Christmas in Wine Country (24 page)

Making their way to something called the barrel room, Gram took Jake’s arm and Lila strolled a pace or two behind, smiling at their constant chatter. Gram’s knowledge gleaned from years of tending window-box petunias, flower-pot herbs and a small patch of vegetable garden featuring Heirloom tomatoes and zucchini squash was on full display. She and Jake commiserated over the blight of slugs and shared secrets such as the benefits of egg shells and coffee grinds in soil. A long, low wooden fence ran to the left with patches covered in ivy. Lila trailed her open palm along the top enjoying the tickle of the leaves, aware that her opinion of Jake was rising in direct proportion to how nice he was being to her Gram.

Pointing to a rooftop visible through a grove of oaks, Jake drew their attention to the east. “Behind that shed is where the orchards begin. Apples, cherries, plums. Some of the pear trees are over 80 years old.”

“Has your family been here that long?” Gram asked.

“Just over thirty years.” Jake explained that his grandfather had bought it in 1980, just as wine country was starting to become Wine Country. “He saw what was starting to happen up in Napa and wanted in.”

“Your grandfather?” Gram asked. “What was he like?” Gram always liked the personal touches to a story.

“I never really knew him. He died when I was young.”

“It must have been wonderful growing up here, surrounded by all this. You must have been making wine before you could walk.”

Lila cleared her throat, uncomfortable yet not sure how best to correct Gram’s assumptions.

“Actually, I learned winemaking over in Europe. I spent about eight years in France and Italy as an apprentice winemaker.”

“That’s a long way off from your family,” Gram continued. “I’m sure they missed you. Couldn’t you have done that here?”

Coughing now, Lila took Gram’s arm. “Yeah, I think it’s…you know…” Lila launched words like pebbles trying to stop the stream of conversation.

“You’re right. I could have done it here.” Jake wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and squinted at the ground.

“Sometimes you have to get away to be yourself,” Gram observed, patting Jake on the back. “I know Lila had to.” 

Startled by the observation, Lila looked at her Gram, then up at Jake who also wore a curious expression.

“And it was probably good for you to get away where no one knew you,” Gram continued. “Make a fresh start. Then you’re freed up when you finally do head back
home. You’ve become your own person.” Pausing as they reached a low-lying structure, Gram asked with excitement, “Oh, is this the barrel room?”

“Um, yeah,” Jake answered, opening the door and taking Gram’s arm to help her over the entryway. As Lila passed through, he leaned over and whispered, “Does she do that a lot? Figure out exactly what’s going on with you?”

“She’s pretty good,” Lila smiled, overcome for a moment with gratitude for her Gram. “The greatest thing is, even though she sees right through you, she still loves you.”

“That,” Jake paused, “is really something.”

“Now look at this,” Gram said, hand tracing along the dark metal racks. “The barrels are packed so closely yet none of them touch.” Jake explained that they’d recently switched over to this racking system, developed in France, which enabled them to clean and rotate the barrels in place. “It saves labor, so my dad went for it.”

Gram peppered Jake with questions and Lila continued to learn a lot. Apparently a varietal—Endicott Vineyards made six—was a wine made principally from one grape and named after that grape, like Cabernet Sauvignon or Chardonnay. They also made 14 other kinds of wines featuring a blend of grapes, like rose or Chablis. Jake was particularly excited about a new organic wine they were now featuring, a
Sauvignon
Blanc.

Heading outside once again, Jake began leading them back to the main building of the estate. Gram inquired, “Do you live here?”

“No, no. My father. Some of his…” Jake paused, seeming to search for the right word and finally settling on, “friends.” Pointing west toward an oak grove, he added, “My brother, Oliver, his wife and their daughter live down that way.”

“Emma?” Lila asked, picturing her chubby pink cheeks and fat blond curls from storytime.

“Cat Lady’s biggest fan,” Jake confirmed.

“I have so many fans.” Lila gave her hair a vain, movie-star fluff. 

