Christmas in Wine Country (23 page)

“Well,” Gram returned to her praise, unperturbed by Lila’s protest. “I’m just glad I can picture you here now, dear, and I’m very proud of you.” Looking over at Lila once more, she added, “Your mother’s proud of you too, you know.”

Lila exhaled, not wanting to disagree with her Gram, but she knew her mother’s dreams for her had not entailed moving to a small town and working as a clerk in a bookstore. “At least she can stop worrying about me having a baby too young,” Lila said. “I’m 28 now.”

Gram chuckled, “Yes, she drilled that lesson into you, didn’t she?” It had practically been her bedtime story: and then the princess met the handsome prince but they waited to get married and have children until she’d established her career. “Your mother loves you very much, Lila,” Gram continued. “She just has a different way of showing it.”

“I know, Gram,” Lila replied, with honesty. “She’s never been big on emotional displays.” An email, a card, a check to help with her Visa bill—these were her mother’s comfort zones and Lila had grown to appreciate them. During the drama of her teenage years she’d wished they’d been more like the mother and daughter pals on
Gilmore Girls
, but that had subsided into what was now a comfortable—if distant—relationship.

Looking up at the blue sky, Gram announced, “We’re supposed to have nice weather all week.” She was more informed about Redwood Cove’s forecast than Lila. “Perfect for seeing that vineyard of yours tomorrow.” Gram licked her ice cream cone and swung her feet in excited anticipation like a young girl.

Lila licked her cone too, though her ankles remained firmly crossed one over the other. Did Jake’s invitation to swing on by still stand despite the abrupt end to their conversation? Were it anyone other than her beloved Gram, she might have tried to steer them away from the visit. But Gram wanted to go and what Gram wanted that was within Lila’s power to procure, Gram got.

*
             
*
             
*
             

In the passenger seat of Lila’s Honda, Gram tied a jaunty scarf around her neck, pale cornflower blue to match her eyes. She kept the scarf in her purse for occasions such as this. Apparently visiting vineyards required some flare.

Lila pulled into Endicott Vineyard’s main parking lot, the one she’d overlooked when she’d yelled at Jake over the safety hazard of the cobblestone. The perfectly smoothly paved walkway led directly from the parking lot past the Great Room where ghosts of the infamous holiday party surely still pawed about singing “Hungry Like the Wolf”.

Walking toward the main building, they kept a slow pace as Gram enjoyed the fragrant, flowering gardens and the mid-morning sunshine. Lila nervously fingered her cell phone in her straw bag, wishing she’d had Jake’s cell number so she could have called to confirm. Driving up the long, winding approach to the estate and now trespassing along the grounds, they hadn’t seen another person. Across from the courtyard’s grand fountain, stairs led to two gigantic, wooden doors that looked as if they weighed 50 lbs a piece. They remained firmly closed.

Lila’s stomach ached and she wished they’d gone somewhere, anywhere else that day. Jake surely hadn’t really meant the invitation. It was the kind of thing one casually said—‘you should stop by’—without actually thinking it would ever happen.

They’d be in and out, Lila decided with resolve, checking her watch and starting up the steps. Gram approached a giant urn filled with flowers and took a deep breath, declaring “Mmm, I never want to leave.”

Lila’s knock went unanswered. It was, after all, 10:30 on a Tuesday morning, not exactly happy hour. She contemplated suggesting heading back to the car since there obviously wasn’t anyone there. 

“Now I wonder what these are?” Gram murmured, heading over to a flowering tree at the entryway. Taking a blossom into her hand, she drew another deep breath.

Lila bit her nails and realized that with her Gram, there would be no quick in-and-out. Take time to enjoy life, she liked to say. She wanted to explore. And when they came across someone at the vineyard, whether it was Jake or not, she would want to chat.

Picking at her pale pink spaghetti-strap sundress and wondering why, in God’s name, she hadn’t just worn sensible pants and a t-shirt, Lila saw Jake emerge around the corner of the building. While Lila fidgeted nervously, Gram waved him over. “We’re here for a tour!” she announced happily.

