19. Bas
BAS
Ispent April in the vineyards and May watching the frost fans. Zeke walked the blocks with me every morning, both of us counting flowers on either side of the pathway.
Gemma was in the event center from the time I left in the morning and was often still there when I quit for the day. Most nights, we met right outside the door for our walk to the cottage. Every time I found her waiting for me, she was staring up at the sign.
The contractor’s crews had the upstairs of the house open to the studs by their second week of work, then the kitchen, and finally, my father’s study. I did my best to stay out of their way, which meant more time either outside, in the cellar, or at the cottage.
The house was finished when the fruit set in early June.
Gemma decided early on she didn’t want to watch the daily progress, that she’d rather be surprised when it was done. Once I did the final inspection and signed off and the last of the workers pulled out of the drive, I told her it was ready.
I’d been inside more times than I could count while the crews worked, either to give approval for different stages or just to walk around and look. Now, I wanted to see it through Gemma’s eyes.
“Ready?” I asked as we stood on the porch.
“It’s silly, but I’m nervous.” She laughed. “I don’t have any reason to be.”
I did because whether she liked it or not mattered to me. I didn’t say that, though.
The last time Gemma was inside, the kitchen was a galley, with a breakfast room behind it that nobody used. The wall that divided the two parts had been removed, making the space more open and with double the amount of cupboards and storage areas.
“I can’t believe this is the same house.” Gemma ran her hand over the butcher-block surface of the island that was three times the size of the previous one and included a prep area.
“All the appliances that were from the dark ages have been replaced too,” I said.
The old stove-and-oven combination unit was gone, and in its place, there was a double oven and a professional-style cooktop. The refrigerator and dishwasher were new and copper-colored like the others were.
The window over the sink had been widened, so whoever stood at it could see the Pinot blocks all the way to the tree line. The broom closet had become a walk-in pantry.
“May I?” Gemma asked before opening any of the cupboards. “Why does it seem taller?”
“Because the cabinets are one level higher. The drawback is even I need a step stool to access them, but most of what I imagine will be stored up there are things we wouldn’t use that often anyway.”
“You could stage a small event from here,” she commented.
“Arlow suggested the same thing.”
My father’s study was the next room we ventured into.
Gemma gasped when I opened the door. “It’s beautiful.”
The file cabinets had been removed, and there were floor-to-ceiling shelves covering all but the exterior wall.
Reference books for soil and rootstock were in the same section as years’ worth of enology journals.
Mine from Davis filled the lower ones, finally out of the boxes they’d been in since I graduated.
A leather sofa big enough to sleep on faced a pair of chairs that matched it.
Under the window sat a table long enough for the whole family to spread out research, maps, drawings, or anything they wanted to work on.
A glass case beside the door held the harvest journals, one for each year the family had made wine on this land.
The oldest had a cracked spine and had been written by my great-great-grandfather.
“These were hard to access before, and I can’t wait for Arlow and Hux to see them. There’s so much estate history in them that I’d never seen.”
The wall without shelves had additional windows, and the area around them was covered in framed photographs and artwork we’d done as kids.
Everest’s crooked tractor, Arlow’s purple vineyard, Hux’s horse with too many legs, and Brylee’s stick-figure family had all been rescued from storage, as was my depiction of a barrel with the sunrise behind it.
Gemma studied each one.
“Good thing none of us decided on a career in art,” I said. “Although what Brylee’s doing counts.”
“What makes it so special is that your mom saved them.”
“She’d have loved this room,” I murmured. “She’d have been in it every night.” I’d thought of my mother more during the remodel than at any time since she died. “I wanted a place where the family could be together that wasn’t the kitchen. That’s what it is.”
Gemma sat down on the sofa and sank into it. I sat beside her.
“How are you feeling about all of this?” she asked, taking my hand.
“Better than I expected to. I guess it helps that the contractor was able to salvage things like the baseboards and crown molding my dad made.”
We held hands and stayed in the quiet for several minutes, until I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Can I show you upstairs now?”
“Yes, please. I could fall asleep, sitting here. It’s so relaxing and comfortable,” she said, standing before I did.
I envisioned lazy afternoons in this room, especially in the winter. God, how I longed for days so similar to those my mom and dad had spent.
