Ellen Crosby - The Chardonnay Charade

“We never should have used methyl bromide on those fields to begin with.”

“Oh, God. Don’t even go there.”

I ignored him. “Besides everything else, it depletes the ozone. I don’t want to use anything that toxic ever again. There’s got to be something more environmentally friendly that we can use instead.”

“Look, I heard about your tree-hugging days, so I know where this is going.” He sat up and glared at me. I knew he was talking about the work I’d done for an environmental group in Washington after I graduated from college. Back then—before my accident—I’d been law-school-bound. My life changed forever that rain-wrecked night the car slammed into the wall at the entrance to the vineyard.

Quinn turned toward me and smacked the side of one hand into the palm of the other to emphasize his words. “There is no alternative that works as well or we would have used it. I hate to break it to you, but we live in a chemical world. Look at Hector. You think a group hug and chanting prayers with lighted candles is going to save him? I don’t know about you, but I’m praying like hell they give him every goddam drug in the hospital pharmacy.”

“That’s not the point—”

“If you don’t like the way I run things, then hire another vintner.” The iciness in his voice meant I’d hit the trip wire that put us in dangerous territory. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding someone who thinks it’s not moronic to put soap shavings and human hair all over the fields to keep away deer and crows. And I can probably find myself a vineyard where the owner is a realist who wants—someday—to turn a profit.” He sat back in his plastic seat with such force the row of chairs jumped and my cane bounced and landed on the Astroturf carpet.

It had been a long time since we’d had an argument this bad. If we kept it up—especially in the taut emotional setting of the ER waiting room—we’d cross lines we never meant to cross. And knowing the two of us, we’d leave no path that led back to compromise or reason.

He’d just thrown down the gauntlet with that threat to leave. Again. It would be stupid for me to pick it up, especially with Hector here in the hospital. I needed him right now. We couldn’t leave things like this between us.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I’m upset about Hector, so I’m probably overreacting to everything. It wasn’t fair what I said about you trying to keep Hector from removing those tarps. I apologize.”

I didn’t expect him to say “Me, too,” but I did think he would at least be gracious enough to acknowledge an olive branch. Instead, he got up and went over to the television, punching buttons until a baseball game appeared on the screen. After that, we sat together in stony silence and watched the Nationals slug it out with the Mets.

I leaned back and closed my eyes. Someone tapped me on the shoulder and I jerked upright in the cramped seat. Sera stood behind me, pale and anxious. “Lucie,” she said. “Sorry to wake you, but the doctor said you can see him for a few minutes. He wants to talk to you.”

I rubbed my eyes. The television set now showed talking heads and the logo of a sports network. The baseball game was over. “What time is it? Where’s Quinn?”

She looked around. “I don’t know. Maybe he went to get a cup of coffee or probably he went for a smoke. And it’s seven o’clock. I’m sorry you had to wait so long.”

“Don’t be silly. How is he?”

“Resting. He needs to stay here for at least two days, maybe more. The doctor told him he was lucky this time. But his heart is not good. Come. He is anxious to see you.”

The receptionist pressed a buzzer from somewhere below his desk and a set of double doors swung open. My hands were clammy and my chest felt tight. The door to Hector’s room, just off the main nurses’ station, was ajar. Sera went in first and gestured for me to follow. Hector was breathing through an oxygen mask, and some kind of intravenous drip hung next to him with multiple tubes that were taped, with lots of gauze, to one of his hands. The display on his EKG was turned toward us and to me it looked like his heart was now doing all the right things. My breathing grew more normal.

“Hey,” I said softly. “How are you? You gave us a bad scare, you know? Why don’t you take it easy here for a few days and get some rest? You’ll be home in no time.”

He moved his head from side to side. “No.” His voice sounded weak and far away.

“Sure you will…” I smiled hopefully.

“My heart is worn out, chiquita. The doctor told me I cannot work anymore with the vines.”

“I know that,” I said. “But you can be the jefe like you’ve always been, and keep an eye on the men. Manolo will do all the heavy physical work from now on. If you just coach him, he knows…”

“Not Manolo.” As weak as he was, there was a steeliness in his voice.

I said, surprised, “César? I’m not sure he’s—”

“No. Bonita. I want her to take my place. She just turned twenty-one. She’s ready. Promise me.”

His only daughter. I hadn’t seen it coming.

Bonita was supposed to be getting her degree in enology from the University of California at Davis, probably the top place in the country to study the business of wine making and growing grapes. But I’d heard differently about what she was really studying.

Another time or place and I would have made a plausible case why I couldn’t do this, why I shouldn’t do it. Though I loved him more than I’d loved my own father, I was stunned that he would wrap that devotion around my neck like a noose, but maybe I should have known that blood was blood. I glanced at Sera, whose expression was benignly inscrutable. They had discussed this already, right before she asked me to come see him.

I shot her a miserable look, then took a deep breath and made myself say calmly, “I thought she was going to stay in California after she graduated and work out there. Besides, she’s only finished her junior year. She has another year to go.”

“She dropped out last semester. Said school was boring. You know kids. So she’s been working as a waitress out in Collyfornia. We told her we want her to come home.” He glanced at Sera, who nodded. “We think it will be good to have her here again where we can keep an eye on her. She will pull her weight, mi hija. ” For a man on oxygen and a heart monitor, he suddenly sounded pretty tenacious.

“I would really prefer someone with a degree, Hector…”

“I left school when I was eleven years old, Lucita. Bonita is smart. She will learn.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want the job.”

“I will take care of that. But first I want your word.”

“Why?” I picked at the sheet on his hospital cot, fiddling with it so I didn’t have to look into those dark brown eyes and let him see in mine the betrayal I felt. “Why are you making me promise this? It’s not going to work. I need someone who can do all the physical—”

“Yes or no? Give her one year. If it doesn’t go well, then let her go.”

“One year?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I said dully. “She has one year.”

“You won’t regret it, Lucita.” He grasped my hand.

I already did. But I just held his tightly and said nothing.

It did not go down well when I told Quinn.

“So now I’ve got to take care of her, too?” He sounded disgusted as we left the hospital, heading for the parking lot. “Come on, Lucie. I can’t believe you agreed to do this.”

I ignored the “too.” “I didn’t have any choice. He and Sera ambushed me when I walked into his hospital room,” I said. “He was lying there on oxygen with tubes coming out of him and that damn machine beeping every few seconds. What could I do? Say no and then he’d have another heart attack? Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay? Why don’t we go home? It’s been a horrible day.”