Jake broke into a smile. “Hey! Glad you came!” As he walked toward them he rolled up the sleeves of his faded blue chambray shirt. “I wasn’t sure you were going to
make it,” he added, looking at Lila, briefly. “You must be Lila’s Gram.” Over a foot taller, he bent down to offer his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you’re Jake,” Gram exclaimed, taking his hand in both of hers and beaming up at him. “I am so delighted to be here. What a place you have.”

“Oh, thanks. You haven’t seen anything yet,” he chuckled. “But I’m going to take care of that.” Lila met his smile with a small one of her own and wondered who this relaxed, happy, charming man was and what he had done with the scowling Mr. Endicott? “I see you have your walking shoes on,” he noted approvingly, looking at Gram’s spotlessly white
Reeboks
, bought special for the trip. Jake wore frayed khakis and old running sneakers. Lila was glad she’d forgone the strappy silver sandals she’d worn nearly every day since she’d bought them—a childhood habit she’d yet to outgrow, becoming adoringly attached to sparkly new things—in favor of white Keds.

“Come on,” Gram’s eyes sparkled as she took Jake’s arm. “We’ll see if Lila can keep up.”

Adopting a slow, ambling pace, the same Lila recalled from when she first saw him at the holiday party, Jake led them behind the main estate and past a smaller stone building. She heard Gram telling Jake about her dogs back home and how much they would enjoy running around the vineyard. Lila followed along a path canopied by stately oaks beneath a cloudless blue sky. The first week of September brought some of the warmest weather that region saw all year. Relaxing into the eighty-degree day, she heard her Gram remarking on the lack of humidity and mosquitoes.

“It’s a Mediterranean climate here,” Jake explained as they began a short climb. “We’re right by the coast, but the hills buffer us from the fog. It’s perfect for growing grapes.” They reached a clearing with a semi-circle of benches. “Let’s sit here for a minute,” Jake said while Gram settled onto a bench and caught her breath.

Before them, rows upon rows of vines nestled within rolling hills dotted with farm houses. No flashing neon signs, no beeping angry car horns, it almost looked from another time. A hawk glided by effortlessly on a gust of wind. Lila could detect the faint hum of bees and breathed deeply, sensing she’d be just fine if the tour began and ended in this spot—provided they were able to rustle up a bottle of the vineyard’s wine. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” Lila said, realizing that was pretty much all she’d managed to say the last time she was there with the bluebird houses. She’d have to work on her vocabulary. “Thanks so much for offering to show us around,” she added, taking a seat next to her Gram.  

“I was trying to think what I most wanted to show you guys this morning,” Jake said, remaining standing and pacing a bit. “We’ll go see the press and the tasting room. And I can show you the vines. But I was trying to think of what you don’t get to see on most tours.”

“Oh, we’re easy,” Lila reassured him. “I don’t think either of us has ever toured a vineyard before.”

“No?” He looked at them. Gram smiled and shook her head no in confirmation. “Then I have the honor of introducing you to the time-honored tradition of winemaking.”

“Oh my!” exclaimed Gram, giggling.

“We should start with the dirt.” 

“The dirt?” Lila asked as Jake knelt down.

“It’s all about dirt, really.” Apparently, Jake kept a small trowel in his back pocket for such moments. Digging into the soil, he got past the top layer and into the rich, dark, crumbly soil. Sectioning out a wedge as if he were serving cake, he held it up so Gram and Lila could take a look. “See this?”

“Why, that looks lovely,” Gram said convincingly.

Jake poured the dirt into his hand and held it. “It’s hard to talk about it without sounding insane. Or pretentious. But…” Looking up, he asked, “You know how when people taste wine they start with the smell? And talk about hints of honey or grapefruit, or how the wine has personality or complexity?”

“I guess,” Lila said. “I haven’t done much wine tasting.” Phillip had sometimes ordered wine when they were out, but then he would always complain about it, declaring it flat and uninteresting or lacking balance. Lila had generally ordered a gin and tonic around him lest she be quizzed on the level of tannin-related dryness.

