Posted: Wed May 16, 2007 3:02 pm
Chapter 29 Part 2
Michael read through the instructions for what he guessed was his final leg on the hunt. He was standing next to his workbench in the garage, the thick smell of metal and engine grease heavy in the air. The back door to the garage was open when Michael had reached it and he supposed one of the vineyard workers had been in and out, searching for tools to fix one of the vineyard vehicles.
Michael haphazardly folded the paper back up and stepped out of the garage and into the January cold. He was on his way to the oldest building on the property, a building that had once held the entire vineyard operation but now held only the casks, Paolo’s office and a couple of spaces they rarely used. It was a short walk and Michael stepped into the building, shutting the massive door behind him.
“Paolo?” Michael’s voice echoed up and into the rafters but there was no response and he shrugged. He had figured Paolo would still be there but it seemed he was elsewhere. Michael shoved the paper he was still holding in his hand into one of his pockets and started to walk along the right side of the building.
Every once in a while he would turn his head to look at the wall, the sheer volume of photos making the building into a reluctant art gallery. He passed by one that had Kyle lifted on the shoulders of his teammates. He remembered that day. Kyle was 12 and his team had won the district championships because Kyle had made a quick-thinking defensive play in the bottom of the ninth inning, calmly snaring a ball out of the air and stepping on second base to force the runner out, ending the game.
Kyle, as a player, was known for his excellent defensive work, but Michael had always thought that that play pretty much summed up Kyle as a person too. Kyle was, he reasoned, quick-thinking, calm, intelligent and talented. Just like that play.
Michael had been asked once when he was younger what it was like to have a twin that was so unlike he was, but Michael hadn’t really known how to respond. For one thing, he never really figured it was anyone else’s business and for another, he didn’t really think it mattered anyway. Kyle was Kyle, Michael was Michael. Why were people always trying to confuse the two? Did it really matter that they were different? Where did it say that because you shared a uterus you had to end up exactly the same?
Michael finished his walk to the other end of the room and spied his name on a piece of paper on a door leading into one of the offices they rarely used. As he opened the door and walked in the room, he was met with the sight of a TV set up on an old desk, a DVD player sitting on top. Michael, used to his father, wasn’t surprised to see them and simply sat down in the desk chair, flipping the TV and DVD player on.
His father’s face replaced the DVD start-up menu and Michael leaned back into the chair as his father adjusted himself onscreen. As Michael watched his father settle into the chair he was sitting in - watched him settle into himself - he couldn’t help but admire the man even more than he already did.
Michael liked to play a game with himself sometimes where he imagined that he was born to different people, born into an entirely different world. He never liked to play it for long though, because he would inevitably find himself in a place he thought no one should be; a place no child deserved to grow up in. All he knew was that when the game was over he was happy to be in the warmth of his father’s shadow.
Mike…my oldest. You know, as a parent every little thing your child does right amazes you. Then after a while they start doing so many things right, you stop applauding every little thing. You start focusing on the big stuff because…well…it’s big. So I didn’t cheer when you got an A on a Geometry test the fourth week of November your sophomore year of high school because…frankly…you’d done it before.
Then a few days ago I passed you in the hallway…you made some comment about Kyle in passing…and I watched you walk down the hallway the other way and it hit me that my baby was twenty-two years old and knew how to walk on his own. It seems silly, but somehow I had forgotten what it had felt like to kneel on the floor and hold my hands out to you the day you learned how to walk.
So I wanted to tell you today, Michael, that I’m proud of you.
Michael leaned forward in his chair at the exact same time as Jeff leaned forward in his and any casual observer could clearly see where Michael had gotten some of his more obvious mannerisms. Both of the men rested their forearms on their thighs and both tilted their head to the side, Jeff as he talked, Michael as he listened.
I’m proud of you for that A and I’m proud of you for learning how to walk. I’m proud of you for always taking care of your brothers and sister and I’m proud of how you apply yourself to nearly everything you do. Mostly Michael, I’m just proud that I get to be your dad. Now…if you look in the doorway to your left, I think you’ll see a tall, rather homely-looking man holding a piece of paper in his hand.
Jeff grinned onscreen and Michael swiveled his head to find Paolo leaned on one side of the doorjamb. Paolo righted himself and strode across the room, holding out the thick bundle of folded paper to Michael. Michael took it and looked at Paolo, who gestured to Jeff on the TV screen. Michael turned back to face his father just as Jeff started to speak again.
Now comes the gift. You know, I’ve watched you kids for years, trying to figure out which one of you would take over for me when my time was over, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that it was you. You love this vineyard the same way I do Mike. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse, but…
Jeff trailed off as he smiled, looking away briefly from the camera, and Michael glanced down at the papers he was holding in his hand.
So this is what I’m giving you…a contract. A job. That’s your gift.
Michael opened up the papers in his hands as his eyes grew wide. Was his dad really doing what he thought he was doing?
