The Truth is in the Wine (11 page)

“I felt sorry for myself and nothing was going to get me out of that mode until I found a job. I need to provide for my family.”

“But Paul, it's not like we were going to lose our house. We saved well enough to survive for a while. And you should have known that providing for your family means more than money. You weren't the only one going through something. I needed you to be there for me, and you weren't. You were in your own world.

“Our daughter needed you to attend her events and really be more a part of her last year of high school. You were at her graduation and you were great. But leading up to that, you were not pleasant to be around.”

Paul lifted his wife's hand toward his face, leaned over and kissed it.

“You haven't kissed my hand in more than a year,” Ginger
said. “It might sound crazy to you, but you kissed my hand at the end of our first date. I was expecting a kiss—we had such a nice time—at least on the cheek. But at my door you told me you were glad we met, reached down and pulled up my hand and gently kissed it.

“And that was so damn erotic and sexy and gentlemanly. I was turned on. From there, every so often you would kiss my hand when I was upset or when you wanted sex or when you were just being nice. I have missed that.”

Paul wanted to tell his wife at that moment about the lottery money, that their lives had changed forever, that they could do whatever they wanted without regard for finances. But he didn't. He listened to the doubts she expressed and decided to hold on to his secret a little while longer, when Ginger seemed all in and doubt-free.

Instead, he said, “I don't know about you, but I'm starting over. I'm rebuilding. I'm committed to making the effort to regain your trust and full commitment to the marriage. I understand your feelings, but I'm going to do what I need to do, what I'm supposed to do, to make things right.”

“Well, that sounds good to me, Paul,” Ginger said. “I guess we'll just have to see.”

Paul pulled her closer to him and she rested her head on his chest. “We have about an hour, maybe ninety minutes before dinner. Let's get a quick nap and have a great Thanksgiving dinner,” he said.

“I wonder how our mothers are getting along,” Ginger said.

“I wonder, too,” Paul said.

The mothers spent their time before Thanksgiving dinner enhancing their buzz with glass after glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“I needed this time away more than those kids of ours needed it,” Madeline said. “They have their neat little lives, daughter off to college. And here we are. I'm a widow and you're divorced.”

“But we can't let that keep us down,” Brenda said. “I had my moments of depression, even though I was the one who wanted a divorce. But I got over it.”

“How?” Madeline wanted to know. “How did you do it because it's been almost ten months since my husband died. And I feel strange even thinking about another man.”

“You gotta believe you don't need another man to get on with your life,” Brenda said. “I said you gotta believe that shit—but you don't have to deny yourself, either.”

The women laughed and Madeline said, “I
know
that's right.”

“Girl, I got on the Internet and joined a dating service and I have met two really nice men,” Brenda said. “Please don't tell Paul this. He thinks he's my protector. He bought me the computer and told me to not even think about those dating sites because—how did he put it?—they attract ‘the man who is not interested in nothing but having sex. They figure that you are desperate to be on a dating site, then you will be easy to get in
bed. I'm not trying to hear about you being stalked—or worse—by someone you met online,' he said.

“I let him live his life, you know? He's got to let me live mine. You can believe his father is living his.”

“Well, truth be told,” Madeline said, “I did meet someone. He was visiting my church. Retired military. He lives in San Diego. Retired there. Said he would be in Sacramento visiting his cousin or some relative while we are here. So I might have to sneak away for a day to see him. I like him. Charming. Smart. We've had dinner and breakfast together.”

“On the same date?” Brenda asked.

Madeline looked embarrassed. “What can I say?” she answered.

“Listen at you,” Brenda said. “You should tell him to bring a friend and we can double date. Shoot, I ain't above no blind date.”

“You know what? That's a good idea,” Madeline said. “Where's my phone? I don't know how to text that well; Ginger showed me how. But that's the way the young folks do it. They send a text. I'm not trying to be that young, but I don't want to seem that old, either.”

