I smiled, but I kept my eyes on the road.
“Am I boring you?”
“Absolutely not,” I said.
“Have you heard from your boyfriend?” she asked, taking a different tack.
“No,” I said. “Although I feel like I should probably call him. I don’t even know where he’s living.”
“He’ll reach out to you when he’s ready,” she advised.
“We left on pretty bad terms,” I said.
“They always come back,” she said.
“Did Jackson come back to you?”
“Once.” She sighed. “Right around when William went to college. We hadn’t opened the tasting room yet, so I was really just a glorified bookkeeper and shipping agent. Everett was out in the fields and in the cellar with the barrels, but I was lonely. I was pretty sure a monkey could do my job. So, I started spending a lot of time at the Girl and the Fig, at the bar.”
“Was Reed there?”
“Reed? Oh, that self-righteous former teacher? No, he wasn’t there yet.”
“Oh,” I said, a bit dejected.
“You liked him?” she said, laughing. “I guess I can see that. He makes a good first impression, but he’s really only got one story. A little annoying if you ask me. Anyway, I went there almost every day at around two. I was lonely and I always would run into someone to talk to, and then I could come home at seven with some takeout for Everett and go straight to sleep.”
“So even though you were depressed and not around, he still depended on you to eat? He couldn’t cook his own food?”
“He can,” she said. “Sometimes he would make dinner. But mostly, you know, men would rather not eat or just eat a spoonful of peanut butter and a frozen waffle than do a little work.”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking about my Wonder Bread dinners. “I guess I do know.”
“Anyway, one of those nights I ran into Jackson. And we’d seen each other around town, but we hadn’t really talked since shortly after my wedding. He played at it; did you know that?”
“I believe you already told me that,” I said.
“Maybe I’m just trying to remind myself,” she said.
“That must have been painful. It wasn’t long after you two broke up, right?”
“At the time, I was angry. I felt betrayed by him, even though I was the one who made the choice. I realize that now. But I felt like he should have changed everything for me. So, to answer your question, when it was happening, it was okay. But when we started talking again, it all came back.”
“That’s lovely,” I said.
“Maybe,” she said. “Anyway, instead of going to the Girl and the Fig for a glass of wine, I started just going to his cabin, and at first it was innocent. We’d just sit on the back porch drinking wine, talking. But then it wasn’t so innocent. And I kept going.”
“Did Everett ever find out? Why did you stop?” We were passing little houses with goats and cows in the pastures. Bigger properties with rows and rows of wine grapes. Everything was green. Lush. How could you not be in love in such a beautiful place?
“He never did, but I got diagnosed with breast cancer at around the same time. And Everett was there for me. He drove me to the hospital, helped me when I was just so sick I couldn’t move. And Jackson was a little scared of the whole thing. He kind of disappeared. He sent flowers, I think. I can’t remember. But it did make me realize that I loved Everett, that he was good in a crisis. We’d been through so much together . . .”
“Wow, I’m so sorry. About everything.”
“Well, it brought us back together. I guess that’s why ‘in sickness and in health’ is in those vows. It also did make me admit to him that I was bored. So that’s when we decided to reopen the tasting room. He said he wanted me more involved in the business and he knew that I was good with people, so we redid that room—it was in pretty bad shape—and we’ve had it ever since. About ten years. It’s been good for business. Helps with the wine club and locals. It could be bigger, I guess.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “Was Jackson sad?”
“He understood that Everett knew how to take care of me when I was sick. He tried, but he’s just not that kind of person. Then he went away for a while. He rode his motorcycle to Mexico. Probably did some stupid things.”
“So you’ve broken his heart twice?”
“I guess I have,” she said. She reached for her handbag and pulled out a tissue.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s true,” she said. “My heart is broken too, though. There’s all those myths in our society about the happy ending. Shakespeare—how the wedding is a comedy. But there’s no such thing as a happy ending. Just one day after another. Some days you’re happy and some you aren’t. You do the best you can. But none of it is what you think. I haven’t been single a day in my adult life, and I’m lonely every day. So much for having someone to complete you.”
“Do you think Jackson completes you?”
She paused, like she was really thinking about it. She took a deep breath. “I don’t think anybody can complete anyone. You’ve got to do that for yourself. I’ve been doing better these past few years, but I’m not the champion.”
“That’s excellent advice,” I said. “I’m trying to figure that stuff out this summer.”
“You are several years ahead of me,” Linda said. She looked away from me out of the window. We were just merging onto the 101 to Healdsburg. “I love this drive,” she said. She leaned her head against the window and stared away into space. I concentrated on the road and wondered what it was like to feel complete.
* * *
—
We drove in silence for a while, until the signs started to indicate that we were near downtown Healdsburg. “Where are we going?” I asked.