I want you to finish school and then spend your summer the way a twenty-two year old should, and when you’re done, I expect you back in this office, showing me everyday how we can improve. With your help, Parker Vineyards will grow by leaps and bounds. I’m excited to see what you and your creativity can do.
So take a look at that contract and if you think it’s fair, sign it. And if there’s something you think we need to change, let me know.
I love you, son. And I’m proud of you. But hopefully, you know that by now.
Jeff signed off then, looking away from the screen as the video clicked off and the TV rested on the startup menu. Michael looked down once again at the papers in his hands, now unfolded but still unexamined. Michael, for his part, had been a bit thrown by his father’s gift, and so hadn’t had the chance to examine the contract yet. It seemed that his dad, no matter how well Michael knew him, could still throw his oldest for a loop once in a while.
This…this job…was exactly what Michael wanted. And he had no idea how his dad knew that.
Michael had been planning on starting a conversation with his dad about working at Parker Vineyards after he graduated, but he hadn’t found the right time. He had been thinking about his future for a while, considering his options, but he always landed back here, his home. Michael liked the idea of branching out on his own, taking a risk by starting a business that might fail, but coming home to the vineyard had always felt…right.
Michael stood from the desk chair and let out a sigh, long and deep. Paolo was long gone from the room, back at his table in a far corner. Michael could see him as he exited the office and Michael stopped for a moment to watch him as he held a glass of red wine up into the light. Paolo studied the wine for a moment before he turned and gave Michael a wide grin and a wink.
“So Mike…you think this wine’s ready to be bottled yet?”
Michael laughed. “From over here, Paolo? I’m not that good. Hell…you’re not that good.”
Paolo wagged his finger at the younger man. “Now now, Michael, doubt your own skills all you like, but never doubt mine.” Paolo turned his eyes back to the glass and said, “It’s not ready yet. Something’s not right with the blend. I’ll have to tweak it a little. So…have you signed the contract yet?”
“Haven’t read it yet.”
Paolo dumped the wine into the clear glass cask at the end of his worn table and turned to look at Michael. “What’re you waiting for? Read it. I won’t intrude. Here.” Paolo tossed an object through the air at Michael, who caught it.
A pen.
Michael looked up at Paolo, an eyebrow raised as he smirked.
“Well, what else are you going to sign it with? Blood?”
-:-:-:-
Kyle put the truck in park and turned the engine off but didn’t get out of the cab of the truck, leaning back in the seat as he surveyed the old baseball diamond in front of him. He had spent many a spring and summer here, knees coated with infield clay and cheeks streaked with eye black to keep the sun’s glare away. Sometimes Kyle wished he were ten again, lost in the outcome of the game, not distracted by his own stats.
Something moved on the pitcher’s mound and Kyle adjusted his body; squinting his eyes to focus on the object. It was a man and as he righted himself, his body in profile, Kyle saw him run some of the dirt from the pitcher’s mound through his fingers, letting it drop slowly back to the ground.
Kyle got out of the cab of the truck and shut the door. The man turned to face Kyle and put his hands in his pockets, obviously waiting for Kyle to reach him. From the parking lot it was difficult to tell who it was, but as Kyle got closer to the mound, his steps increasing in speed as his excitement grew, he recognized someone he had watched play for years.
A decent hitter in his best years but an unparalleled defenseman known for his balletic catches and matador-like snags, J.T. Snow was in many ways the player Kyle aspired to be. Snow was confident, talented and hardworking and though he had never hit as many home runs as the pundits had hoped he would, he and his glove were responsible for saving 15 games a year. At least. And Kyle had been in the seats at Candlestick and Pac Bell Park for many of those saves. Kyle hoped to be that relevant one day.
Kyle’s palms weren’t sweating, but he suddenly felt the urge to wipe them on the side of his pants anyway, just to make sure they weren’t. There was no way he wanted to exchange a sweaty hand with one of his baseball heroes.
J.T. smiled wide and held out his hand to Kyle, who took it earnestly. “Hi Kyle.”
“Hi. You’re J.T. Snow.”
J.T. laughed. “That’s what my wife tells me. How are you?”
“Blown away. I didn’t expect to see you standing here.”
“Well…that’s pretty much how a surprise works.”
Kyle shook his head a little; overwhelmed at the idea that someone he had only watched from afar was standing right in front of him, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry…I don’t mean to sound…uh…ungrateful in any way…because you standing here in front of me is pretty damn amazing…but…what are you doing here?”
J.T. laughed again and shuffled his feet a little. “Your dad called and told me that you were a player and I had to find out for myself how good you were. I mean, your dad told me you were amazing, but you know how dads can be. So I called your coach and had him send me some tape. You are a talented kid, Kyle.”
Kyle tried to process what he had just heard, but there was a little too much information to sort out in a few seconds. Had J.T. Snow really just told Kyle he was a good player? And how did Kyle’s dad have Kyle’s baseball hero’s phone number?
“So I hear you aren’t sure what you’re going to do if you get drafted.”
