley popped up first thing.
Started over a hundred years ago, the impressive winery lay in the heart of pristine wine country.
He doubted he’d find out much more about his heritage, but since it was pretty much on the way to Berkeley, he decided to make the stop.
Buki, who had been lying beside him, gave him a nudge with his muzzle as if to say he was ready for the next adventure.
* * *
The sun filled the San Joaquin Valley, illuminating the green oasis.
Vineyards, fruit trees, and crops of all kinds stretched out in every direction.
Just outside of Lodi, Oscar easily found the winery and drove under the massive archway supported by giant tree trunks.
The sign read, HOSHED WINERY, EST. 1918.
Crepe Myrtle trees, in brilliant fuchsia blooms, lined and arched over the driveway to the Spanish-style stone mansion with the red terra cotta roof tiles.
Weeping willows and old conifers surrounded the park-like property, artistically landscaped with a large pond to one side and a smaller one in front.
His great-great-grandfather had done well for himself, and he had to wonder why William Hoshed would leave such grandeur. No wonder he was bitter.
Oscar pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and looked at his watch. The website posted that the tasting room opened at ten and the time read quarter past. He stepped out of his car to sweet morning air filled with bird songs. A nearby fountain splashed water.
Buki stood beside him and licked his lips. “You thirsty, boy?” Buki pawed at the direction of the fountain as Oscar retrieved his dish from the back and filled it with water from his water bottle and set it down for Buki to lap up.
Oscar looked around. Too early to drink wine, which he didn’t care for anyway, he wasn’t sure what to do. Maybe explore the place, he guessed, before making his way to Berkeley.
He stopped at a placard near the entrance to the wine tasting building and read:
JEAN-MAURICE HOSHED IMMIGRATED FROM FRANCE IN 1918. FROM MODEST BEGINNINGS, JEAN-MAURICE STARTED MAKING WINE IN THE BASEMENT OF HIS HUMBLE HOME…
“I didn’t know if anyone read those things or not.” A man said from behind Oscar.
Oscar turned, looked at the middle-aged man in Carhartt coveralls, and smiled.
“You here for the pretty girls or a tour?” the man asked. “Tours don’t start until noon.” He smoothed a reddish-gray beard with his hand. “You better come back this evening when the crowds come. Besides, dogs must be leashed.” He pointed to a sign on the manicured lawn.
Oscar tried reading the man and couldn’t tell if he was a jerk or just a serious type.
“Oh sorry, he’s pretty well-behaved,” Oscar said and looked down at Buki who was pressed against his leg with his ears pulled back. “I’m just doing a little research on family,” Oscar said. “You work here?”
The man spit on the ground, then tilted his head and looked at Oscar, tonguing a wad of chew in his front lip. “Damn…those Hoshed genes are strong.”
As the man sized Oscar up and down, Oscar realized that the man could be a bearded version of his biological father.
The man spit again and said, “What’s your name, son?” He didn’t offer his hand.
“Well, I’m…eh…Oscar. Oscar Miller. Eh, my father is Pat Hoshed,” he stuttered.
“Can’t say I know that one,” he said, and frowned. “I’m Dennis Hoshed. I own the place,” he said, again not offering a hand. “Might as well let me buy you a glass a wine…’bout the only thing you’re going to get out of the place…but park in the shade, at least, and leave the dog in your car.”