“Oh,” she said, shaking herself out of her reverie. “I should have told you that. We’re going to see Chris Crane at the Shed, which is a seafood restaurant. He’s had this restaurant for a few years. Before this he had a little wine bar in Calistoga. Maybe he still has it? We’ll ask. I’ve known him for a long time—he also makes wine out on Dry Creek Road and he sells some of it at the Shed, but he loves our whites. So I’ve brought him some today. If there’s time, we can also go visit my friends at Copperfield’s. I hear they might want to serve wine in their café.”
“Sounds fun,” I said. “What should I be doing?”
“Just listen,” she said.
The Shed, she explained, was not on the main square of Healdsburg but on a side street. But she wanted to park in the square so that I could see how lovely it was. It was not unlike Sonoma, which also had a center square, but Sonoma’s was larger and airier. Healdsburg felt cozier. We parked on Plaza Street and walked through the beautiful square to the other side. We passed Copperfield’s, a beautiful bookstore, and then finally turned onto a sunny side street. We walked by a few tasting rooms and a taco shack and finally got to the Shed. It was a large open space that looked to be made of tin. Kind of like an old gas station, but classier. There was outdoor seating, where a family was sitting with a baby in a high chair and a golden retriever lounging under their chairs. A carafe of rosé sat waiting in an ice bath. Their plates were heaped with greens and fruit. Through the huge open barn-style doors, there was an enormous square white bar adorned with large urns of pussy willow. The bartenders stood inside, all wearing black headbands and wristbands. Linda walked in front of me, nodding at the hostess, and headed back to the kitchen, which was open, with two line cooks and a man in a big chef’s hat who was slicing beef.
“Chris!” she said, tapping on the counter lightly. Her voice took on an airier tone now that we were out of our regular environment. This was saleswoman Linda.
He looked up and smiled broadly. “Linda! It’s so good to see you!”
He tapped one of the other workers in the room to continue slicing the beef, washed his hands, and came around the counter to give Linda a big hug. He looked at me quizzically.
“Oh,” she said. “This is Hannah, our summer . . . associate?”
I held out my hand, “I’m just here to learn,” I said. “Pretend I’m not here.”
“A summer associate? What’s that all about?”
“She’s been helping me with a bunch of things,” Linda said.
“Wow,” he said. His eyes twinkled. “What could you possibly need help with?”
“Oh, stop. I know you’ve been telling me to hire someone for years.”
“You’re just too easy to tease, Lindy! Are you two hungry?”
“No, no,” Linda said. Although as he said it, my stomach grumbled. I coughed to cover it up.
“Let’s go sit over here.” He gestured toward a booth at the back. It was around noon, but the place hadn’t filled up yet for lunch. I assumed it would.
Linda zipped open the bag and pulled out two whites and a rosé.
“So,” Chris said. “How’s things? How’s life? How’s the family?” He spoke fast, like a New Yorker, which I hadn’t heard in a while.
“Good, good, good,” she said. “William just left for New York. He’s pursuing his movie dreams.”
“In New York?”
“He wants to write,” she said. “He’s taking classes at NYU.”
“He always was a dreamer,” he said.
“Indeed,” Linda said. She opened the bottles and he gestured toward one of the waitresses who came by. She was wearing a green bandanna like a headband and matching bandannas around her wrists. I noticed that all the waitstaff wore similar adornments, but each in his or her own color.
“Eve, can you bring us three glasses? Actually, make that six, just in case.” She nodded and came back quickly with glasses. “Things are good here,” he said, unprompted. “It’s a big space, so in the winter, we tried having a little art gallery in the back, hung art by people in the area, to kind of make them feel like coming. Brought folks in during the evening for a glass.”
“That’s a good idea,” I said. Then I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to talk. But I filed the idea away for Bellosguardo. We could absolutely show local artists and host an opening. We could even sell their paintings and take a small commission.
“It was fun,” he said. “So many of our regulars are artists. It made sense to give them a little group show. A few even sold some pieces.”
“I might copy you,” I said.
“You’re welcome to,” he said. “You’re far enough away.” He winked.
Linda opened the first wine and poured little tastes for all three of us. “This is our early-harvest Chardonnay. Our new winemaker, Felipe, started doing this one two years ago, and I think it’s one of our best.”
“You make it in stainless?” he asked.
“Exactly,” she said. “It’s almost effervescent because we bottle it so early.”
“It has citrusy notes,” he said.
“Exactly,” she said. “It’d pair well with a crudo or one of those fruity salads you do.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll take a half a case. What else you got?”
Half a case? That didn’t seem like enough. But Linda didn’t blink. She opened the second white. “This is our 2014 Pinot Gris. A little heartier, more apple and pear than citrus. But not sweet. This is one of our old-vine wines. These grapes are descendants of the ones the count planted when he got here in the 1870s.”
She poured. He swirled. Tasted. “Wow,” he said. “It’s an intense white.”
“We leave this one on the vine a little longer. Let some of the sugars build up. But I wouldn’t call it sweet.”
“No,” he said. “But I don’t know what I’d pair it with. What else do you have?”
