Love on Tap

by Karis Walsh

  “What the hell are you doing?” Tace hadn’t slept much since she and Berit had kissed. She’d lain awake, tossing and turning in a desperate attempt to ignore the desire she didn’t want to feel for Berit, until she’d finally dozed off near dawn. She squinted out the kitchen window. The sky was gray and yellow just before sunrise. “What time is it?”

  “You said you always wanted to watch the balloons getting filled and taking off,” Berit said. “Hurry and get dressed or we’ll miss it.”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten about the festival,” Tace said. Her words were partially true. She’d been distressed by Berit’s bossiness in the wheat fields and would have preferred to avoid being in her company. Berit expected Tace to commit herself to this brewery, admit she cared about it, but doing so would only wound her in the long run. Tace supposed she deserved the lecture after delivering one of her own, when she had pushed Berit to break out of her comfort zone and fully accept the role of teacher, but Tace had only said those things to Berit because she could see how much doing a good job for her students meant to her. Had Berit really seen the same hidden hopes in Tace? If so, Tace had better get busy and crush her foolish aspirations before they destroyed her. She had gotten this far in life—and would get her siblings even further if possible—by focusing on what she could achieve. A nice home, as few bills as possible, and whatever help she could offer Chris and Kyle.

  Still, the thought of going to the festival with Berit was too enticing to refuse. “I’ll go, as long as you stop making such a racket.”

  “Deal,” Berit said. She put the pans on the counter and held up her hands in surrender. “Quiet as a mouse. Just get ready to go!”

  Tace jogged up the stairs again and got in the shower. She’d admittedly been a tiny bit resentful when she’d needed to give up her newly decorated and comfortable downstairs rooms and move into the cramped attic suite, but she’d since had a change of heart. Her books filled the shelves in what was supposed to be Berit’s study, and her personal items made the other rooms look cozy. She spent most of her time in the bedroom she’d used when she was very small, either reading in bed or in a chair by the dormer window. Somehow, childhood dreams seemed able to exist up here, even though she’d learned to banish them from her mind when she’d moved downstairs.

  Tace let the hot water run over her scalp and down her naked body. She’d been fighting Berit’s advice because she was afraid to trust in a dream. When had one ever come true for her? But maybe a logical approach would let her have the best of both worlds. Financially, she had to get the business established. She needed to have a base of customers, and a viable plan for the next owner to turn a profit. But was there any harm in having fun along the way? Enjoying the creative process when she and Joseph crafted new recipes, sharing her excitement without expecting people to demean her, really believing in the product she was delivering. All while accepting the limited time she’d be part of this venture. She wasn’t a brewer—she was playing with the position for a short time. Why not be part of it wholeheartedly, appreciating it even more because it was temporary?

  Tace picked up a jade-green towel and dried herself quickly. She combed her hair and dressed in several layers to protect against the morning chill. Her body was tingling from the hot water and vigorous towel-drying, but she knew part of her heightened sensation was due to Berit. Tace could apply the same logic to their relationship. Berit had never hidden her wish to leave Walla Walla and all its inhabitants far behind her, but she’d also seemed to be as attracted to Tace as she was to her. She went downstairs with a lighter feeling inside than she’d felt for years. Why not explore the short-term benefits of Berit’s company as well, as long as she remained fully aware of its transitory nature? Could she survive the inevitable? She wasn’t sure. She was more confident in her ability to do so with the brewery than with Berit.

  She drove them to the fairgrounds and parallel parked along a nearby residential street. Small groups of people were approaching from all directions through the early morning fog and merging into a larger crowd as they neared the liftoff site. Tace and Berit joined them, cutting through an alley between houses and crossing a weedy parking lot. Even from a distance, Tace could see the bright colors of nylon envelopes, some partially filled and beginning to rise in the air.

  Tace got behind Berit’s chair and helped her move through the dense, short grass of the field. Hundreds of balloons were carefully spread on the ground behind their baskets, in neat rows and separated by uniform distances. Tace loved the tidy and organized layout of the whimsical, fantastical balloons.

  “Look, it’s a hamburger,” Berit said.