Once upstairs, Gemma stopped at the bedroom door the way she had in March.
“The carpet’s gone,” she commented.
“I lived in the house my whole life and never knew there were wood floors under all of it. My plan is to rip the rest of the carpet out and have whichever ones need it refinished. They sanded and oiled these, and they look perfect.”
“And the windows. Were there this many before?” she asked.
“Good eye, and no, there weren’t. We added four.”
“The room is so much lighter and brighter.”
I patted the mattress. “New big bed too if you want to try it out later.” When I winked, she smiled.
“When I think the room we were in before was my favorite, it gets better,” Gemma said when I let her go ahead of me into the bathroom.
Everything in it was new, from the soaking tub with jets, under its own window, to a shower bigger than the one at the cottage, with a head at each end and space for a couple who liked each other.
Pale green tile covered the floor and the shower wall, a color Bry had suggested, which I didn’t like at first but had grown on me.
The double sinks and tub surround were a light tan, but the same size, shape, and design as the other tile used.
Gemma ran her hand along the edge of the tub and looked at me over her shoulder. “I’d never want to get out.”
“I wouldn’t want you to as long as you allowed me to stay in with you.”
She chuckled. “This is your house, Bas. You should be the one doing the allowing.”
Had she no idea how much I wanted it to be ours instead of mine?
Another door led to a short interior hallway with walk-in closets on either side.
Both had built-in drawers and shelves, and one had a low bench, a mirror, and shoe cubbies from floor to ceiling. Did she realize Brylee had planned for this to be hers? I wanted to tell her that, but for some reason I couldn’t explain, I hesitated.
We returned to the bedroom and went into the nursery last. It hadn’t been remodeled, but the carpet had been removed and a large area rug put down.
“I had the crib retrofitted,” I said. “And chose furniture that would match it.”
I watched Gemma make her way around the room, touching everything she passed. I longed to know what she was thinking and feeling. Was she wondering why a single guy living alone in a house this size would fix up the nursery? Hell, I didn’t even know if she ever wanted to have kids.
“What would you think of staying here with me instead of in the cottage?” I asked when we returned to the bedroom.
“I’d like that.”
“Maybe we should try out the bed first, to be sure.”
“I’d like that even better.”
In August, late on a hot afternoon, Gemma came out of the event center with her phone in one hand and her keys in the other. She was already walking toward her car when I caught up to her.
“What’s wrong?”
“My mother fell. She’s at the hospital in Valerius.” She kept walking. “The neighbor called. She tried my brothers first, and none of them picked up, so she called me.”
“I’ll take you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t.”
She stopped at her car door, glanced at the keys in her hand, and whatever she was about to say, she thought better of it.
“Okay.”
Valerius was a short drive east but somewhere I hadn’t been to often. Along the way, the vineyards eventually ended, and farmland replaced them, then blacktop. Gemma was silent the whole way, and I didn’t try to make conversation.
At the hospital, a nurse led her to the emergency bays after she asked about her mom. I sat in a plastic chair in a waiting room that hadn’t been updated in years.
In all the time I’d known Gemma, she’d never talked about her family. Not once. Then it hit me that I’d never asked. Not once. I was ashamed of myself for it.
She came out a long while later, looking wrung out.
“Her arm is broken. They set it and put a cast on, and now, they’re saying she can go home. I called my brothers again. Nobody’s answering.”
“We’ll take her home.”
“No. I’ll get her a cab, and I’ll—”
“Gemma. Tell me what’s going on.”
Her face was red, and she was gripping her phone so hard her knuckles were white.
“She’d been drinking,” she said. “That’s why she fell. It hasn’t worn off yet.”
I pulled Gemma close and rested my forehead on hers. It had become our thing, and it always brought me comfort. I hoped now it would do the same for her.
“Then, let’s get her home, where she can be comfortable.”
“If you’re sure.”
When they brought her mother out in a wheelchair, with her arm in a sling, the first thing out of her mouth was, “Who the hell are you?”
“Mom, this is my boss. Sebastian Whitmore.”
Her boss. I let it go.
“Whitmore. Why does that sound familiar?” her mom asked.
“It’s a winery and event center outside Healdsburg,” Gemma responded. “It’s where I work.”
Her mother’s brow furrowed. “What happened to that fancy job of yours in the city?”