Chapter 29 Specks of Hope #2
Otis felt like he was looking at his younger self, the one who’d lost his way.
Michael ended up having to work on Christmas Eve, so Otis and Rebecca spent the holidays in Seattle, which wasn’t so bad.
They enjoyed more than one meal at Mistral, experienced a wonderful Pat Metheny performance at Jazz Alley, and ate their weight in sushi at Shiro’s.
When they could, they spent time with Michael.
Otis tried not to force his teachings on him, but sneaked in some advice when Michael would allow it.
Talk about hardheaded. The man was likely a wonderful lawyer, because he had an answer for everything.
They were enjoying a glass of wine at a spot called Place Pigalle, which had been pouring Till Vineyards for a while now, when Otis’s cell phone rang.
He looked to his wife and son. “Sorry, I need to take this. It’s a New York number.” Stepping outside, he pressed the phone to his ear. “Otis here.”
“Otis, it’s Brooks Baker. We met in Central Park last fall.”
Otis’s mouth hit the pavement. “Brooks! Hello.”
Brooks didn’t match his enthusiasm. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, your offer. I don’t know anything about wine, but I need a job. Like you mentioned, I could use a hand up. So here I am.”
A dazzling amount of energy rushed through Otis’s body. “Yes, great, Brooks. Can I call you later? I’m having lunch with my—”
“This is a borrowed phone. I don’t have a ...”
Otis scrambled for a solution. “Tell you what. Call me tomorrow at noon, my time. Let me work out some details. I’ll book you a flight.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Do you have a place to stay tonight?”
“I can figure it out.”
Perhaps the first real smile since Colorado graced Otis’s face.
Brooks called at noon on the nose. Otis picked up from his living room in Seattle. “Okay, I’ll need your full name, date of birth. You have a license, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good.” Otis had been working on details all morning. He was glad he hadn’t gotten rid of Vance’s trailer. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t imagine Brooks was too picky.
When Otis hung up, he looked over at Rebecca, who had her feet up on the couch, reading. “I can’t believe he’s coming. Do you think I’m crazy?”
She set the book down. “No, I think this is ... beautiful.”
The rich feeling of knowing he was doing something right filled his chest. “You’ll like him. Not that I know him that much, but he has this fire in his eyes.”
“Like you and Michael?”
“That’s right. It feels good to help somebody in need. Maybe it works out, maybe it doesn’t.”
A day later, Otis drove the farm truck to the Tri-Cities airport with equal parts trepidation and hope.
What in the hell had he done, inviting a random stranger off the street to step into his world?
It felt right, though. He’d spent a lifetime focused on number one—or mostly so—and it was time to look outside himself and see what good he could do.
Brooks came around the corner with a backpack slung over his shoulder. He’d shaved and looked quite handsome—a far cry from the man he’d met in the park. Perhaps the only way he surely knew it was him, other than the fire in his eyes, was the tattoos creeping out of his sleeves.
Otis opened his arms. “Welcome to Washington State.”
Brooks accepted the hug, but he went about it as if he’d never been hugged before. He barely put any pressure into it, but Otis didn’t mind. He squeezed him hard, patted his back a couple of times.
“How was the flight?”
“Fine. First time I’ve flown in my life.”
“What?”
Brooks nodded and looked away, a move he apparently often resorted to.
Otis felt for him. “I think there will be a lot of firsts coming up. You’ve never seen anything like Red Mountain in your life. Have you been to the Pacific Northwest?”
“I spent time in Portland.”
“Did you try the pinot noirs?”
His eyebrows curled nervously. “Nah. My experience in Portland probably wasn’t like yours.”
“Hey, there’s no judgment here. I had some good men in my day who went out of their way for me. I’m trying to pay it forward. There was a time when I also knew nothing of wine.”
Once they were in the truck, Otis apologized for the broken heater. He needed to find time to fix it soon. It had snowed a week back, and piles of it lined the highway. Otis gave him the tour, showing him Pasco, then Kennewick and Richland.
“I got you a place to live. Furnished. It’s nothing fancy, but it has a hell of a view.”
“I’m grateful. What is it we’re going to be doing?”
“That’s a good question. I’ll show you some things in the cellar till it warms up. Then it’s pruning time, the start of a new vintage.”
An angry and icy wind forced its way through the door when Rebecca and Otis greeted Brooks that night.
They both did their best to smile, trying to work muscles that had nearly atrophied.
