“Most people don’t know good wine from bad,” he returned. “Give them a bottle of six-dollar wine and they’re happy.”
Francesca laughed. “I refuse to let you depress me. Say no more until I can find out what Gene Cappiello intends to do.’?
“Do you think he’ll tell you?”
“Why not? He has nothing to lose.”
Hume shrugged. “Say hello to Julianne for me. Tell her I could use another batch of those chocolate-fudge brownies she sent over when Millie was in the hospital.”
“I’ll do that,” Francesca promised.
Inside her parked car along a tree-lined side street, Francesca looked at her watch. It was only eight o’clock, still early enough to stop in on Gene for a quick visit if she called him now. She reached for her cell phone and punched in the code for Soledad Winery.
Kate Cappiello answered on the second ring. “Hi, Francie. Gene and I are both here. Come on down if you like. If you’re hungry, I have some stew simmering on the Bunsen burner.”
Francesca laughed. “I’ll be right there.”
Kate Frasier and Gene Cappiello had been Francesca’s classmates all through school. They were high-school sweethearts, but a rift sent them to different colleges where they married other people. Kate came home five years later to find Gene, newly single and working at establishing his own vineyard. They had been married for nearly three years.
Francesca had been meaning to ask Gene why he was selling out ever since she’d learned Soledad was for sale.
The winery was ablaze with light when Francesca pulled up to the door. Kate motioned her inside to a table with three red-checkered place mats, three glasses of ruby-red wine and three bowls of aromatic stew. Gene was at the sink washing his hands. He looked tired. Kate pulled up her chair. “It’s great to see you. I don’t think we’ve visited for months.”
Gene finished drying his hands. He approached the table with a half smile on his face. “What’s going on, Francie?”
“Am I that obvious?”
“You don’t show up at eight o’clock at night on the way home from a board meeting just because you’ve missed us.”
Kate touched his arm and spoke gently. “Let her eat before you give her the third degree.”
Francesca looked at her stew. “Soledad is for sale. GGI needs a well to become operational. That’s a problem for every small vintner in the valley.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed. “That isn’t my problem.”
“It’s our problem,” replied Francesca, “Those of us who are staying need to make a living. We won’t if GGI gets in.”
“No one was particularly concerned when I wasn’t making it,” said Gene bluntly.
Francesca left her stew untouched. “What are you talking about?”
“Prices are down. I haven’t been in the black for two years now. I don’t have a choice. Kate and I would like kids before we’re too old. This place is sucking us dry. I’ll take any good offer that comes my way.”
“What will you do?”
Gene Cappiello, a lean man with Mediterranean dark eyes and a sensitive mouth, lost his temper. “Why does everyone assume I’m helpless outside of a winery? I’ll do what everyone else does. I’ll learn computers, take up engineering, teach, sell insurance. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make a living and support my family.”
“You should have told someone if you were in trouble,” Francesca said gently. “We all help each other.”
The fire died out of his eyes. “Grow up, Francie. We’re all in competition with each other. No one cares whether I go out of business. All you care about is that I don’t give my water to GGI. I don’t blame you. I’m no better than anyone else.”
“Has GGI made you an offer?”
“Yes.”
“Have you accepted it?”
“Not yet,” he replied defiantly.
“Why not?”
“It’s not the greatest offer. Quite frankly, I’d hoped for more money.”
“Can I ask you a favor?”
“You can ask all you want.”
“Will you wait on accepting their offer for another week?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to see if I can get you another one.”
Gene looked at his wife. She nodded and squeezed his hand.
“All right, Francie,” he said wearily. “I’ll see if I can extend the deal. If so, you’ll have your week. I don’t care who gives me the money. All I want is the best deal for Katie and me. We can’t survive another season like this. Bankruptcy isn’t an attractive alternative. You’ll understand if I don’t feel like company tonight.”
Kate walked her to the car. “I’m sorry, Francie. Gene is having a bad time right now. It isn’t personal.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Kate shrugged. “What could you have done?”