She uncorked the rosé. “I just opened this last night because, weirdly, it tastes better the second day. This is another Felipe wine, a rosé of Pinot Noir that he did in the saignée style.”
Chris savored this one longer than he had the Pinot Gris. “Nice,” he said. “We have our own rosé from the farm on tap here, so it’s hard to sell bottles, but I’d take a half case and see how it sells. It’s richer than the one I make.”
I tried to read him. He wasn’t taking second sips of the wine and he didn’t seem to be ordering very much. We’d come a long way and it seemed like not a very big order.
“Great,” Linda said, making a note in her iPhone. “I’ll bring the bottles up next week.”
“How do you handle bottles here?” I asked. “How big is your list, I mean?”
Linda shot me a look, but I put my hands under my chin, batted my eyes, and tried to look innocent.
“We have about six reds, six whites, and two rosés at any given time,” he said.
“And you print the menu once a week?” I asked.
“About that,” he said. “Sometimes twice a week.”
“So, if you’re going to have a bottle on the menu, doesn’t it make sense to have more than six of them?”
“Well,” he said, looking uncomfortable, like I had maybe called him on something. “We do more by the glass since we have our own wines on tap . . .”
“But a big table would order a bottle, wouldn’t they? Do they order your bottles?”
“Kind of depends,” he said.
“Okay,” I said, not wanting to push too hard.
“Did you bring any reds?” he asked.
“I have two,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d want them, though, with yours being so good.”
“Sometimes it’s nice to show that we don’t only sell our own stuff here.”
Linda smiled. “I didn’t dare bring you a Pinot. But I did bring you a Grenache. Which we make in the Châteauneuf-du-Pape style. Although we only aged this one for eight months, not six years.”
“It’s delicious,” he said. “Earthy. Maybe even leather? We could pair this with our portobello burger.”
My stomach growled.
“You’re hungry!” he said.
“Oh no,” I said. Eating seemed wrong somehow.
“Let me just get you some olives,” he said. He gestured to the waitress. This time a brown-haired one in a pink headband and wristband came by. “This young woman is hungry. Can you bring her some olives and bread?”
“Of course,” she said. She disappeared and returned almost immediately with a small dish of olives of various sizes and a basket of bread. I ate an olive, which melted in my mouth. And the bread. How did he know?
“Wow,” I said. “So good.”
Linda looked irritated, but Chris also took an olive. “We grow these ourselves,” he said. “You’ve got to have one, Linda.”
“Fine,” she said. She picked the smallest one in the bowl and smiled after she ate it. “They are good.”
“I’ll take a case of the Grenache,” he said, winking at me. Was he flirting? “And why don’t you up my order to two cases each on the whites.”
“Really?” she asked.
“I’m feeling adventurous,” he said. “Do you want lunch? We have a great mango salad today.”
“No, no,” she said. “We should be going. They want to buy some wine at Copperfield’s.”
“Ah yes, I like that idea,” he said. “I gave them some rosé for a pilot program.”
“Well,” Linda said, standing up and zipping up her bag, “it’s been so great seeing you.”
“Tell Everett I miss him,” he said.
They hugged and we walked out of the restaurant.
“I try not to eat when I’m on these calls,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You can’t help your stomach growling,” she said. “But we should rememb
er to eat a snack before we go in next time.”
“So I can come again?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “It’s the only way to learn.”
She didn’t mention the fact that I had upped her order from two cases total to five cases. Ever since I had started doing the billing, I thought more about return on investment. Five cases seemed worth the drive back to Healdsburg. I wondered how many of her other accounts could be worked into ordering more. I would have to look at the billing when I got back to the office. I made a note to myself about that and about the art show. And tried not to notice if Linda was mad on the car ride back.
CHAPTER 13
I followed Linda up to the house when we got back. She went into the kitchen to “throw together a little dinner,” as she said, the first words she’d said after an entire ride home in silence. Everett was sitting at the outdoor table doing a crossword puzzle. Felipe was next to him, texting with his family in Chile. I sat across from them and poured a glass of Sancerre. Neither one acknowledged me right away. Everett looked up when he filled in the last answer. “You have a good day?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I went on a sales call. We sold seven cases. Five to the Shed and two to Copperfield’s. Linda told them all about your innovations, Felipe.”
He looked up, smiled with pride, and went back to typing into his phone.
“That’s good,” Everett said. “But I wish Linda would give it up. There are people who make these deals for you. A sales rep, a distributor. But Linda’s a control freak. We could sell more wine if there were more people out there selling it. Anyway, I don’t want to fight with her about it, but if you wanted to say something to her, maybe she’d listen to you.”
I nodded. “I don’t know if she would listen to me. Although I will say that I’ve started to notice places where we—I mean, the winery—could become more efficient.” I restrained myself from telling him that I had gotten the orders higher in both places. Maybe it was just beginner’s luck. Instead, I tried to be positive. “What I loved about her pitch was the stories she told about how you pick the grapes and when you bottle it. She knows so much about the origins of the bottles.”
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