Kyle shrugged, suddenly just a bit self-conscious. “I don’t even know if I will be drafted. It seems a bit pointless to get ahead of myself.”
“You’ll be drafted, Kyle. And it’ll happen by the middle of the second round, at the latest.” J.T. was taller than Kyle by about 5 inches and the former major league ballplayer’s words seemed to float in the air above Kyle’s head as they left his mouth.
“How do you know that? Thousands of players get drafted every year. Most of them never see the major leagues. How do you know I will?”
J.T. paused for just a moment, looking away briefly before his eyes snapped back to Kyle’s. “You don’t have any bad habits. Every route you take to the ball is the right one. You’re capable of making split-second decisions and making them correctly. You’re a true team player in every sense of the word and you work your ass off any chance you get. But mostly Kyle…mostly I know you’ll be a major league player because you know you’re good…you know you’re talented…and you’ve never let that be an excuse. So, now that your excuses are gone…what are you going to do on draft day?”
Kyle opened his mouth to respond but his stomach had other ideas, growling rather audibly. Kyle grimaced and apologized. “I can’t believe I’m hungry again. We ate a late lunch not that long ago.”
“I’m a little hungry myself. I think I saw a Mexican restaurant a few blocks that way.” J.T. gestured behind himself and a little to his left.
Kyle tried to wave him off. “You really don’t have to do that. Just standing here with you is enough.”
“I’m hungry, Kyle. And apparently, so are you. That’s enough motivation for me.” The two men walked off the mound and out the opening made by the gate of the chain link fence. Kyle moved to get in his car when J.T.’s voice stopped him. “You want the truth Kyle? You want to know why I’m really here, telling you you’re talented?”
Kyle turned to face the older, taller man and lifted his eyebrows in expectation of the answer.
“I was a three sport athlete in high school. Baseball, basketball and football. One day I went to my dad, a former receiver in the NFL, and told him I was worn out. I wanted to quit one of my sports. He said, ‘Okay…but you’re not quitting baseball’. So I kept playing three sports. And when I finished high school, I could have gone to Notre Dame on a football scholarship, but I chose to go to the University of Arizona for baseball instead. You know why?”
Kyle shook his head. “No, why?”
“If I had made it into the NFL, I would have been a backup quarterback at best. But picking a throw from the shortstop in the dirt? That…I was always great at. Never underestimate what a powerful motivator it is to be great at something.”
-:-:-:-
Liz waved the white paper back and forth in the air as she walked, listening as the paper made a fluttering sound. Her hunt had started in the tasting room and from there she had gone to the bathroom just inside the front door of the house, where she was met with another white envelope and another white piece of paper. Her third stop was the gardening shed (she passed Kyle on her way out) and now she was headed to what she anticipated was her final destination.
The breeze was beginning to pick up and some of Liz’s brown hair started to whip gently in front of her face. She wasn’t really bothered by it but she shook her head a little, casually trying to keep her hair at bay. Her attempt was half-hearted but that was okay, because her mind wasn’t really on her hair at the moment.
The end of winter vacation was approaching fast, and that always meant no more dad, no more brothers and no more Napa. But this year, it also meant no more Max, no more Tess and no more Maria. Even though she would never feel comfortable with it, Liz was a pro by now at being away from her family for large stretches of time. But she hadn’t considered how it would feel to have to leave Max, and that was what was really weighing on her mind.
It had been easy to leave Daniel and go to another coast because…well…he was Daniel. Liz hadn’t realized it then, but she had actually liked leaving Daniel. This time she had no idea how she was going to watch Max walk through the airport, away from her, as she was held back at security. If watching her brothers get on their planes pulled her heart from her chest and made her mind fuzzy and unclear, how was she going to feel when she had to say goodbye to the love of her life?
Liz had to mentally roll her eyes at herself. She was being a little dramatic and she knew it. It wasn’t as if Chicago and Manhattan were that far apart, after all. Plus there were those lovely modern conveniences called telephones and the internet that allowed you to stay in touch. No, Liz knew she’d be able to talk with Max enough.
But that whole, “Not being able to touch him” thing?
Yeah. That was going to drive her nuts.
Liz continued to flap the paper absentmindedly back and forth through the air as she walked through the back door into the kitchen. The paper was telling Liz to head upstairs and she would, but first she quickly grabbed a small plastic bottle of apple juice from the fridge.
Liz jogged up the large spiral staircase and took a sip of the juice, pausing as she reached the upstairs landing. She looked at the doors that lined the hallway as she slowly started to walk toward the door closest to the stairs. All the bedroom doors were open, some just a crack, some all the way. And Liz knew she’d miss those doors.
It seemed a silly thing, to miss doors. It wasn’t just that she’d miss walking into her dad’s room and seeing the picture of her mom on his bedside table or walking into Alex’s room when he sat on the floor with his back to his open doorway, working on yet another song. Liz would miss the fact that the doors were open nearly all the time, making the entire upstairs like one giant living space. It was impossible to do that in New York.
