Chapter 26 #2
“But where’s the lost and found?” the guy asks. And I realize he thinks it’s a place—that you can go see the Lost and Found lost and found.
I turn and introduce myself as the person in charge of it, explaining, “Sorry, it’s actually just a bunch of stuff in boxes at my house.”
Even though they seem disappointed, when I’m ready to leave, the whole mood of the café still feels somehow lighter than ever before. As I walk to the jukebox, I simply glance over at Joy Lynn behind the counter. I don’t even have to ask anymore—she smiles over at me and says, “L8.”
I punch it in, watch an old record drop into place, and hear Frank Sinatra begin to sing “High Hopes.”
Jo’s been telling me for weeks about the big harvest late in the month, how the timing is based on Conrad constantly checking the grapes’ acidity and sugar levels until they’re just right, how people in the community volunteer to come help, and that they make a party of it.
When that day finally comes, I put on my special hiking pants and gym shoes, along with a high-necked T-shirt to protect my radiation area, and Matt, Grace, and I load into my car and drive over to the winery.
Mr. Freeman, Junior Barnett, and other friends and neighbors I’ve met are all there as well.
A young guy from the Chronicle brought a camera to take pictures for the paper.
Grace stays with Jo at the tasting room, where she’ll be setting up for lunch, but Conrad gives the rest of us a short lesson on how to snip off the bunches of grapes with the gardening clippers he’s handing out along with large wicker baskets.
For some of us it’s brand new, while for others who’ve helped out before, it’s a refresher course.
The work in the grapevines is hard but satisfying, and soon my basket begins to fill.
I think of all the good wine Conrad is going to create as I stop to take a few pictures.
I breathe in the warm summer air as the sun inches upward in the sky, feeling grateful my hair is thick enough that I no longer need my floppy hat.
Though, remembering Matt’s sunburn earlier in the summer, I was careful to apply thick sunscreen to the backs of both our necks.
When my basket is full, I find Matt one row over and ask him to help me haul it to the end of the vines, where Conrad will come by with a tractor and wagon to load them up and carry them to the winemaking room in the barn.
Matt kisses me when we lower the basket to the ground, and I decide that’s another nice thing about no floppy hat, and no silly cowboy hat—no brims to bump when kissing.
The crowd is large enough that the grapes are harvested by noon, after which we’re rewarded with a lunch of mini-croissant sandwiches, fruit salad, potato salad, deviled eggs, snack chips, pink lemonade, iced tea, and an array of desserts.
As we sit around the stone patio snacking and relaxing, a twentysomething couple who helped with the harvest pull out a mandolin and a fiddle, then proceed to play and sing bluegrass music.
I’ve never really paid much attention to bluegrass, just regarding it as old-fashioned mountain music, but it’s actually amazing.
I think I could sit forever in the shade of the big tent Conrad has put up, listening to the distinctive sound with these people I’ve come to care for.
The longer I sit there, the more I feel the soul of this little community that seemed so dead to me when I first arrived.
Now I realize I just couldn’t see it because it wasn’t on display—it was tucked away between the mountains and under the trees, but it was there all the time.
When people finally begin to leave, Mr. Freeman drives Grace home so that Matt and I can stay and help clean up. We end up having dinner with Conrad and Jo—Conrad grills pork chops and corn on the cob, and we drink wine and talk until well after dark.
By the time we depart, I’m exhausted and sorely in need of a shower, but I’m still sorry to see the day end.
I feel, in a way, like I lived a whole life today.
Some days are like that, long and filled with .
.. little pieces of everything. Today was people and grapes and sunshine, music and food and butterflies, sweat and bees and clouds, blue skies and wine and laughter, stories and nature and work, aching muscles and dirty hands and smiles.
I hope I remember every bit of it for a long time to come.
Later this week I have two doctor’s appointments in Cincinnati—cancer checkups. They’ve been on the calendar since before I even arrived in Lost and Found, but I forgot about them until my phone buzzed with a reminder text during a social media check at the Piggly Wiggly this morning.
Given the three-hour-plus commute, it makes sense to spend the night at my house in the city and drive back the next day.
The weird thing is ... how odd that suddenly sounds to me.
I should be eager to see my remodeled kitchen.
I should be thinking very seriously about just leaving Lost and Found altogether at this point.
