Chapter 11 Lost Souls #4
Lloyd’s beautiful golden eyebrows rose. “Tell me the details.”
Otis expanded on his thoughts, touching on his vision for the land and for Lost Souls. “Just give me a chance to buy it back from you; I’d need that in the contract.” It felt like a deal with the devil, but Otis would do anything.
Sitting up with an erect spine, Lloyd flashed another grin. “Let’s go see it.”
Lloyd bit. He loved the place and said to count him in, that he didn’t want to miss out. Lawyers went to work drawing up paperwork, and Otis put on his sales hat and attempted to lure more money from other people in his life.
His first call was to his father. Addison had some money tucked away in a savings account that might be enough.
“Otis, you can’t ask that of me.”
“I know but ... I am anyway. Dad, do you remember when you realized writing was what you were supposed to do? You’ve told the story a million times, how you were lost as a teenager and had no compass and then your English teacher said you had a gift and how her words set you free?”
An epic clearing of the throat traveled through the phone line. “I know the story.”
Otis pushed harder than he ever had. “Winemaking does for me what writing does for you, and I need help right now. Sure, I can do it another way. I can skip this land and buy some bulk juice, but I’m a farmer. It’s in my bones. I swear I’ll pay you back.”
“What if you don’t, Otis? Or what if it’s too late? Your mum and I will need that money for retirement.”
Otis sat back in the chair and considered his words. “There is no way I will fail.”
For the next ten seconds, as he listened to his father breathe, Otis hoped he might enjoy the sweet sound of a yes. It scared the hell out of him, but he still hoped.
“I’m sorry, Otis,” Addison finally said. “You’ll have to look elsewhere.”
Dreams rise and dreams fall. Hopes crumble like old walls. And the heart turns to ash. He didn’t hear anything else his father said afterward.
Thank God Bec and her ocean of positivity made up for Otis’s weaknesses.
It had always been that way and would be till they met their end.
Using what she’d learned in school, she helped Otis draw up a business plan that included specific growth expectations, a marketing guide, an analysis of competitors, and a hopeful outlook on the state of both Sonoma Valley and California wine.
Potential investors bent to her will with the promise of a more favorable interest rate than any bank in the country, lucrative dividends, put options in the contract that would give them a way out, and the pride of knowing that they could own part of a winery.
Her only requirement was that the investors could be bought out at any time.
Otis and Rebecca stayed in constant contact with the Realtor, hoping no one else would swoop in to buy the property during their fundraising campaign. There had been interest but no offers yet.
Lloyd sent the paperwork over to Otis, and he and Rebecca combed through it carefully. They couldn’t afford a lawyer but asked every question they could think of before signing. They just needed a little more time and a few more big checks.
While they were still well short, the property went under contract to Gallo, and Otis died a small death.
Of course they had no business even entertaining the idea of owning a piece of property so exceptional, but a tiny part of him thought Bec might be right, that somehow and someway it would be theirs.
And yet he won a victory too. Never had an I-told-you-so tasted so sweet. “You see, Bec? Mind doesn’t always create matter. Blood, sweat, and tears do. So next time you tell me I’m working too hard, let’s remember this moment.”
“Don’t be a jerk.”
“Oh, is this the time for another ye-of-little-faith speech?” He was really in trouble now. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be—”
“An asshole.”
“Yes, that.”
That afternoon, his father called. “Otis, I’ll lend you the money.”
If only it weren’t too late.
After a day that started at 4:00 a.m. with Carmine, Otis raced to Murphy Vineyards to deal with his vines before tomorrow’s rain caused problems. He was down by the barn, dropping clusters into the hopper, when Bec and Cam came to visit.
He’d mostly gotten over losing the land to Gallo, though it clung to him like a cold that wouldn’t go away.
There was all kinds of action at the winery, Paul tossing out commands to his cellar rats, harvesters bumping their way through the rows, tourists tasting inside.
“Look at this,” Otis said, taking in the beauty of his bride and son. Little Cam was adorable in his overalls. Rebecca wore a curious look on her face, like she was hiding something.
“What is it?”
Bec plucked a few grapes and tasted them. “Today’s the day, huh? This is our fruit?”
“Yeah, it’s a little early but rain tomorrow. I don’t want to risk it.”
“I like the acid.”
“Why are you stalling? I love having you here, but ... what’s going on?”
“Oh, did I not mention? I heard back from Eric.” Eric was their Realtor. “Gallo bailed on the property.”
Otis didn’t hear her correctly. He shook his head and then stuck his fingers into his ears to clean them out. The world began to spin.
“He wanted to know if we’re still interested.” Bec put on that smile that said she knew she was right and that she’d been right all along and why wouldn’t he just trust her.
Otis jabbed his hands into his pockets and looked around. Despite all the doubt that ran amok in his head and heart, this little taste of magic was enough to last awhile.
This would be his last harvest at Murphy Vineyards.