“Not much wine tasting?” Jake asked. “What have you been doing with your time?”

“Well,” Gram began gently, “I do think Lila’s been very busy, especially when she lived in the city—”

“I’m sorry,” Jake said. “I was just kidding. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

“Oh, I can never tell when Lila’s kidding either,” Gram agreed happily. Lila laughed and took her hand.  

“Well, we will make it over to the tasting room, I promise. And I don’t want to bore you with this. It probably all sounds like complete BS, those subtle differences in wines.” Jake looked down for a moment. “But I think it’s so cool how the soil and the sun and the water right here”—he pointed to the earth at his feet—“can make a completely different grape than over there”—he pointed at a distant hill. “Making wine is this interesting balance. And there’s definitely some science to it. There’s actually mathematical models now where you can enter all the inputs, the variables and it’ll predict pretty well the rating your wine will get. It’s incredible.”

“I’ve heard UC Davis has a good program for studying…” Lila paused, sure she’d heard it mentioned but not remembering exactly what it was called, viticulture, perhaps? “all that,” she decided upon.

“Yeah, they do. Our head winemaker went there. But there’s this other side to it, too,” Jake continued, bright and excited as a kid who has his turn at show-and-tell. “The art of it. The intangible, the feel and, ultimately, the taste. Even wine made from the same place, with the same vines, harvested at the same time, can turn out radically different year to year. It never comes out exactly as you might expect. But sometimes, if you’re lucky, it comes out as you hope.”

“You’re making me want a glass of wine,” Gram declared.

“Me too,” Lila agreed happily.

Standing and brushing dirt from his pants, Jake apologized, “I’m sorry, I’m making you sit here and listen to me talk.”

“No,” Lila protested, “It’s really interesting.” At least half if not more of her attentions were devoted to enjoying how buoyant and eager Jake looked as he spoke.

“Let me show you the press.” Extending his hand to Gram, he helped her up, more out of gallantry than necessity.

As they made their way out of the clearing, Lila remarked, “I remember you said you’re not good at marketing. But you’ve got us both pretty fired up about Endicott wines. And we haven’t even tasted them yet.”

Jake laughed. “It’s easy when I’m here. Who wouldn’t get excited talking about all this.” He gestured around at the lush farmland. “We’re at the end of the harvest here and there’s so much to show you.”

“But it’s different in Vegas?” Lila asked, remembering his self-deprecating comments at Ted’s.

“You mean getting decked out in a suit and schmoozing at a trendy bar with top hotel and restaurant execs so our wine reps can increase the volume of lots in their account?”

“I’m not even sure what you just said,” Lila shook her head.

“That’s the third part in winemaking. There’s the science. The art. And the business.” He marked three points in the air as he spoke. “I don’t mean to complain. I know it need to be done. Business just isn’t the part that comes easy to me. But I’m working on it.” 

Jake held open the door of the stone cottage and they entered into the cool, dark interior. It took Lila a moment to adjust her eyesight. The room felt tranquil and secret, the way old buildings should. In California where 10-year-old construction meant out-of-date, it was a rare find. For an East Coaster raised on field trips to Plymouth Plantation and services at a civil war era church, it felt just right.

“I love it in here,” Lila exclaimed, giving a slow twirl as she gazed up at the high ceiling.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Jake agreed, grinning at Lila as if watching her open a present.

“Now this looks interesting.” Gram approached a large, old-fashioned wooden contraption in the middle of the room stretching from ceiling to floor. The lower half was comprised of wooden slats in what looked like a gigantic, round picnic basket. As Jake shared some of the history of the press room, including the old basket press at the center, still used occasionally for collector’s vintages, Lila sat for a moment on one of the benches at the side.

Relaxing into the enjoyment of day, Lila decided to stop worrying about everything. Why had he invited them? Why was he being so nice? What if he was luring her into an elaborate practical joke culminating in an even more humiliating YouTube
video? She had no answers but, what the heck, it was a sunny day, the vineyard was undeniably one of the more gorgeous spots she’d ever seen in her life, and her Gram was having a ball. It was time to take things at face value.