  “A hamburger for breakfast? You sound like Chris.” Tace looked around for the concession stand, but Berit pointed down the row and laughed.

  “Not to eat, silly. The balloon is shaped like a burger.”

  They went over to the oddly shaped bag while it slowly drifted higher as the burner heated the air inside it. Tace watched the bun, lettuce, and cheese expand.

  “You could make a beer bottle for next year’s festival,” Berit said. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t have any trouble selling the brewery if you had your very own hot-air balloon.”

  “I like it,” Tace said. “I’ll have to buy Joseph a sewing machine so he can get started right away.”

  The thought of shy, flannel-and-coverall-clad Joseph stitching together a beer balloon made her laugh. She started walking down the next row. “We can have him make one for you, too. Maybe shaped like the vase we brought to your office on Thursday.”

  “Ooh, that would be pretty,” Berit said, looking back at her. “I can see Herakles and the Nemean Lion floating against a bright blue sky.”

  “Nice. Or how about Pegasus? You could ride in the basket and sail away.”

  Berit laughed. “Even better.”

  Tace was silent for a moment. No matter how much logic she used, the thought of Berit leaving still made her feel a gaping hole in the pit of her stomach. Berit had only been here a short time, but already she’d worked her way inside Tace. She’d be missed.

  They watched the first wave of balloons sail away until they were tiny pinpricks of color in the sky. This was what Tace had wanted to see, the way she had wanted to see it, when she was little. Instead, she had been a child-mother, tending two kids who had wishes of their own.

  They walked toward a row of booths selling everything from handmade jewelry to hot dogs. The dirt path in front of the vendors was smooth and even, so Tace walked alongside Berit.

  “This has been a great morning,” she said. The weight of her thoughts made her voice sound more solemn than she’d intended. “Thank you for waking me up and bringing me here, Berit.”

  “You’re welcome, Tace,” Berit said, imitating her serious tone. She switched back to her normal voice. “I’ve been meaning to ask, why Tace instead of Stacy?”

  “I’ve always been Tace, I guess. At least since Chris was born. She couldn’t say the S sound at first, so she said Tace. I’ve used it ever since.”

  Berit looked at her and frowned. “You’ve always been defined by your family, haven’t you.”

  Tace felt the sting of her words. Berit might not have meant them to hurt, but they seemed to lessen her somehow. Shortening her name hadn’t diminished her as a person. Giving up her own options and dreams had. “Like you’ve been defined by your globetrotting lifestyle?”

  “Touché,” Berit said. She looked away for a moment, and then back at Tace. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound critical. When I was young, I’d have loved a brother or sister to keep me company. In some ways, I envy how close you are with your family.”

  Tace shrugged. “I’m sorry, too. I envy your freedom.”

  “It’s not all accolades and fun. Hey, there’s a table for a winery. Want to stop and chat, or keep going?”

  Tace looked at the booth with its burgundy and beige banner. A woman in her sixties was standing behind it, handing out flyers to people
as they walked by.

  “Oh, what the hell,” Tace said. “I could use a little ego boost.”

  “Lead with sarcasm. There’s a good plan.”

  Tace shook her head and laughed. She was fully expecting the same snobby reception she’d gotten at the other wineries on Thursday, but she kept Berit’s unsolicited advice in mind. Her brewery was producing a quality product. Much of it was due to Joseph’s talent as a brewer, but she’d contributed some good ideas of her own, using her own palate and instincts. Without her pushing and planning, he’d still be lurking in the shadows, brewing ales no one but he would ever taste.

  The woman greeted Tace with a cheery smile. “Hello, I’m Margaret Chetham of Chetham Hill Winery. Are you in town just for the balloon festival, or will you be doing some wine tasting, too?”

  Tace took the flyer. The winery’s name was surrounded by images of clusters of grapes. A photo showed a beautiful Tuscan-style stone tasting room.

  “Actually, I live here in town,” she said, mustering a smile to match Margaret’s. She pointed to the map on the flyer. “I own the Bike Trail Brewery, just a few blocks from your winery. We make microbrews using local ingredients.”

  “Interesting. Have you been in business long?”

