Lost and Found (13 page)

So I'll wait and watch. Opportunities present themselves to those who are patient and attentive. And I smell an opportunity with Azul. I wouldn't do anything to hurt Jason. But if Azul's in trouble, and my gut says it is, then brokering a sale for them would be in their best interest, of course. And why not keep it in the family? It makes sense that Jenna's family by marriage would bail out her family of origin.

And for some reason, Brigitte wants Azul. I'd stake my life on it.

As long as it's legal, all's fair in business.

I think of the weekend ahead. A fortuitous invitation from Gerard and Jenna for Jason and I to join them at the Bouvier chateau, as they call it. "It's Napa people, not Nice." Whatever. The timing is perfect. If Gerard says anything to Jason about Azul being on my list of recommended acquirements, I'll be there to cover myself. For every good bluff, there needs to be an equally good cover—just in case.

A car changes lanes ahead of me and cuts me off. "What the—!" I switch lanes, pass him, and glare.

My heart pounds and my neck and shoulders ache. I'm accustomed to stress—it comes with the job, but this evening, it seems to have the upper hand. I pull the seat belt strap away from my chest and roll my shoulders. As I do, a memory smacks me. My dad at the wheel of our station wagon with his window rolled down and his head hanging out as he yelled at another driver who'd cut him off. As he swore, his spittle blew back, hitting me in the face. We careened down the highway, him swerving, as he blasted the guy in the next car. I'd slouched behind him in the backseat, terrified. Afraid we were going to crash. Afraid of what my father might do. Or of what the other driver might do to my father.

I shake my head. What's with all this angst? I'm nothing like him. The very thought disgusts me. But it's also a reality check. What's eating at me? Why can't I shake this feeling of doom? The thought that around the next corner it's all going to fall apart, everything I've worked so hard to construct.

Will I ever reach a point where I can rest? Will the demons that taunt me ever lay off? How much money will it take for that to happen?

How much money will it take to fill the emptiness?

Drive determines destiny.
At the rate I'm driving myself my destiny may be my demise.

I shudder.

I glance at the clock on the dash. 5:34 p.m. I'm supposed to meet Jason, who worked in the valley today, at the chateau at 6:30 p.m. I have plenty of time. "What's the rush, Andee? Ease up."

I flip my signal and maneuver to the slow lane. I turn on the radio and search for something in the easy listening genre rather than the talk radio I prefer. I loosen my grip on the wheel and stretch my fingers.

The music grates and the tension remains. I flip the radio off.

Security is what I'm after. Any moron could look at my childhood and understand why financial security is important to me. I don't need a shrink to figure that out. So why don't I feel secure?

I think, as I have a dozen times this week, about the author of the blog highlighted in
Urbanity
. I, like all the other suckers who read the blog, am hooked. I may not agree with the way this woman is handling her life—I'd boot the biddy who's treating her like dirt—but, even in the midst of it, she is sure. Secure. She believes God is for her. Not against her.

I know better.

I thrum my fingers on the steering wheel.

Whatever.

This weekend will be good. The way my mind is jack-rabbiting down senseless trails, it's obvious I need a break.

A little vacation.

I reach for the radio, turn it back on, and tune it back to KGO
Newstalk
but just as I get involved in the topic, my phone rings and cuts the radio. I click the phone button on the console. "Hello."

"Hi, hey I have a message for you that I thought might be important." Cassidy's voice reverberates through the interior of the car.

"Okay, who called?"

"Bill Durand. He left his cell number."

"Bill Durand? Really? What's his number?"

Cass repeats his number and I file it in my mind.

"One more thing, he asked that you call him when you have a few minutes alone."

"Got it. Thanks, Cass."

I hang up and smile. Instinct? I won't know for sure until I talk to him, but everything in me says there's only one reason Jason's dad would call me. He's in need of a little financial advice.

I flick the voice activation button on the console and speak Bill's number. He answers on the first ring.

"Bill Durand."

"Bill, it's Andee Bell."

"Andee, thanks for getting back to me. Sounds like you're on the road?"

"Yes, I'm meeting Jason in the valley for the weekend. Gerard and Jenna invited us to stay with them."

"Jason mentioned that. Listen, I hope this doesn't put you in an awkward spot, but I wondered if you'd have some time to meet and discuss a business matter. I could use some input."

"Sure, Bill, I'd be happy to meet. What works for you?"

"Well, Jason said he and Gerard have a few appointments tomorrow—looking at some wineries that Brigitte is interested in acquiring. Jason's always interested in seeing what other vintners are up to, so he's going along. Any chance you and I could grab a cup of coffee together while they're tied up?"

"I don't see why not. I'll tell Jenna I have a meeting."

"Great. Shouldn't take long."

We discuss a time and place to meet and then Bill hesitates. "Uh . . . like I said, I don't want to put you in an awkward spot, but it might be better, at this point, if neither Jason nor Jenna knows we're meeting. I'd like to get your input before—"

"No problem. Confidentiality is my policy. Has to be with what I do. I'll look forward to talking."

"Thanks, Andee. See you tomorrow."

I punch the phone button on the console and laugh. "Instinct? You better believe it!"

So much for vacationing.

Seasons form and mature you. Each is needed just as a year must have different seasons.