Liz put the tips of the fingers of her left hand on Michael’s half-open door and pushed it all the way open. She spied another white envelope in the center of Michael’s quilt covered, queen sized bed and even as something niggled at the back of her mind, telling her she still had further to go on her hunt, she knew it to be false. This was the end of her hunt.
Liz leaned over and picked up the envelope before doing a light belly flop and landing in the middle of Michael’s bed. She stretched her arms out in front of her body as she pulled the paper from the envelope and unfolded it. She bent her legs at the knees and crossed her ankles in the air, waving her linked legs gently back and forth.
Liz started to read the paper, her eyes easily scanning her father’s handwriting. This piece of paper was handwritten while the others had been typed and Liz settled down into the bed as she read. She wondered if everyone had received a handwritten letter at the end of their hunts but pushed the thought out of her mind as she read her father’s words.
Lizzy-
This is the end of the line, but your gift isn’t here. There is a gift, but I’m afraid your mean old man isn’t going to give it to you for a while, and there’s a reason for that. You’re just going to have to trust me when I say that you’ll need this one day, but today is not that day. So sweetheart, do your old man a favor and trust him. Okay?
Liz laughed softly to herself and shook her head. It was just like her dad to throw her a curveball.
But she trusted him, of course she trusted him. She had no reason not to trust him. Every single past experience with her dad had taught Liz that if she couldn’t trust her dad, she couldn’t trust anyone. So if he asked her to trust that there was a reason she wasn’t getting her present now, she would trust him and think nothing else of it.
Now, do your old dad one more favor and turn on Michael’s DVD player.
Love you squirt.
Dad
Liz dropped the paper onto the bed and flopped over on her side before she slid down off her brother’s bed and walked over to a long desk that sat against the wall, where Michael’s TV sat just off-center. It had a DVD player and a VCR sitting on top of it while an Xbox and Playstation sat nearby. Liz clicked on the TV and DVD player and walked backwards before her bottom hit the end of the bed. She shimmied up onto the bed just as her father’s face appeared onscreen.
He smiled at her but said nothing for a minute or so, just looking out from the screen. Liz found it comforting, his smile and the way he was looking at her through the screen, even though she knew it to be semi-illogical. He couldn’t see her, so he wasn’t really looking at her. But at the same time she thought that maybe he was looking at her, just not the way that was easy to explain. Maybe he was looking at her because he was picturing her there, with him, as if she always were. And the more Liz considered that, the more it made sense. If her dad was always with her, why couldn’t she always be with him?
I’ve been taking a trip down memory lane a lot lately, thinking mostly of memories that haven’t graced me in a long time. And I realized that I wanted to share a story with you. It’s a story I probably should have told you a long time ago, but I never seemed to find the right time.
When you were four we took all of you to a Giants game at Candlestick. They were playing the Dodgers and it was a Saturday afternoon game so the park was packed. Right around the third inning you kids got hungry so your mom took Michael and Alex to get sodas and I took you and Kyle to get popcorn and hot dogs.
I was standing there in front of the vendor and I had to take the food from him so I dropped your hand. I took the food from the vendor and when I looked back down at you, you were gone and the crowd was getting thick. I couldn’t see you. And I panicked.
Jeff laughed softly as he looked away and Liz could tell there was still some element of pain in this story for him, as if he was still trying to come to terms with the idea that he had been careless enough to take his eyes off her.
I ran back down to our seats and told your mom and she and I went off in different directions, searching for you. Every second that went by a knot formed in my stomach. I was imagining every single bad scenario under the sun and poor Kyle must have felt like his hand was going to fall off because I was holding onto it so hard. But there was no way I wanted to lose another one of my kids.
Then a page came over the intercom for us, telling us to go to security. So I picked Kyle up and I ran as fast as I could. And when I stepped in the office, the security guard was sitting at his desk and you were sitting on top of it, eating an ice cream cone, your little legs dangling off the side. I put Kyle down and rushed over to you and hugged you for…I don’t know how long.
When I let you go, you smiled this huge smile at me and said, ‘I got lost so I found a security guard and I told him so and he called you. I did exactly what you told me to do. Did I do a good job daddy?’ And every single knot in my stomach unfurled. Jeff brought up two closed fists then opened them quickly, palms out and fingers spread wide as he said the word ‘unfurled’.
Yes, squirt…you did a very…good job.
Jeff started to choke up and he looked away from the screen, stretching his face a little to ward off the oncoming tears, a tactic that never seemed to work. So because Jeff knew it wouldn’t work no matter how much he wanted it to, he turned his face back to the screen without wiping them away, obviously unashamed of his daughter seeing him cry.
Thank you squirt. I don’t think I say that enough to you. Thank you. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for taking care of us when we needed it. Thank you for not being afraid. Thank you for being you. Thank you for bringing all of us joy, in so many ways, every day.
Thank you, Liz. Thank you, honey.
