Chapter 26 Otis Rising
Otis Rising
Paul and Sparrow threw their arms in the air as Otis and Rebecca descended the escalator at SFO. A whole lot of years came pouring over Otis, reminding him of exactly where it had all begun.
Their old friends were now into their fifties.
Paul still had long hair, but it had thinned some and showed a few strands of gray.
He wore a shirt that read: When I die, you better ferment me.
The evidence of a lifetime of hippiedom still showed in Sparrow’s jewelry and dress.
She radiated calm, as if she’d been steeped in stillness, and as she hugged Otis, his pulse slowed.
“I’m sorry about your mom and Carmine,” Paul said, squeezing Otis the way he always had, like they were saying goodbye forever. Dammit, it was nice to have friends like these, and Otis wished he could have talked them into joining them on Red Mountain.
“It’s almost enough to make a man numb,” Otis said. He rested his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “They both lived big lives. I suppose that’s all you can hope for.”
“For sure, man.” A beat eased by. “How’s the harvest up there? You figured out what you’re doing yet?”
“Not at all, but it was a nice year. Balanced. Still trying to find my way, though.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Otis rode shotgun and caught up with Paul, while Rebecca and Sparrow chatted nonstop all the way back to Sonoma.
Paul drove them by Lost Souls. As they’d heard, the new owners had built a fancy tasting room, and the lawn where Otis and the boys had once thrown the football was now a parking lot packed tight with cars and two buses.
They chose not to go inside. Some parts of the past were best left buried.
At Paul and Sparrow’s place, where they were spending the next two nights, Otis and Rebecca unpacked in the guest room, then went downstairs to pull corks and catch up.
By sunfall, fifty people had gathered in the back of the red barn to celebrate the life of Carmine Coraggio and to welcome back the Tills. All the winemakers brought their latest vintages, including Otis, and he felt proud to set a couple of his latest Red Mountain efforts onto the table.
“Look at you now, Otis Till,” Paul said, clapping him on the back. The two men sat across from each other at one of the picnic tables overlooking the vines. “To think you stomped your first grapes here, what was it? Twenty years ago?”
“Thirty.”
“Thirty? God, we’re old.”
Otis raised his glass. “ à ta santé , my friend. With age comes beauty.”
“ à ta santé, ” Paul said. Without breaking eye contact, he asked, “You heard about Lloyd, didn’t you?”
“Oh, boy. No, I haven’t heard a thing of him lately.”
“I think he might be going to jail.”
“ What? ” Otis said, hoping his inner joy didn’t sprout into a smile. “When did this happen?”
“The last few weeks. Tax problems. He tried to cut some corners. Thank God we bought him out last year.”
Otis kept what he wanted to say lodged in his throat. Instead, he let out, “Then I’m glad we’ve both washed our hands of that mess.” He lowered his voice. “Speaking of jail, did I mention I spent last night in a cell?”
Paul’s mouth fell agape. “Otis Till.”
Otis searched for Rebecca among the crowd and found her sitting in the grass with Sparrow. “ Shhh , keep your voice down. I promised Bec I wouldn’t bring it up.” His filter had fallen off about three glasses of wine ago, and he told Paul the tale.
“How’d you get to leave the state?” Paul asked.
“I had an attorney get permission.” Otis stretched his arms. “I feel bad, honestly. Vance didn’t grow up the way I did.
My dad may have pushed me too hard, but at least he was there.
Both my parents. This kid ... never had a father.
Brother died in a Navy Seal s training accident.
Mom has dementia. Is it any wonder he’s struggling? ”
“Life, man,” Paul said.
“That’s right,” Otis agreed. “Life.” He recalled the night so many years ago when Paul, Sparrow, and Bec had danced naked on this table.
A gentle urge nearly pushed him to do what he had been too afraid to do back then, but he paused.
He wasn’t the same man he used to be, and he no longer had anything to prove.
The next morning, properly hungover and short on sleep, Otis and Rebecca grabbed a breakfast burrito and drove up to Santa Rosa to see the in-laws.
He would have far preferred to have a kidney removed—even if the kidney were destined for either Lloyd the Beardsplitter or Bedwetter the Fopdoodle—but he knew he didn’t have a choice.
On the drive Otis didn’t complain. Didn’t even grumble under his breath.
This visit home wasn’t about him. It was about supporting Rebecca as she worked to patch her broken relationship with her parents.
It had been two years since they’d last seen them, as the Bradshaws hadn’t been able to travel to Bozeman for Eloise’s funeral due to all three of them fighting health issues.