JEANNE GUYON

I LIE IN
bed trying not to stir, trying to let Gerard sleep. I turn my head on my pillow and through the tall west-facing windows I watch the sky turn from the ink of night to the blush of dawn. I long to greet the morning in the vineyard. I listen to Gerard's steady breathing and decide I can slip out of bed without waking him. I ease the covers off and inch my way to the edge of the bed. Once out, I find a fleece sweatshirt of Gerard's in the closet, pull it over my pajamas, and step into my shearling-lined boots. I brush my teeth and my hair, put my cell phone in my pocket, and make my way down to the kitchen for coffee.

I place my mug under the spigot of the built-in coffeemaker and press the coffee icon on the panel. With my steaming mug of brew in hand, I step out the back door, cross the drive, and step over the low rock wall that surrounds the vineyard. The fall morning is crisp and musky, the organic scent of earth and vines like a welcome embrace. I sit on the wall facing the vineyard and sip my coffee. The deep magentas, ambers, and russets of the leaves on the vines are a fiery display of the Master's creativity. Since childhood, the peace of late fall following the activity of the crush has been my favorite season to be amongst the vines.

I'm awed. Silenced. By the glory before me. The sun peeks over the mountains at the end of the valley, casting the light of a new day. I warm my hands on the mug and raise my gaze heavenward in an act of worship.

The valley takes me back to my childhood. It's here that I'm most at home.

I'm grateful for the time alone before Gerard, Jason, and Andee wake and the activity of the day begins. I think about Andee. Is Jason serious about his relationship with her? She's beautiful, but there's an edge to her. She isn't lacking in confidence, that's for sure. She is bold, in control, and . . . what? Something's nagged since spending the evening with her and Jason after they arrived last night. There's something under the surface that I can't put my finger on.

I struggled last night to find common ground with Andee. Maybe I'll get some time alone with Jason. I'd like to understand what he's drawn to in her.

I put thoughts of Andee aside, take the last swallow of my coffee, and then leave the mug sitting on the rock wall. I want to walk and spend some time with God amidst the beauty of His creation.

I choose a row and amble between the vines. I stop now and then to watch a rabbit shoot between the stalks or to watch as a vine seems to lose its reluctant hold on a fall leaf as it spirals to the ground. Though I'm alone, I'm aware of the Presence walking and watching with me. I smile at the thought and sense His delight.

I stop and look at the vines on my left. They are new vines, graphed this past spring. They won't bear fruit until next year. I think back to my days at Cal Poly in the school of horticulture and crop science. I graduated with a concentration in viticulture and winemaking, of course. Though I've never used the degree, the knowledge has served me well with both Gerard and Brigitte.

The process of graphing, attaching a new vine, even a new grape variety, to an old stock always fascinated me. I rub a finger along the crown where the new vine was attached and a thought breezes through my mind.
I am the vine; you are the branches.
I think back to what I know of vines and branches. It is the vine or the stalk that nourishes the branches. I look at the visual before me and sense the Spirit's whisper.

There's more . . .

I tip my head.
What do You want me to see?

I wander further down the row and see vine after vine after vine. I lift my head and look around me—rows of grapes scale the earth for as far as I can see. I think of the passage from John and Jesus' metaphor of vine and branches. It was, I remember, one of my mother's favorite parts of Scripture. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. I open the Bible app and scroll to the book of John, searching for the passage. I read words I've read a hundred times before.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. If anyone does not remain in me, he is like a branch that is thrown away and withers; such branches are picked up, thrown into the fire and burned."

I look back at the row of vines with the new branches graphed to them and think of the process of graphing. How the crown of the stalk is cut to expose the heart of the vine. Likewise, the new branch is cut, also exposing its heart. The two hearts are placed together and the nourishment from the stalk, or the vine, feeds the branch.

None of this is new information to me, but for the first time, I see it with eyes of understanding. And understanding turns to longing . . . to be graphed to Jesus—for our hearts to beat in unison. To remain so close to Him that I'm nourished and strengthened daily. "Oh, how I need Your strength."

I drop my phone back into my pocket and turn to walk back to the house, but as I go I have the sense that my business in the vineyard isn't finished. That God has something more He wants me to see. I stop again and look around. I wait. Then I reach for my phone again and return to the passage in John. This time I read from the beginning:

I am the true vine and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. You are already clean because of the word I have spoken to you. Remain in me, and I will remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me.

I still as a sense of knowing settles in my soul.

Jenna, a season of pruning is at hand. Remain in Me.

As clarity dawns, I shudder. What will God cut from my life? Then ashamed, I'm reminded that pruning brings health and fruit. I turn in a slow circle and look again at the thousands of acres stretched before me—acres of healthy, fruit-bearing vines. And fear is replaced with desire. "Yes, Lord. Cut away the dead branches and prune any that You know will bear fruit for Your glory."

As I walk back to the house and take in, again, the vibrant fall colors, I know it's nearing the end of a season. Soon, all will seem barren and stripped. The branches will be cut and pruned.

A cold, gray season of dormancy lies just ahead.

I shiver and pull the fleece close.

I stop at the wall, pick up my mug, and head back to the house without a backwards glance.

When I walk in the back door, Jason is standing at the coffeemaker as coffee streams into his mug. "Hey, you're up early."

"Yeah, it's in the genes. Out for a walk?"

I walk to the sink and rinse my mug. "Just wandering through the vineyard. It's a beautiful morning."

Jason looks past me out the window above the sink. "Looks like it."

"I'm glad you and Andee joined us. I've wanted to get to know her."

He chuckles. "Yeah? So what do you think?"