The last days of a devastating year were breaking away like pieces of a dying star, lingering in the air of their Red Mountain home, often making it hard to breathe.
Once Brooks had hung his jacket, Bec offered him a hug. “I’m happy you’re here.”
His face was red from the cold. He glanced at her before putting his eyes on the floor. “I appreciate you having me, though I’m still trying to figure it all out, why you’re doing this for me.”
She touched his arm. “As Otis told you, we lost our son earlier this year. He was about your age. It’s been hard.
What we’re finding is the more we give to others, the less it hurts inside.
Otis said he saw a bit of himself in you.
Besides, he’s been looking for a new assistant winemaker.
Maybe you’ll like it and want to stick around. ”
Otis stepped forward and shook Brooks’s hand. “Did you get settled?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a nice place. Thank you.”
They gave the young man a tour, ending in the living room with pictures and stories of the boys.
“If you feel like it, I’d love to hear your tale,” Otis said, checking in on his tone, making sure there was some life in it.
“We’re going to spend a lot of time together coming up.
No worries if you want to keep it to yourself.
We get it. Like I said, there’s no judgment here.
Red Mountain has become a place that means a lot to us, and we’re simply trying to bring in more people, people who want to make a difference. Is that you, Brooks?”
“I don’t know, but so far, since I landed, it’s better than anything I’ve known for a long time.”
Otis clapped his back. “That’s where we start then, and it only gets better. Wait till you try Rebecca’s cooking. Do you have any dietary restrictions? I guess we should have asked earlier.”
“Dietary restrictions?” Brooks laughed. It was the first time Otis had heard it, and it was a good laugh, a kind one. “No, I’ll eat anything you put in front of me.”
“Good, and wine? You like wine?”
“What I’ve had of it.”
“Don’t worry. By the time I’m done with you, should you accept the challenge, you’ll know more than most.”
Otis cracked a bottle of Red Mountain syrah and poured everyone a glass.
“Hold it by the stem,” he said in the way Rebecca would, a teaching voice, not the condescending one he might have employed in the past. “There you go. Now stick your nose in there, don’t be afraid.
That’s the smell of where you live now, that bing cherry mixed with the gamy flavor.
Take a sip, hold it on your tongue, then suck up some air. Like this.” Otis demonstrated.
Brooks gave it a go. Some spilled onto his chin.
“Yep, that happens to everybody in the beginning. Don’t worry.
Taste that fruit, the balance. You know that zing you get when biting into a lemon?
That’s the acid. You don’t pucker with these wines, but when you pick the grapes right off the vine, the acid is enough to make them tingle in your mouth.
That same acid helps preserve the wine’s aromatics as it ages.
I know it’s a lot, but bear with me for a while.
You never know, you might fall in love.”
Brooks took another sip. “It’s good ... really good. Sorry, I’m just out of my element.”
“Not for long, Brooks. Not for long.”
Otis and Rebecca shared a smile.
After dinner Brooks helped with the dishes, and then they returned to the table. Rebecca had made a pound cake. Otis pulled everyone espressos from his new machine.
Out of nowhere, Brooks started talking. “I don’t know who my parents are.
I grew up in the foster-care system, juggled by different homes in California.
Then I ran away as a teenager, escaped a pretty ugly situation.
Spent the last ten years bouncing around the country, bumming rides, hopping trains.
Moving from one place to the next. I haven’t been good at keeping jobs, but they haven’t meant much to me.
I hope that changes with this one. Seems like a damn fine place to be.
I’m tired of sleeping on the ground or in a shelter.
I’d like a life. I just don’t know how to get one.
I guess that’s why I called, because it seemed like you’d given me something no one ever has before. ”
Brooks raised his eyes to Otis, then to Rebecca. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You won’t,” Otis said.
Rebecca reached across the table and took his hand. “You’re a good man. I can see that. Sometimes we all need a break. Let’s make this one yours.”
The next morning Jed called Rebecca to tell her that their mother had passed away from a stroke.
Olivia had been diagnosed with diabetes a year prior and had done nothing to manage it.
They met Mike later that afternoon at SFO and drove up to Santa Rosa together.
How sad that it was always death that brought people together.
Otis and Rebecca paid for the funeral and bought two burial plots next to each other in a nearby cemetery, so that Marshall could join her when his time came. They’d offered to include Jed, but like Bec, he wanted to be cremated.