“Have you tried for a low-interest loan?”
“We’re tapped out.” Her voice choked. “All we have is Soledad and it’s already mortgaged. The proceeds from the sale will see us through until we can find something else to do.” She looked back at the brightly lit winery. “I’d better get back. Good seeing you.”
Shaken and exhausted, Francesca drove home wondering what DeAngelo’s fate would have been if not for Julianne’s generosity.
When she arrived, her lower back ached and she was on the edge of a headache. The kitchen was dark and uncharacteristically empty. She wanted Julianne’s sage advice and comforting presence. Normally, at this time, her mother-in-law was puttering around the kitchen, glazing scones, drizzling icing on cinnamon rolls or layering a cheese strata for breakfast.
It was somewhere between the filling of the teakettle and rummaging around in the refrigerator for leftover barbecue chicken pizza that it occurred to Francesca that Julianne was all she’d ever known of a mother. Even as a child she’d taken her scraped knees and bruised elbows to Julianne’s nurturing lap. Despite three children of her own, she still had enough love for Frank DeAngelo’s motherless son and daughter.
Francesca hadn’t always been motherless. She vaguely recalled her own mother, a black-haired, green-eyed Gypsy of a woman with long brown limbs and the graceful hands she’d passed down to her daughter. Lisa DeAngelo had smelled like an exotic flower. Her voice was meltingly seductive, and when she dressed up, with her dark hair piled on top of her head, her thin body wrapped in orange silk and the sparkling drop earrings she favored lighting up her face, she was like something come alive from a fairy tale.
But she wasn’t Julianne. She didn’t smell like mint and vanilla. She didn’t whip up cookies for after-school treats and she didn’t drive sleepy-eyed children to school on cold winter mornings when they missed the bus. Lisa DeAngelo had no patience for sticky fingers or runny noses and more often than not she forgot she had given birth to two children who waited in vain for her to walk up the stairs and blow them a kiss from their bedroom doors.
There was something transitory about her. Her children had grown accustomed to her absences and her husband rarely mentioned her, so somewhere around Francesca’s sixth birthday, when she left for a weekend in San Francisco and never returned, no one really noticed. It was only occasionally that Francesca wondered about her mother. Where had she gone? Was she still alive? How could someone with two children simply disappear without caring? The pain of abandonment had worn itself out long ago, leaving only a mild curiosity behind. The marriage hadn’t survived, but what had caused it to go sour, and was it worth it for a mother to lose her children?
Francesca had eaten most of the pizza and was pouring her second cup of tea in the cozy darkness of the breakfast nook when the kitchen suddenly flooded with light.
She blinked and shaded her eyes. “Please turn that off,” she said.
Jake turned off the light. “I thought I heard you down here. How did the meeting go?”
“We adjourned early,” she said briefly. “There was no consensus.”
; “Did you tell them GGI made an offer for Soledad?”
“No. That’s not public information yet. Mitch told Julianne and she mentioned it to me. I didn’t think it was right to say anything at the meeting.”
“Do you think it’s wise to protect Gillette at the expense of the small vintners in the valley?”
She could hear the edge in his voice. “I’m not protecting Gillette. I’m honoring your mother’s confidence. There’s a difference. Besides, it doesn’t matter now.”
He sat down beside her. “Why not?”
“I stopped to see Gene Cappiello. He told me about the GGI offer. I asked him to give us a week before he accepted it.”
“What difference will a week make?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “I wanted time to breathe.”
“Did he tell you why he’s selling?”
She looked at him. “Why does anybody sell? They’re not making it. Kate told me they’ve considered bankruptcy.”
Jake whistled. “Why didn’t they tell anyone?”
“Pride, I guess.”
“I can understand that. If we’re not careful, it might come to that for all of us.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Prices are the lowest they’ve been in twenty years. Orders aren’t coming in like they were. This is the third year in a row that you’ll be in the red.”