-:-:-:-
Michael read through the instructions for what he guessed was his final leg on the hunt. He was standing next to his workbench in the garage, the thick smell of metal and engine grease heavy in the air. The back door to the garage was open when Michael had reached it and he supposed one of the vineyard workers had been in and out, searching for tools to fix one of the vineyard vehicles.
Michael haphazardly folded the paper back up and stepped out of the garage and into the January cold. He was on his way to the oldest building on the property, a building that had once held the entire vineyard operation but now held only the casks, Paolo’s office and a couple of spaces they rarely used. It was a short walk and Michael stepped into the building, shutting the massive door behind him.
“Paolo?” Michael’s voice echoed up and into the rafters but there was no response and he shrugged. He had figured Paolo would still be there but it seemed he was elsewhere. Michael shoved the paper he was still holding in his hand into one of his pockets and started to walk along the right side of the building.
Every once in a while he would turn his head to look at the wall, the sheer volume of photos making the building into a reluctant art gallery. He passed by one that had Kyle lifted on the shoulders of his teammates. He remembered that day. Kyle was 12 and his team had won the district championships because Kyle had made a quick-thinking defensive play in the bottom of the ninth inning, calmly snaring a ball out of the air and stepping on second base to force the runner out, ending the game.
Kyle, as a player, was known for his excellent defensive work, but Michael had always thought that that play pretty much summed up Kyle as a person too. Kyle was, he reasoned, quick-thinking, calm, intelligent and talented. Just like that play.
Michael had been asked once when he was younger what it was like to have a twin that was so unlike he was, but Michael hadn’t really known how to respond. For one thing, he never really figured it was anyone else’s business and for another, he didn’t really think it mattered anyway. Kyle was Kyle, Michael was Michael. Why were people always trying to confuse the two? Did it really matter that they were different? Where did it say that because you shared a uterus you had to end up exactly the same?
Michael finished his walk to the other end of the room and spied his name on a piece of paper on a door leading into one of the offices they rarely used. As he opened the door and walked in the room, he was met with the sight of a TV set up on an old desk, a DVD player sitting on top. Michael, used to his father, wasn’t surprised to see them and simply sat down in the desk chair, flipping the TV and DVD player on.
His father’s face replaced the DVD start-up menu and Michael leaned back into the chair as his father adjusted himself onscreen. As Michael watched his father settle into the chair he was sitting in - watched him settle into himself - he couldn’t help but admire the man even more than he already did.
Michael liked to play a game with himself sometimes where he imagined that he was born to different people, born into an entirely different world. He never liked to play it for long though, because he would inevitably find himself in a place he thought no one should be; a place no child deserved to grow up in. All he knew was that when the game was over he was happy to be in the warmth of his father’s shadow.
Mike…my oldest. You know, as a parent every little thing your child does right amazes you. Then after a while they start doing so many things right, you stop applauding every little thing. You start focusing on the big stuff because…well…it’s big. So I didn’t cheer when you got an A on a Geometry test the fourth week of November your sophomore year of high school because…frankly…you’d done it before.
Then a few days ago I passed you in the hallway…you made some comment about Kyle in passing…and I watched you walk down the hallway the other way and it hit me that my baby was twenty-two years old and knew how to walk on his own. It seems silly, but somehow I had forgotten what it had felt like to kneel on the floor and hold my hands out to you the day you learned how to walk.
So I wanted to tell you today, Michael, that I’m proud of you.
Michael leaned forward in his chair at the exact same time as Jeff leaned forward in his and any casual observer could clearly see where Michael had gotten some of his more obvious mannerisms. Both of the men rested their forearms on their thighs and both tilted their head to the side, Jeff as he talked, Michael as he listened.
I’m proud of you for that A and I’m proud of you for learning how to walk. I’m proud of you for always taking care of your brothers and sister and I’m proud of how you apply yourself to nearly everything you do. Mostly Michael, I’m just proud that I get to be your dad. Now…if you look in the doorway to your left, I think you’ll see a tall, rather homely-looking man holding a piece of paper in his hand.
Jeff grinned onscreen and Michael swiveled his head to find Paolo leaned on one side of the doorjamb. Paolo righted himself and strode across the room, holding out the thick bundle of folded paper to Michael. Michael took it and looked at Paolo, who gestured to Jeff on the TV screen. Michael turned back to face his father just as Jeff started to speak again.
Now comes the gift. You know, I’ve watched you kids for years, trying to figure out which one of you would take over for me when my time was over, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that it was you. You love this vineyard the same way I do Mike. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse, but…
Jeff trailed off as he smiled, looking away briefly from the camera, and Michael glanced down at the papers he was holding in his hand.
So this is what I’m giving you…a contract. A job. That’s your gift.
Michael opened up the papers in his hands as his eyes grew wide. Was his dad really doing what he thought he was doing?
I want you to finish school and then spend your summer the way a twenty-two year old should, and when you’re done, I expect you back in this office, showing me everyday how we can improve. With your help, Parker Vineyards will grow by leaps and bounds. I’m excited to see what you and your creativity can do.
