Alex #2
Up close the tiredness is easier to see. There’s a faint shadow under her eyes and her hair is pulled back in a way that looks more practical than intentional.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi.” I turn slightly toward Eloise. “Eloise, this is Josie.”
Eloise stands close against my side, her hand still wrapped around my fingers as she looks up at Josie. “Hello.” Her voice is polite but careful.
“Hi, Eloise,” Josie says.
Nothing exaggerated in the tone. No bright enthusiasm meant for children. Just the same voice she used with me.
Eloise studies her for a moment, taking in the boots, the dirt on the cuffs of her jeans, the vineyard stretching out behind her. “What happens if the vines freeze?” she asks.
Josie glances toward the row beside us. “If the temperature drops low enough, the buds can die,” she says. “That’s the new growth for the season. If you lose those, the vine won’t produce fruit this year.”
Eloise nods, absorbing the information. “But my teacher said plants can survive frost,” she says after a moment. “They just grow again later.”
“They can,” Josie says. “But some plants handle it better than others.” She gestures toward the vines. “These are a little more fragile when their buds first start to open.”
Eloise considers that. “My teacher said strawberries can survive frost if you cover them,” she says.
Josie smiles faintly. “Your teacher’s right. Strawberries are tougher than grape buds.”
The exchange ends there, the pause afterward settling naturally between them.
A voice carries from farther up the row. “Josie.”
She turns toward the sound.
One of the workers stands near a piece of equipment at the edge of the block. He points toward the irrigation line.
“Give me a minute,” she calls back.
Then she looks at me. “Sorry.”
“It looks like you’re still dealing with the aftermath.”
She nods. “Frost nights have a long tail.” She steps away, already focused on whatever question the worker has waiting.
Eloise and I remain where we are, watching as Josie joins the small group now gathered around the equipment. Someone hands her the clipboard. She studies the page for a moment, and then kneels beside the irrigation valve and adjusts something.
Eloise tilts her head. “Is she your girlfriend?”
The question comes out in the same straightforward tone she uses when asking about homework or what we’re having for dinner.
I look down at her. “Why do you ask?”
She shrugs one shoulder. “You brought me here.”
That logic is difficult to argue with. I take a moment before answering. “She’s someone I like spending time with. And I knew you would like to see the vineyard.”
The pause stretches long enough that I know she’s filing the information away somewhere she’ll revisit later.
“Okay,” she says finally.
Josie finishes with the irrigation valve and walks back toward us, handing the clipboard to the worker on her way past.
Eloise has moved a few steps into the row beside the path, studying one of the vines with her hands tucked behind her back.
Josie stops beside her.
“See these?” she says, touching the end of a thin stem where a small cluster of green buds has begun to form.
Eloise leans closer. “They look like tiny grapes.”
“They will eventually be grapes, but not the kind you eat. We’ll use them to make wine. These are pinot cabernet franc grapes.” Josie bends slightly so they’re looking at the same spot. “Right now they’re just starting to wake up for the season.”
Eloise watches the vine for another moment. “So if they freeze, they won’t grow?”
“Not this year.”
Eloise nods.
Just then one of the workers waves me over to help shift a section of hose that’s twisted under one of the support wires. I move over a few rows, and it takes a few minutes to straighten it out and get the line moving again.
When I look back toward the path, Josie and Eloise are still standing near the vine.
Something warms within me as I watch them.
It’s a realization I wasn’t expecting this afternoon.
Josie doesn’t seem like someone who might pass briefly through my life.
She’s someone who could exist inside it without forcing anything out of place.
The thought stays with me even after Eloise wanders over and slips her hand back into mine.
“Daddy,” she says, tugging at my arm.
“Yes?”
“You promised we could get ice cream today.”
I look down at her. “I believe the agreement was ballet, lunch, Black Bear, and then ice cream.”
She nods. “Yes. And now it’s time to go.”
Josie laughs softly when she hears that. “I won’t keep you from your ice cream.”
We say our goodbyes near the edge of the block, the conversation brief because the vineyard is still moving around us. Workers pass by with tools and clipboards while water continues running along the irrigation lines.
Eloise climbs back into the car once we reach the gravel lot.
I close her door and walk around to the driver’s side, but before getting in, I turn back toward the rows.
Josie is already halfway up the slope again, speaking with one of the workers near the equipment shed. She’s back where she belongs, working. I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, gravel crunching under the tires as we pull back onto the lane.
This visit has no doubt set things in motion within my little family. Time will tell what direction we’re headed.