Francesca’s eyes flashed. “How do you know that? You haven’t been here for the last two years. Have you been snooping around in my books?”
She knew she’d overstepped her boundaries the instant the words left her mouth. Before she could take them back, Jake was already on his feet, his hands balled into fists.
“You aren’t an island, Francie. All of us are in the same boat. What happens here happens in Napa, too. I was generalizing. I wouldn’t look at your precious books even if you asked me to. I guess I’ve worn out my welcome.” He walked away.
“Jake?”
He didn’t turn around. “Good night, Francesca.”
She buried her head in her arms. Her mind was too full and she was tired. He didn’t mean that he was leaving. She couldn’t bear it if he left now. Not on top of everything else. Tomorrow she would apologize. Tomorrow she would do whatever it took to convince him to stay.
Seventeen
At first break, Jason Saunders positioned himself on one side of his locker, opened the door, threw in two of his textbooks and pulled out another. Drew walked past him, stopping to talk. The two boys’ hands met in what look liked a casual greeting and then Drew walked on. Their entire exchange lasted no more than five seconds.
At lunch the same day Saunders cut into line beside Drew, ignoring the taunts of his classmates behind him. “You’re short by a twenty,” he said without preamble.
“That’s all I have. My dad keeps a pretty tight hand on the money.”
“I don’t run a charity club, Gillette. Get the twenty or give the stuff back.”
Drew gritted his teeth. “I’ll get it.”
Jason laughed and slapped him on the back. “You need a job.”
“I’m fifteen. What kind of job would give me enough money?”
Saunders considered the question. “I could use some help.”
“What kind of help?”
“Deliveries. I can’t be everywhere at once.”
Drew felt the familiar burning in his stomach that inevitably came with indecision. He didn’t want any part of Jason Saunders’s job, but he did want the weed and it wasn’t exactly an expense his dad would spring for. It was easy money as long as he didn’t get caught. The penalty for marijuana possession was a citation and the loss of a driver’s license. Drug dealing meant jail time. Drew definitely did not want to go to jail.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
“Think fast,” the boy warned, “or your supply will disappear. Meanwhile, I’ll hold what I gave you until I get the cash.”
“I don’t have it on me. It’s in my locker,” said Drew.
You asshole,” the boy hissed. “Where do you come from anyway? Haven’t you heard of locker searches?”
“You’re paranoid. My locker won’t be searched.”
“You’ve been here a month and you know everything, is that it?”
“Hi, Drew.” His sister’s voice interrupted them. “I forgot my lunch money. Can you buy me an ice-cream sandwich?” She glanced at Jason. “Who’s your friend?”
“Jason Saunders,” Drew muttered.
Jason nodded.
“I’m Sarah Gillette, Drew’s sister. I think you’re in my biology class.”
“Maybe so. I don’t remember.” He looked at Drew. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Okay, buddy?”
Drew lifted his shoulder in a sullen shrug.
Saunders walked off without saying goodbye.
Sarah stared after him. “He’s odd.”
Drew’s nerves, already on edge, cracked. “How do you know that? You’ve seen him for all of ten seconds and suddenly you’re a character expert?”
Sarah frowned. “Relax, Drew. What’s the matter?”
He swallowed and shook his head. “Here.” He dug two dollars out of his pocket. Get your own ice-cream sandwich.”
She watched him walk away. “Where are you going?” she called after him.
He didn’t answer.
“He’s a druggie,” said a voice behind her.
Furious, she whirled around. A tall boy with problem skin and a letterman’s jacket stood behind her. “He is not!”
“He’s got the look and he hangs with Saunders.”
Sarah sputtered. “Lots of people have that look.”
“You don’t want to get involved with Jason Saunders’s crowd. Labels stick around here.”
“I’m not involved,” Sarah whispered. “He’s my brother.”
“Oh.” The boy blushed an impossible red. “Sorry. I’m probably all wrong.”