So take a look at that contract and if you think it’s fair, sign it. And if there’s something you think we need to change, let me know.
I love you, son. And I’m proud of you. But hopefully, you know that by now.
Jeff signed off then, looking away from the screen as the video clicked off and the TV rested on the startup menu. Michael looked down once again at the papers in his hands, now unfolded but still unexamined. Michael, for his part, had been a bit thrown by his father’s gift, and so hadn’t had the chance to examine the contract yet. It seemed that his dad, no matter how well Michael knew him, could still throw his oldest for a loop once in a while.
This…this job…was exactly what Michael wanted. And he had no idea how his dad knew that.
Michael had been planning on starting a conversation with his dad about working at Parker Vineyards after he graduated, but he hadn’t found the right time. He had been thinking about his future for a while, considering his options, but he always landed back here, his home. Michael liked the idea of branching out on his own, taking a risk by starting a business that might fail, but coming home to the vineyard had always felt…right.
Michael stood from the desk chair and let out a sigh, long and deep. Paolo was long gone from the room, back at his table in a far corner. Michael could see him as he exited the office and Michael stopped for a moment to watch him as he held a glass of red wine up into the light. Paolo studied the wine for a moment before he turned and gave Michael a wide grin and a wink.
“So Mike…you think this wine’s ready to be bottled yet?”
Michael laughed. “From over here, Paolo? I’m not that good. Hell…you’re not that good.”
Paolo wagged his finger at the younger man. “Now now, Michael, doubt your own skills all you like, but never doubt mine.” Paolo turned his eyes back to the glass and said, “It’s not ready yet. Something’s not right with the blend. I’ll have to tweak it a little. So…have you signed the contract yet?”
“Haven’t read it yet.”
Paolo dumped the wine into the clear glass cask at the end of his worn table and turned to look at Michael. “What’re you waiting for? Read it. I won’t intrude. Here.” Paolo tossed an object through the air at Michael, who caught it.
A pen.
Michael looked up at Paolo, an eyebrow raised as he smirked.
“Well, what else are you going to sign it with? Blood?”
-:-:-:-
Kyle put the truck in park and turned the engine off but didn’t get out of the cab of the truck, leaning back in the seat as he surveyed the old baseball diamond in front of him. He had spent many a spring and summer here, knees coated with infield clay and cheeks streaked with eye black to keep the sun’s glare away. Sometimes Kyle wished he were ten again, lost in the outcome of the game, not distracted by his own stats.
Something moved on the pitcher’s mound and Kyle adjusted his body; squinting his eyes to focus on the object. It was a man and as he righted himself, his body in profile, Kyle saw him run some of the dirt from the pitcher’s mound through his fingers, letting it drop slowly back to the ground.
Kyle got out of the cab of the truck and shut the door. The man turned to face Kyle and put his hands in his pockets, obviously waiting for Kyle to reach him. From the parking lot it was difficult to tell who it was, but as Kyle got closer to the mound, his steps increasing in speed as his excitement grew, he recognized someone he had watched play for years.
A decent hitter in his best years but an unparalleled defenseman known for his balletic catches and matador-like snags, J.T. Snow was in many ways the player Kyle aspired to be. Snow was confident, talented and hardworking and though he had never hit as many home runs as the pundits had hoped he would, he and his glove were responsible for saving 15 games a year. At least. And Kyle had been in the seats at Candlestick and Pac Bell Park for many of those saves. Kyle hoped to be that relevant one day.
Kyle’s palms weren’t sweating, but he suddenly felt the urge to wipe them on the side of his pants anyway, just to make sure they weren’t. There was no way he wanted to exchange a sweaty hand with one of his baseball heroes.
J.T. smiled wide and held out his hand to Kyle, who took it earnestly. “Hi Kyle.”
“Hi. You’re J.T. Snow.”
J.T. laughed. “That’s what my wife tells me. How are you?”
“Blown away. I didn’t expect to see you standing here.”
“Well…that’s pretty much how a surprise works.”
Kyle shook his head a little; overwhelmed at the idea that someone he had only watched from afar was standing right in front of him, shaking his hand. “I’m sorry…I don’t mean to sound…uh…ungrateful in any way…because you standing here in front of me is pretty damn amazing…but…what are you doing here?”
J.T. laughed again and shuffled his feet a little. “Your dad called and told me that you were a player and I had to find out for myself how good you were. I mean, your dad told me you were amazing, but you know how dads can be. So I called your coach and had him send me some tape. You are a talented kid, Kyle.”
Kyle tried to process what he had just heard, but there was a little too much information to sort out in a few seconds. Had J.T. Snow really just told Kyle he was a good player? And how did Kyle’s dad have Kyle’s baseball hero’s phone number?
“So I hear you aren’t sure what you’re going to do if you get drafted.”