Summer’s almost over, after all. I guess I’ve been waiting for some .
.. Bat-Signal from Kevin, some indication that Tiffany’s out and I’m back in.
But I also guess I’ve gotten very patient about that because I’ve become so unexpectedly busy here.
The mild weather of early August has given way to a more typical level of heat now that it’s later in the month, so it’s already hot as I walk to the winery just before lunchtime.
I have the strong urge to talk to Jo. As a transplant here, she’s told me many times about a homesickness that waxes and wanes, and I wonder if she might be able to help me make sense of how odd I feel as the end of summer approaches.
Socks greets me as I ascend the lane toward the tasting room and I lean down to pet him. “Hey there, buddy.” He trots alongside me the rest of the way, and when I open the door to step inside, he goes in first and I follow.
“Good morning and welcome to Lost Valley Vineyards.”
I pull up short, blinking at a woman I don’t know, a middle-aged, heavyset blonde wearing a Lost Valley Vineyards golf shirt like the ones Conrad often works in. Who is she and why is she welcoming me to a place I’m at several days a week?
“Um . . . is Jo here?”
“No, I’m sorry, she’s not. But I can help you with anything you need.”
I doubt that. I don’t mean to be snide, but ... I harvested grapes here just a few days ago, I want to tell her. I belong. Instead I simply explain, “I’m a friend of hers.”
She leans her head back in understanding. “Ah. Then maybe you want to talk to Conrad? He’s in the winemaking room. If you give me your name, I can let him know you’re here.”
“Or I can just go on back,” I tell her.
She almost seems inclined to stop me as I stride past her toward the winemaking area but thinks better of it.
I push through the door to find Conrad surrounded by the baskets and bins of grapes we picked over the weekend, which he appears to be busily sorting. Looking up, he gives me a smile. “Jessica—hi.”
“Hey,” I say. Then I hike a thumb over my shoulder. “Who’s the chick? And where’s Jo?”
He blows out a long sigh. “That’s Angela—we had to hire someone with no notice. I’m just grateful we had a few résumés on file from back when we first opened and thought we might need more staff—since we suddenly do.”
“Because of the way business has picked up?” I squint as I ask, though, suspecting there’s more to it.
“That’s part of it. I actually need to interview for some weekend help, too. But the urgency is because Jo’s in California—I’m not sure for how long.”
I flinch. “California? What for?” This seems sudden. She was just here.
“Her sister is dying.”
My shock deflates into sadness. And still a little surprise. “I didn’t even know she had a sister.”
“They were never close,” he explains. “But when Jo’s nephew called, she went.”
I nod. “Of course. I’m just ... taken aback.” I’m shaking my head, at a loss.
“That makes two of us,” he says. “That’s why I needed someone out front. I’d handle the tasting room myself, but I’ve got wine to make.”
I sigh, seeing that he’s been left in the lurch by the bad timing of fate and harvest and death. Had this happened earlier in the summer, I might have offered my help, but somehow I’ve ended up with my own responsibilities here.
I feel bad for Conrad, and for Jo, and almost strangely sorry I’ve managed to increase their business since it’s suddenly the worst possible time.
We talk a bit longer, during which I tell him to give Jo my love.
And I want to offer more: Let me know if you need anything while she’s gone.
Or Is there any way I can help? Because I’ve learned that’s what people do in Lost and Found—they let you know they’re here for you.
But I’m about to leave for a couple of days myself, and soon for good, so I resist the urge . .. since what’s the point?
And as I walk back down the lane a few minutes later, sun blasting down, I realize it’s very possible—maybe even likely—that I’ll never see Jo again. Of course, perhaps that’s overly dramatic—I know where the winery is and I can always come for visits, or I could even invite her to Cincinnati.
And yet ... will any of that happen? I mean, she didn’t even say goodbye.
That’s horribly selfish, I know. She had a million things to throw together and think through, not to mention stress and grief and worry. Of course saying goodbye to me wasn’t at the top of her priority list.
But it still hurts me that she’s gone.
And once I get back to my regular life, who knows if I’ll ever truly carve out the time for a day trip to Lost Valley.
And what do Jo and I really have in common anyway?
We’re in entirely different generations, we have different pasts—and different presents, too, once I head home.
I guess we were just ... summer friends, acquaintances passing on the road of life. Even if it felt like more.