The combination of the wine impacting her coordination and the touch screen to her iPhone made it an adventure for her to complete the text. “Shoot, I guess we can have another glass of wine while you figure that whole thing out,” Brenda said.

After nearly five minutes, she was done. “Damn, I'm exhausted,” Madeline said. “Next time, I'm just calling. Trying to act young is too exhausting for me. And I only typed three sentences.”

“I ain't that hip myself, but I know you have to abbreviate,” Brenda said. “I'm glad you at least tried. You're so prim and proper.”

“I might be prim and proper,” Madeline said. “But I can get down and dirty when I need to. But ladies rarely go there.”

“You trying to say something about me?” Brenda asked, smiling.

“Of course, not,” Madeline said.

Before Brenda could reply, she looked up to see Paul and Ginger approaching. She looked at her watch. It was Thanksgiving dinnertime.

“I can't believe you are down here before us,” Ginger said.

“Honey, they have been here since we got here,” Paul said.

The mothers looked at Paul in a strange way.

“That's right, isn't it?” he asked. “I saw you all when I came down here to get some wineglasses. That was almost two hours ago.”

“Mother, you have been drinking wine all that time?” Ginger asked.

“Not all that time,” Madeline answered. “But most of it.”

And she and Brenda burst out laughing, loudly. Ginger and Paul looked at each other. They were in for an interesting evening.

“I thought you wanted to shower and change clothes, Mother,” Ginger said.

“I decided to sit here with Brenda and enjoy life instead,” her mom said. “I'll do that later. And I know one thing: I'm hungry. Wine does three things for me: makes me hungry, makes me feel good, and makes me want to wee-wee.”

“That's too much information, Maddy,” Brenda said. “Yes, that's my new nickname for you. Maddy. Madeline has too many syllables.”

“Oh, boy,” Paul said. “They are both tipsy as hell.”

“Vino, it's OK,” Brenda said as she pulled herself from her seat. “We're fine. You know what, son? This was a great idea. I am so glad to be here. And you're right: Maddy isn't the bitch I thought she was.”

“OK, OK,” Paul said to his mother. “Maybe you should have some water.”

“We're going to the bathroom; come on, Maddy,” Brenda said. “Get us a table for dinner, Paul. We'll be right back.”

The moms composed themselves and walked arm-in-arm to the restroom.

Ginger turned to Paul. “You called my mother a bitch?”

“What? No,” Paul said. “Come on, now. I love your mother, even if she has issues with me. And why would I say something like that? My mom didn't even say that. She said she didn't believe she could get along with your mother. And I told her your mom wasn't as bad as she thought.”

“That's not the same as saying you love her, Paul,” Ginger said.

“It ain't calling her a bitch, either,” he said. “Hold up. Are you trying to start a fight? After what we just did and what we just shared? I told you neither of us called your mom a bitch. My mom obviously is feeling the wine. So whatever comes out of her mouth is suspect.”

“Or the truth,” Ginger said. “You know what they say: A drunk person speaks a sober man's thoughts.”

“Yeah, well, I'm focusing on the good thing and that's that they are getting along,” Paul said. “I hoped for this but didn't expect it.”

“Well, that's true,” Ginger said. “I guess we should ride this wave as long as we can.”

“That's right because even the biggest wave reaches shore and dies at some point,” Paul said.

“Let's get some wine and drink to them being BFFs for now,” Ginger said.

They went to the reception area and were seated near a fireplace. He held the chair for Ginger and placed her cloth napkin in her lap.

“Look who's suddenly Mr. Chivalry now,” she joked. “I guess good sex brings out all kinds of stuff.”

“Especially good sex after not having any for about a year,” Paul said.

“Excuse me, but we had sex about two months ago and two months before that,” Ginger asserted.

“That's a pretty sad timeline. But it wasn't anything like what just happened,” Paul said. “We had sex then. Just now, we had
sex
and we made love at the same time. Know what I'm saying?”

Ginger blushed.