Kyle shrugged, suddenly just a bit self-conscious. “I don’t even know if I will be drafted. It seems a bit pointless to get ahead of myself.”
“You’ll be drafted, Kyle. And it’ll happen by the middle of the second round, at the latest.” J.T. was taller than Kyle by about 5 inches and the former major league ballplayer’s words seemed to float in the air above Kyle’s head as they left his mouth.
“How do you know that? Thousands of players get drafted every year. Most of them never see the major leagues. How do you know I will?”
J.T. paused for just a moment, looking away briefly before his eyes snapped back to Kyle’s. “You don’t have any bad habits. Every route you take to the ball is the right one. You’re capable of making split-second decisions and making them correctly. You’re a true team player in every sense of the word and you work your ass off any chance you get. But mostly Kyle…mostly I know you’ll be a major league player because you know you’re good…you know you’re talented…and you’ve never let that be an excuse. So, now that your excuses are gone…what are you going to do on draft day?”
Kyle opened his mouth to respond but his stomach had other ideas, growling rather audibly. Kyle grimaced and apologized. “I can’t believe I’m hungry again. We ate a late lunch not that long ago.”
“I’m a little hungry myself. I think I saw a Mexican restaurant a few blocks that way.” J.T. gestured behind himself and a little to his left.
Kyle tried to wave him off. “You really don’t have to do that. Just standing here with you is enough.”
“I’m hungry, Kyle. And apparently, so are you. That’s enough motivation for me.” The two men walked off the mound and out the opening made by the gate of the chain link fence. Kyle moved to get in his car when J.T.’s voice stopped him. “You want the truth Kyle? You want to know why I’m really here, telling you you’re talented?”
Kyle turned to face the older, taller man and lifted his eyebrows in expectation of the answer.
“I was a three sport athlete in high school. Baseball, basketball and football. One day I went to my dad, a former receiver in the NFL, and told him I was worn out. I wanted to quit one of my sports. He said, ‘Okay…but you’re not quitting baseball’. So I kept playing three sports. And when I finished high school, I could have gone to Notre Dame on a football scholarship, but I chose to go to the University of Arizona for baseball instead. You know why?”
Kyle shook his head. “No, why?”
“If I had made it into the NFL, I would have been a backup quarterback at best. But picking a throw from the shortstop in the dirt? That…I was always great at. Never underestimate what a powerful motivator it is to be great at something.”
-:-:-:-
Liz waved the white paper back and forth in the air as she walked, listening as the paper made a fluttering sound. Her hunt had started in the tasting room and from there she had gone to the bathroom just inside the front door of the house, where she was met with another white envelope and another white piece of paper. Her third stop was the gardening shed (she passed Kyle on her way out) and now she was headed to what she anticipated was her final destination.
The breeze was beginning to pick up and some of Liz’s brown hair started to whip gently in front of her face. She wasn’t really bothered by it but she shook her head a little, casually trying to keep her hair at bay. Her attempt was half-hearted but that was okay, because her mind wasn’t really on her hair at the moment.
The end of winter vacation was approaching fast, and that always meant no more dad, no more brothers and no more Napa. But this year, it also meant no more Max, no more Tess and no more Maria. Even though she would never feel comfortable with it, Liz was a pro by now at being away from her family for large stretches of time. But she hadn’t considered how it would feel to have to leave Max, and that was what was really weighing on her mind.
It had been easy to leave Daniel and go to another coast because…well…he was Daniel. Liz hadn’t realized it then, but she had actually liked leaving Daniel. This time she had no idea how she was going to watch Max walk through the airport, away from her, as she was held back at security. If watching her brothers get on their planes pulled her heart from her chest and made her mind fuzzy and unclear, how was she going to feel when she had to say goodbye to the love of her life?
Liz had to mentally roll her eyes at herself. She was being a little dramatic and she knew it. It wasn’t as if Chicago and Manhattan were that far apart, after all. Plus there were those lovely modern conveniences called telephones and the internet that allowed you to stay in touch. No, Liz knew she’d be able to talk with Max enough.
But that whole, “Not being able to touch him” thing?
Yeah. That was going to drive her nuts.
Liz continued to flap the paper absentmindedly back and forth through the air as she walked through the back door into the kitchen. The paper was telling Liz to head upstairs and she would, but first she quickly grabbed a small plastic bottle of apple juice from the fridge.
Liz jogged up the large spiral staircase and took a sip of the juice, pausing as she reached the upstairs landing. She looked at the doors that lined the hallway as she slowly started to walk toward the door closest to the stairs. All the bedroom doors were open, some just a crack, some all the way. And Liz knew she’d miss those doors.
It seemed a silly thing, to miss doors. It wasn’t just that she’d miss walking into her dad’s room and seeing the picture of her mom on his bedside table or walking into Alex’s room when he sat on the floor with his back to his open doorway, working on yet another song. Liz would miss the fact that the doors were open nearly all the time, making the entire upstairs like one giant living space. It was impossible to do that in New York.