“Did you get to see storytime yesterday?” Jake asked Gram.

“Oh, I did. So much fun.”

“Lila’s pretty great.”

“Isn’t she though? I remember when she used to line up all her stuffed animals and she’d have a different voice for each one of them.”

“OK,” Lila intervened, sensing impending stories of her childhood nerdliness.

“Each one had their own birthday,” Gram rolled on. “And Lila would dress them all up.”

“I was an only child,” Lila murmured to Jake.

“I remember Senorita Rosita Mousilou. Oh, the hats Lila made for her out of walnut shells!”

“And you were how old when you did this?” Jake asked Lila. “14, 15?”

“College. I brought them to my dorm room and lined them all up.”

“Nice.”

Rounding a curve in the path, an opening in the trees revealed the grand, Tuscan-style estate. If music accompanied their visit, it would have swelled to a crescendo.

“My goodness!” Gram exclaimed. “Is your father here today, Jake? It would be so nice to meet him and tell him how much we admire this vineyard.”

“Oh no,” Jake shook his head. “Why would he waste time here when he could be out promoting it instead?”

“Well, I would imagine there’d be a lot of reasons to spend time at the vineyard,” Gram began.

“I think Jake means that his father isn’t here that often,” Lila translated gently, well accustomed to her Gram’s imperviousness to irony.

“Yup, sorry, that’s what I meant,” Jake continued. “There’s a lot of business in the wine business—conventions, investor’s meetings, investigating new growth opportunities. I’m on the road most of the time, too.” Jake explained that the Endicott family farmlands covered nearly 200 acres. His father was in the process of purchasing and planting another 25 making it the largest winery in the area, though still much smaller than the big ones in Napa. “Tomorrow,” he continued as if unable to believe what he was saying, “I’m down in LA meeting with some people about product placement in a new Jerry Bruckheimer movie.”

“Didn’t he do Pirates of the Caribbean?” Lila asked.

“Yeah.” 

“I’m trying to picture Captain Jack Sparrow sipping chardonnay.”

             
“I do love a nice, cold glass of chardonnay,” Gram agreed. “Along with some cheddar cheese and Wheat Thins.”

             
“And don’t forget grapes,” Lila added, picturing the oval tray Gram used to serve her fancy spread of wine, cheese, crackers and grapes. She usually brought it out for book club, whereas the ladies from the Rotary Club typically got homemade muffins and tea.

             
“Then let’s head to the tasting room,” Jake declared. “And I’ll see if I can scare up some Wheat Thins.”

             
Lila followed, glad he wasn’t scoffing with disdain at Gram’s pedestrian tastes. Though years of living in the gourmet Bay Area had turned Lila into one of those people who preferred stone-ground, hand-made crisps with cold-pressed olive oil and a hint of rosemary, she’d stick a fork in anyone who made her Gram feel less than.

Stopping to point out low-lying black plastic tubing at the base of a row of grape vines, Jake explained how they were in the process of switching over the vineyard to drip irrigation. Lila wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone’s eyes light up so much while discussing the fight against topsoil depletion and groundwater contamination. But these topics undeniably transformed Jake Endicott who, truth be told, could at times come off rather stiff and reserved.

She felt it, too, the effect of the place. It reminded her of an English class she’d taken in college: The Pastoral Idyll. They’d read Virgil’s Eclogues about shepherdesses and D.H. Lawrence with his fecund farm scenes and, her personal favorite, The Wind in the Willows with Frog causing all sorts of trouble along the bucolic riverbank. As butterflies flitted in the warmth of the midday sun, Lila could feel herself unwinding into it all.

Standing and dusting off his pants, Jake seemed to put the breaks on his own enthusiasm. “But I know it takes a lot of up-front investment to go green. And there’s some risk involved. You can’t grow as fast, produce as much, as reliably. In the short term, at least.” Lila remembered Big Bob’s disdain for what he called Jake’s arts and crafts project with the bluebirds. “So, I’m just trying to look for the changes, or the investments that can give us some quick returns. Like we’re now getting 30% of our energy from solar power.”