Marshall pulled back the door. Old age was getting the best of him. His back hunched more than it used to. Red blood vessels collected around his nose. He looked worn out in the way that a good night of sleep couldn’t fix.
He tried his best to smile. “I’m sorry about your mentor.”
Otis thanked him and shook his hand, then moved inside to greet Olivia and Jed.
Olivia’s liberal application of makeup failed to mask what the years had done to her.
Jed had cut his hair short but still had a scraggly beard.
His frail frame seemed too small for his new motorized wheelchair.
Things had never been the same between Jed and Rebecca since Jed exploded in the backyard.
Rebecca hugged her brother, but warmth was missing.
They sat in the living room. The ugly red paint on the walls was cracking.
“So ...” Rebecca started. “What’s new?”
Her family didn’t have to say it, but they still held her departure from California over her, as if she were the reason they were miserable.
Leave it to Olivia to try to brighten up the conversation—even if it was a weak attempt. “Jed’s working at Friedman’s in Sonoma.”
“That’s exciting,” Rebecca said, genuinely upbeat. She’d told Otis on the way over that she didn’t want to get dragged down by them, and she was doing a good job so far.
“If we don’t have it, you don’t need it,” Otis offered, referring to the hardware store’s motto.
A round of nervous laughter followed.
“Beats sitting around here all day,” Jed said.
Dear God, Otis prayed, please deliver me from this place.
“What else?” Rebecca asked.
“We’re getting old, Rebecca,” Marshall said. “That’s what’s new. Your mom needs knee surgery. Needs to stop eating all that sugar. Doc’s got me on a statin.” He raised his hand, then dropped it on his lap. “I’m sorry we don’t have anything worth celebrating to bring up.”
“I understand,” Rebecca said. “No need to apologize.” She diverted the conversation to Camden and Mike, catching everybody up.
Jed seemed to want to repair his relationship with Rebecca. He didn’t speak as much as usual, but when he did, he was kind and gentle.
“That went well,” Otis said sarcastically, as they pulled away in Paul’s car.
“What can be done?” Bec asked. “They choose to live this way. It reminds me why I left, you know?”
Otis took her hand. “They love you. You know that, right?”
She looked over at him. “I do.”
“And I couldn’t be prouder of you.”
“Thank you.”
They held Carmine’s funeral in the only place that made sense: in his vineyard. As Otis listened to the whisper of the farm Carmine had tended to for most of his life, he recalled the sense of wonder he’d felt the first time he’d come through those gates.
By the time the preacher said his words, the farm was packed with people from all over California.
Otis recognized and said hello to maybe fifty winemakers, including one of Carmine’s best friends, renowned organic farmer Amigo Bob Cantisano, and also the Drapers, the Coturris, the Sangiacomos, the Grgiches, the Mondavis, the Petersons, and the Martinis.
Carmine’s brother, Sal, had the final word.
Though they bore a physical resemblance, Sal had taken a route that had led him to Wall Street.
The gold watch and bespoke shirt and blazer indicated he’d done well for himself.
Carrying the ashes in a bag in his hand, he said through a microphone, “I worried no one would show up.”
Laughter rose over the quiet whisper of the vines.
“My brother, he was polarizing, but he did what he was meant to do. All of you are here because he did it the right way. His wines spoke of a place. This place. He was a hard man to get to know, challenging to love at times, but those of you who broke down his walls learned what I knew ... he had a big heart and took care of those who worked with him.”
After the ashes were spread, people started to leave.
Otis told Rebecca he’d find her in a little while and then meandered into the depths of the vineyard and slipped down one of the rows.
He sat on the ground, amid the red leaves that had begun to fall.
He and Carmine had sat in the rows like this so many times, talking about wines and life, which were always one and the same to Carmine.
Tears welled up in Otis’s eyes as he pictured the old man grabbing the trunk of a vine and guiding Otis toward the energy of his farm. He’d died out here doing what he loved, spent a lifetime doing it. In an instant, Otis felt old and wondered when his time would come.
Had he done enough?
He could dwell on the years he’d screwed it all up, the years he missed out on his family, but he would not do that today. Today he’d focus on the years to come. Because there were plenty left.
It wasn’t about the fight anyway, was it? Carmine had told him that. Otis wiped his eyes, thinking that he’d been such a lost soul when he’d stepped onto this property and first introduced himself. If it weren’t for this man, Otis wasn’t sure whether he ever would have found his way.