Liz put the tips of the fingers of her left hand on Michael’s half-open door and pushed it all the way open. She spied another white envelope in the center of Michael’s quilt covered, queen sized bed and even as something niggled at the back of her mind, telling her she still had further to go on her hunt, she knew it to be false. This was the end of her hunt.
Liz leaned over and picked up the envelope before doing a light belly flop and landing in the middle of Michael’s bed. She stretched her arms out in front of her body as she pulled the paper from the envelope and unfolded it. She bent her legs at the knees and crossed her ankles in the air, waving her linked legs gently back and forth.
Liz started to read the paper, her eyes easily scanning her father’s handwriting. This piece of paper was handwritten while the others had been typed and Liz settled down into the bed as she read. She wondered if everyone had received a handwritten letter at the end of their hunts but pushed the thought out of her mind as she read her father’s words.
Lizzy-
This is the end of the line, but your gift isn’t here. There is a gift, but I’m afraid your mean old man isn’t going to give it to you for a while, and there’s a reason for that. You’re just going to have to trust me when I say that you’ll need this one day, but today is not that day. So sweetheart, do your old man a favor and trust him. Okay?
Liz laughed softly to herself and shook her head. It was just like her dad to throw her a curveball.
But she trusted him, of course she trusted him. She had no reason not to trust him. Every single past experience with her dad had taught Liz that if she couldn’t trust her dad, she couldn’t trust anyone. So if he asked her to trust that there was a reason she wasn’t getting her present now, she would trust him and think nothing else of it.
Now, do your old dad one more favor and turn on Michael’s DVD player.
Love you squirt.
Dad
Liz dropped the paper onto the bed and flopped over on her side before she slid down off her brother’s bed and walked over to a long desk that sat against the wall, where Michael’s TV sat just off-center. It had a DVD player and a VCR sitting on top of it while an Xbox and Playstation sat nearby. Liz clicked on the TV and DVD player and walked backwards before her bottom hit the end of the bed. She shimmied up onto the bed just as her father’s face appeared onscreen.
He smiled at her but said nothing for a minute or so, just looking out from the screen. Liz found it comforting, his smile and the way he was looking at her through the screen, even though she knew it to be semi-illogical. He couldn’t see her, so he wasn’t really looking at her. But at the same time she thought that maybe he was looking at her, just not the way that was easy to explain. Maybe he was looking at her because he was picturing her there, with him, as if she always were. And the more Liz considered that, the more it made sense. If her dad was always with her, why couldn’t she always be with him?
I’ve been taking a trip down memory lane a lot lately, thinking mostly of memories that haven’t graced me in a long time. And I realized that I wanted to share a story with you. It’s a story I probably should have told you a long time ago, but I never seemed to find the right time.
When you were four we took all of you to a Giants game at Candlestick. They were playing the Dodgers and it was a Saturday afternoon game so the park was packed. Right around the third inning you kids got hungry so your mom took Michael and Alex to get sodas and I took you and Kyle to get popcorn and hot dogs.
I was standing there in front of the vendor and I had to take the food from him so I dropped your hand. I took the food from the vendor and when I looked back down at you, you were gone and the crowd was getting thick. I couldn’t see you. And I panicked.
Jeff laughed softly as he looked away and Liz could tell there was still some element of pain in this story for him, as if he was still trying to come to terms with the idea that he had been careless enough to take his eyes off her.
I ran back down to our seats and told your mom and she and I went off in different directions, searching for you. Every second that went by a knot formed in my stomach. I was imagining every single bad scenario under the sun and poor Kyle must have felt like his hand was going to fall off because I was holding onto it so hard. But there was no way I wanted to lose another one of my kids.
Then a page came over the intercom for us, telling us to go to security. So I picked Kyle up and I ran as fast as I could. And when I stepped in the office, the security guard was sitting at his desk and you were sitting on top of it, eating an ice cream cone, your little legs dangling off the side. I put Kyle down and rushed over to you and hugged you for…I don’t know how long.
When I let you go, you smiled this huge smile at me and said, ‘I got lost so I found a security guard and I told him so and he called you. I did exactly what you told me to do. Did I do a good job daddy?’ And every single knot in my stomach unfurled. Jeff brought up two closed fists then opened them quickly, palms out and fingers spread wide as he said the word ‘unfurled’.
Yes, squirt…you did a very…good job.
Jeff started to choke up and he looked away from the screen, stretching his face a little to ward off the oncoming tears, a tactic that never seemed to work. So because Jeff knew it wouldn’t work no matter how much he wanted it to, he turned his face back to the screen without wiping them away, obviously unashamed of his daughter seeing him cry.
Thank you squirt. I don’t think I say that enough to you. Thank you. Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for taking care of us when we needed it. Thank you for not being afraid. Thank you for being you. Thank you for bringing all of us joy, in so many ways, every day.
Thank you, Liz. Thank you, honey.
-:-:-:-
I think I said I was six, right? I lied...or I just got my information wrong. I was eight.