             
“I’ve heard that’s a good way to save on heating bills,” Gram said.

             
“Exactly.”

             
Arriving at the front courtyard, Jake led them underneath a vine-covered trellis and in a side door to the tasting room. Though sunlight flooded through a row of windows, the temperature remained cool from the stone walls. A few people sat on stools at the long, wooden bar. Up on the wall hung a large, framed painting of a figure relaxing indolently along a chaise lounge. Draped in nothing but a sheet, leaves in his hair, basket of fruit by his lap, the renaissance-era figure looked Lila right in the eye. Eyebrow lifted, left arm extended, he offered her a large glass of red wine.

“That’s Bacchus,” Jake explained, resting his hand on the small of Lila’s back for a moment. “He’d like you to have a drink with him.”

Lila tilted her head, meeting Bacchus’ gaze. There was something irresistible in his eyes.

“It’s a Caravaggio print. He painted it in 1597.”

“I think Bacchus is my new mascot,” Lila declared.

“Then you’re in the right place.” Jake guided her to the table where a staff member had set up three glasses of white wine.

After Jake explained it was a flight—my second this week, Gram laughed—they began tasting. In a word: yum. Lila had neither the vocabulary of a connoisseur nor the palate of a critic, but she knew yum when she tasted it. Snacking on crackers and cheese, as per Gram’s request, Jake talked them through what they were enjoying.

“You’ve ruined me!” Lila declared, finishing the third glass of white.

“Really?” Jake asked.

“How am I going to go back to the cheap stuff now that I know how good this tastes?”

“Jake.” A twentysomething guy in a button-down shirt entered the tasting room at a brisk pace. “There you are. You have a call.”

Rising, Jake nodded in assent. A waiter removed their empty glasses, replacing them with three more. “You enjoy these reds. I’ll be back when I can.”

Lila and Gram passed another half an hour sipping and relaxing under Bacchus’ amused and seductive watch. Lila’s attempt to pay was first thwarted by Gram adamantly insisting that she was taking care of it, only to then have a staff member inform them that it was on the house.

Back in the restroom, Lila and Gram stood next to each other washing their hands. Surrounded by white marble and fresh lilac bouquets, Gram caught Lila’s eye in the mirror and gave her a look. When a talkative 74-year-old summed everything up in just one glance, Lila knew exactly what it meant: That. Is. Some. Guy. What Lila didn’t know was how she felt. Confused would have to be the most accurate though inexact assessment. She couldn’t begin to imagine how to take all of the pieces she’d seen of Jake—disapproving in a dinner jacket or smiling with Vanessa in a publicity shot, kneeling enthusiastically in the dirt or gallantly taking her Gram’s arm—and fit them into a complete picture.

Making their way out toward the courtyard, they stood by the fountain and wondered where they could find Jake to say goodbye. With the wine and the sun warming her inside and out, Lila didn’t mind if it took a while. The water burbled. Birds chirped. In her light pink sundress, Lila arched her back, closed her eyes, and sighed with pleasure.

Opening her eyes, Lila saw Jake walking toward them, his intense gaze fixed on her. Suddenly, Gram announced that she needed to duck back in for a minute to talk to that lovely woman in the tasting room.

Alone and growing self-conscious under Jake’s scrutiny, Lila fidgeted with the strap of her sundress and looked down at her sneakers. Who wore sneakers with a dress? “I must look stupid, wearing these,” she observed.

Jake arrived at her side. “I wasn’t thinking you look stupid.”

They stood together, looking at the fountain. Jake’s elbow brushed hers, her stomach flipped and she swore she was back in 7
th
grade.

“It was fun to show you around.” Hand up, Jake messed with the back of his hair as he looked into the water.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” Lila insisted. 

“I had a good time.”

“Still…” Lila traced her sneaker along the edge of a particularly large cobblestone in the courtyard. Looking up, she blurted out, “Why were you so nice?”
             
“What?” Jake looked down, startled.