Sarah nodded miserably. She didn’t feel like ice cream anymore, but she didn’t want the jock to think he’d driven her away. “Save my place,” she said. “I have to use the bathroom.”
“Sure. If the bell rings, do you want me to buy something for you?”
“That’s okay,” she said, relieved at her easy escape. “I’m not that hungry anyway. If I don’t make it back in time, don’t worry.”
Drew sat on a bench in the quad and considered his options. He could walk back to his locker, risk taking out the bag with everyone around and carry it with him all day or he could leave it where it was and take a chance that his locker wouldn’t be searched. Who searched lockers anyway? These people were like the Gestapo. High schools in San Francisco weren’t searched. It was probably against the Bill of Rights anyway. But maybe kids didn’t have rights until they weren’t kids anymore, which made absolutely no sense because if anyone needed them it was kids. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, his mind blocking out the sounds around him.
The next thing he knew, someone was shaking his arm. “Are you all right, son?”
Drew rubbed his eyes, opened them and met the tennis coach’s amused gaze. “What time is it?” he asked.
“Somewhere in the middle of sixth period. You must have dozed off. Is anything wrong? Are you sick?”
Was he sick? For a minute Drew considered the possibility of faking illness. Then he thought of his father coming to get him and decided against it. “No,” he said, looking away. “I guess I’m just tired.”
“You look hungover,” the man said bluntly.
“I haven’t had anything to drink.”
“I believe you. If I didn’t, you’d already be in the dean’s office. As it stands right now, I’ll send you back to class. You’ll have to come with me to the office for a pass.”
Drew followed the coach back to the front office, waiting while the man filled out the generic yellow pass used to excuse students from myriad obligations in every high school in every city of the country.
“Thanks,” he said, pocketing the pass.
“Keep your chin up. You only have one more period to go.”
It wasn’t until he was inside the back seat of his father’s car and halfway home before he remembered the contents of his locker. “Dad, we have to go back to school.”
Mitch looked into the rearview mirror. “Why?”
Why? What reason would his father accept? “I forgot one of the books I need for homework.”
“Which one?”
Quickly his mind raced through his classes, discarding the ones he shared with Sarah. “Math,” he said quickly. “I forgot my math book.”
“Sarah,” their father asked. “Did you bring your math book home?”
“Yes, but it isn’t the same as Drew’s. I’m in geometry and he’s taking math analysis. I thought I already told you that,” she said reproachfully.
“Sorry, honey. I guess we’ll have to go back.”
Relieved, Drew leaned back against the seat. Then he heard Sarah’s next words. “You can’t go back now. There’s no point. The main buildings close at four. It’s a security measure.” She looked at her brother. “Isn’t there anyone you can call?”
He stared out the window and didn’t answer.
“It’s only one missed assignment, Drew,” his father said. “If you normally turn your homework in on time, your teacher will understand.”
Drew nodded, barely hearing the words. He was conscious of Sarah’s gaze, troubled, anxious. He closed his eyes, blotting out the image of her face, a feminine version of his own. He heard his father’s voice. Was it a question? Was he supposed to answer? Exhaustion claimed him again. Let Sarah answer. She had all the answers anyway. Let them think he was asleep. Let them think whatever they wanted. It just didn’t matter anymore.
Norman Layton looked at the geologist’s report and stroked his grizzled chin. The dam was fifty years old, built long before the valley’s fault lines had become active enough for anyone to pay attention. There was a crack somewhere, a crack large enough to divert thousands of tons of river water into its original tributaries, raise the water table and ruin more than one vintner’s next harvest. More than likely the crack was below the dam, near the east end of the valley. He’d stake his professional reputation on it. Not that it mattered anymore. He was well past retirement age and his pension was secure. Still, he’d like to go out with something more than a kick in the pants. Better haul out the big guns and find the leak. Meanwhile, he’d let those who mattered know.
A Delicate Finish Page 16