Their parents arrived at that table about that time. They had killed a bottle and a half by themselves and it was obvious. They were as giddy as schoolgirls, laughing and joking as if they were life-long pals.

Ginger and Paul were amazed.

Everyone ordered the holiday dinner of turkey, dressing, yams and greens and enjoyed it to the hilt, all the while engaging in lighthearted conversation that made it feel like a family meal.

Madeline and Brenda passed on wine with their meals, but they allowed Paul to order a bottle as a nightcap, Shiraz, and when all was poured in the glasses, he offered a toast.

“This is what family is about—enjoying each other and loving life. I've always wanted this for us, so if feels good to finally have it.”

They tapped glasses and, for Paul, he felt on top of his world. He was healthy, his wife seemed to be coming around and he was a millionaire. He felt the urge to tell the ladies of his luck, but thought better of it.
Not yet,
he said to himself.

“Look at you two,” Brenda said, staring at her son and Ginger. “Y'all look like you just had sex.”

Paul practically choked on his wine.

“You know what? You're right,” Madeline chimed in. “Look at you, Ginger. I noticed it when you first came down, but I let it go. You all been up there doing the do.”

“Mother,” Ginger said. “I don't believe you. Doing the do?”

“Yes, but am I wrong?” Madeline asked.

“If you were right or wrong, I wouldn't answer,” Ginger said. “I can't believe you would even ask me something like that.” Brenda said. “Paul's just a smiling. I recognize the look. He ain't said a word.”

“ 'Cause he doesn't have a thing to say about that,” Paul said. “This is a case when too good much wine goes wrong.”

“Can we get back to the meal?” Ginger said.

“Why isn't Helena with us?” Madeline asked. “It would be perfect if she was here, too.”

“I know,” Brenda said. “I don't get to see my granddaughter enough as it is.”

“Who's fault, is that, Ma?” Paul said. “Helena wanted to go to her roommate's home and spend the holiday there. She's loving her college experience and sometimes that's a part of it. She'll be home for Christmas.

“And this is a grown people trip. Would you be drinking as much wine as you have if she were here?”

“Yes, I would, because I'm grown and can do whatever I want to do,” Brenda said. “And the reason I say she should be here is because I remember what it was like for me when I went to my roommate's hometown for a weekend in college.”

“Well,” Ginger said, “Miss Wall, we spoke to the young lady's parents and they are aware that they are teenagers who are young and can get wild. I'm not stupid: Helena isn't an angel, at least not around us.

“I spoke to her earlier and she said she is fine and enjoying herself. It's a parent's nature to worry. But I'm not going to drive myself crazy with it by making sure she's with us all the time. She needs her freedom to build responsibility.”

“Yes, but this is family time and she should be with her family,” Madeline said.

Ginger resisted the urge to snap at her mom, and instead reached for the wine. “Well, in reality, it was our decision, Mother,” she said.

“I've never seen you sip so much wine,” Paul quickly added, attempting to advance the conversation.

“I never
needed
to sip so much wine,” Ginger said.

Paul smiled, but no one else did. He looked at his mother and the look on her face was not a good one.

“Ma, what's wrong?” he asked.

“I don't feel good,” she said. “Too much wine.”

“I don't feel good, either,” Madeline said.

“Mother, what's wrong?” Ginger asked.

“My head. My stomach,” she answered.

“What kind of wine were you drinking?” Paul said. “Both of you not feeling good? This is crazy.”

“I'm feeling sick,” Brenda said. She pushed away from table and placed both her hands over her stomach. Her face became flushed, her skin clammy.

“Come on, let's go to the bathroom,” Paul said.

“I'm going, too,” Madeline said. “I'm going to throw up.”

Ginger and Paul hurried from the table and helped usher the women toward the bathroom.

“Ma, wine doesn't do this to you,” Paul said. “I don't understand this.”

Three feet from the bathroom door, Brenda threw up, a heaping splattering of her breakfast, lunch, dinner and drinks. Seeing that helped Madeline throw up, too.