Chapter 19 Welcome to the Nineties
Welcome to the Nineties
He’d been slipping for a long time, and that had to stop.
Now.
For the first time since he’d jumped on this terroir merry-go-round, he didn’t help Scooter and the team prune.
Instead, he made the family breakfast, including masterful cappuccinos for the adults, then dressed in casual, unflashy clothes with Birkenstocks and took the boys to school.
He ran or lifted weights for an hour afterward.
Then he’d devote much of his day to Bec, sometimes sharing a late-morning second-round coffee, or taking her out to lunch, or simply a long wander through the hills.
He committed to meditation in the afternoons, but mostly it led to napping.
He also took her into the city to see music: David Crosby, Paul McCartney, REO Speedwagon, the Grateful Dead.
Otis thought that the Grateful Dead were a lot like Carmine, making art that took a moment to understand, but if you gave them the time, then you’d find a world of wonder between the notes.
As a family of four, they went to see the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Radiohead and Green Day, and Otis hadn’t even used earplugs.
While leading this improved life, which included working his way through a few of the spiritual books on Rebecca’s shelf, an idea started to form in his mind.
He wanted to be as minimalist as possible with the wines.
Hands off. If he was meant to work less, then, oh, he’d do that.
They had money, so now he could simply play around, see what the vines and wines did when set free.
He committed to doing as little as possible, an experiment of postmodern philosophy.
It was his family who needed him now.
Mike had grown into a lanky thirteen-year-old with cropped black hair, rather pronounced ears, and angular features all around.
Tall for his age, despite Bec’s height, he excelled as a forward in basketball and had a mean three-pointer.
He also had an innate gift for engineering and mechanics.
What had started as a love of building blocks had turned into him taking apart anything he could get his hands on.
But he still often went to a dark place.
He would get lost in his head and spend chunks of time in his room, cranking loud music.
He’d often skip dinner, saying he wasn’t hungry.
Sometimes he’d beg to call in sick to school.
Rebecca would worry over him constantly, endlessly comparing him to Uncle Jed, worrying that her son might follow a similar path.
Otis gave Mike as much time as he could, attending Mike’s basketball games, grabbing him after school and taking him for a sundae, going for hikes, and even working together on the farm and in the cellar.
While Cam had made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the wine business, Mike seemed to be gearing up for it.
He could and often did change the oil and brakes on the tractors and farm trucks, and he was nearly as adept as Otis and Scooter at fixing the bottling line, the press, the irrigation equipment, or anything else on the property.
As far as Cam, he had only one more year of high school before setting off to college.
Otis tried to feel grateful that he still had some time to connect with his son before he set off into the world.
He looked far more like his mother, with sandy-blond shaggy hair and a rounded handsome face with electric eyes that had turned him into a magnet for the girls.
Somewhere during tenth grade, he’d decided he’d rather chase them than running backs, so he no longer played organized sports.
Cam had chosen CU Boulder, the campus tucked up against a vast wilderness.
He was still far happier out in the woods, a long way from everyone.
He and his friends loved camping and would take off after school on Fridays to go backpacking and fly-fishing.
Otis’s idea of camping was spending the weekend at an expensive resort along the coast that had a lovely wine list and an adults-only pool, but he sacrificed his comfort to join Camden on a trip up to the South Fork Eel River to fish for steelhead trout, or, as Camden called them, “steelies.” Otis slept exactly zero minutes on the first night but bit his lip as he hovered near the fire the next morning and didn’t complain at all.
Thank goodness Cam had learned how to make a wonderful cup of coffee over the fire.
Otis didn’t know the first thing about fly-fishing, but Camden taught him with admirable patience.
They stayed for three nights, hunting steelies by day and sitting around the fire by night.
Though Otis far preferred roughing it in the L’Auberge de Sedona as opposed to a few meager hours of interrupted sleep followed by ridding his bowels in the woods, he wouldn’t have traded anything for that trip.
He even caught a fish, which delivered him unexpected delight.
“Dad, do you think Mike’s going to be okay?” Cam asked on the way back home. Otis was proud of himself for not even mentioning the fish smell currently permeating his BMW.
It was a damned good question, and Otis wondered whether this was a time to be honest, or to skate the truth. Instead, he spoke from his heart. “He’s a fighter, Cam. We all have our struggles. Some more than others.”
“What do you think’s wrong?”
Otis decided not to tell him that the depression could be genetic, passed down on Bec’s side of the family. Michael and Jed were both chased by dark clouds.
He shook his head and slid his eyes to Cam. “You keep doing what you’re doing. Show us all how to live. Your brother will get there. We’ll do everything we can to help him.”
If only Lloyd Bramhall would vanish into the ether.
The old Otis might have wanted to tie him to the back of a farm truck and drive in fast circles over sharp rocks, but this new Otis wanted the guy out of the picture.
The problem was that the cost of buying Lloyd out wasn’t a fixed number.
It moved with the success of the winery, and in 1990 they were certainly clearing more than they ever had.
The tenor of their meetings since their ... altercation, if one could call it that, was barely on the side of civil, thanks to Bec steering the way. Where they used to plan their strategies over a bottle of wine and a long lunch, things had changed.
Today, the third of May 1990, Lloyd slid into the driveway in his Ferrari. The car didn’t sound like it used to, didn’t shine anymore. Nor did Lloyd. He finally showed some chinks in his armor, a few new wrinkles, a tad less confident in posture.
No hands were shaken. He did kiss Bec’s cheek, though.
Then he sat at one end of the dining room table as Otis took his place at the other.
Rebecca took a spot between them, her readers on so that she could see the numbers in front of her.
She was the accountant, the business leader, and mediary.
And object of desire for both parties, but Otis tried not to dwell on that fact.
Otis had notified her of his recent decisions regarding taking a big step back. She’d agreed with what he had in mind. As much as she liked the financial security, enough was enough.
He actually looked forward to watching Lloyd squirm as he said, “We’ve decided to push back opening the new facility and the tasting room.” Otis added as if he were twisting the knife he’d shoved into Lloyd’s gut, “Perhaps permanently.”
Instant tightness gripped Lloyd’s jaw. “No.”
Otis inclined his shoulders.
“Why would you even consider that?” Lloyd asked.
“I’m slowing down.”
“Slowing down? We’re just getting started.” Lloyd apparently had lost all ability to stay composed, and he reddened by the second.
His fury calmed Otis. “I didn’t like the man I was becoming, and that’s because of this exact mindset.
I don’t want to make Heartbreak anymore.
I don’t want our finger on the pulse of the newest trends.
All I care about is this family and my time with them, and then this farm and putting it into bottle.
Lost Souls is the one and only project now, and I don’t want to grow production. It stays where it is.”
Lloyd looked to the woman who he surely wished was his wife.
“Rebecca, tell me you’re not on board with this.
We have worked too hard. I’ve got giant retailers, hell, I’ve got Annette Alvarez-Peters at Costco begging for our wines.
We have a distribution network that any winery would kill for.
You can’t tell me you’re going to kill Heartbreak . .. or drop production.”
“I prefer the word slash ,” Otis said.
“So you’re no longer interested in making money?”
Otis drew in a breath and sat back against the chair.
He took his time crossing one leg over the other.
“I’m taking a step back before I kill myself.
We’ll see what the future holds. I don’t want to miss out anymore on my boys’ lives, or my life with my wife.
Time with them is what I want right now. ”
Lloyd’s grin faded, looking a notch less handsome. “You know what I see? A man who has lost his way. When I met you, I had never seen such ambition. I gave you money. A lot of money. We made a deal. I have helped you with countless connections. You would not be here without me.”
Otis kept his relaxed position, but he didn’t mince his words. “Slow down, Lloyd. You’re going to get yourself popped in the mouth again.”
“Don’t threaten me.”
“I’m the one under the gun here. We’ve done great things, but I’m taking a step back, and we’re not asking permission.”
Lloyd raised a finger, his big flashy watch sparkling under the light of the chandelier. “Don’t make me talk to the lawyers.”
“Put your finger down, Lloyd.”
Bec held out her hands to keep them from going at each other. “Lloyd, I don’t think threats are going to get us to common ground. Otis is right. This is what we want.”