  Tace wasn’t sure whether it would be better to say yes and then have Margaret wonder why she hadn’t heard of the place yet, or say no and sound inexperienced. She opted for the truth. “The brewery has been running for several years, with the same brewmaster, but I recently bought it. It hadn’t been managed well, and I’m trying to make some positive changes.”

  “I just opened to tourists this year,” Margaret said, lowering her voice as if she were admitting to something bad. “I’ve been developing my wines for a while, but it’s scary to make the step to being public. The more established wineries can be intimidating. This has been my dream since I was in my twenties, and I finally retired from my job as a CFO and decided to give it a try. Never too late, I hope.”

  Tace smiled. “I’m sure you’ll do well, especially since you have such passion for the work. I never planned to own a brewery. It’s a challenge in a region known for its wines, but I feel I can fill a real need in this area.”

  “What can you supply that the wineries can’t?”

  Margaret’s question didn’t sound challenging or patronizing. Instead, she seemed interested in hearing Tace’s point of view. Tace took a deep breath and plunged ahead.

  “Options,” she said. She thought back to Thursday. She’d spent most of the time during the tastings feeling sorry for herself because the winery owners weren’t receptive to her. While Berit had tasted wines, Tace had watched the groups of tourists come and go. “I’ve visited tasting rooms and I’ve noticed that about twenty percent of the people coming to the wineries don’t actually drink any wine. Some might be drivers, but the number is consistent even with groups from tour buses. These people might be tagging along with friends, and it would be a great PR opportunity to offer them a different choice. Something as simple as a couple of tapped kegs might give an entire family or group a better impression of your winery.”

  Margaret nodded slowly. “You’re right on with the percentage. I have water available, and I sell bottles of soft drinks, but a local craft beer might be popular, especially with the number of people who come from Seattle and Portland. If a winery were to implement your idea, what beers would you recommend?”

  Tace imagined the taste of the wine in her mouth, and then she worked through her beer options to sense how well they’d blend. “The amber ale,” she said with a convinced nod. “It’s got depth and a sweet aftertaste, with a nice floral hoppiness. It’d be great on its own, and it wouldn’t clash with the wines if anyone wanted to try both. I’d also suggest a rotating keg with our seasonal beers. They showcase specialty ingredients from this region, and would be a great way to get people excited about the area even if they aren’t into the wine culture. Our autumn selection is the amber ale infused with anise, orange, and local hazelnuts.”

  Tace paused. She wasn’t sure what else to say. She wanted to sound confident, not pushy. Berit was close beside her, and Tace rested the tips of her fingers on the arm of Berit’s chair. Berit shifted her elbow until they were barely touching. Tace felt a welcome sense of support and companionship from her.

  “I like the idea. Are you bottling yet, or do you only sell kegs?”

  Tace wanted to sell beer, not to make false promises about expansion or change. The next owner would be responsible for the brewery’s growth. She was only planning to establish a base of customers and markets for the beer. “Kegs only, and we’ll fill growlers at the brewery. Bottling is an expensive step.”

  Margaret nodded, took a card out of her wallet, and handed it to Tace. “I agree. I’m farming out my bottling to a larger winery right now, although I’m interested in doing it myself as soon as I can afford to invest in the equipment. If you decide you want to take the next step and bottle, perhaps we could combine our resources and work together.”

  “Maybe,” Tace said, but she was thinking no inside. Invest in bottling equipment? She wasn’t even sure what went on during the process. Was there a difference between Margaret’s needs with her wines and Tace’s with beer? None of her questions mattered since she couldn’t afford to take the brewery to the next step herself.

  “For starters, I’d like to try offering a small selection of your beer in my tasting room, and I’ll see what kind of feedback I get from customers.”

  “That’d be great. I don’t have a public tasting room yet, but you’re welcome to stop by the brewery and sample our beers anytime you want.”

  Tace and Berit left the winery’s table, and Tace tucked Margaret’s card in her back pocket. As soon as they were around a corner, Tace stopped and faced Berit.

  “Thank you. I think that conversation went well, and it’s because of your advice. I hadn’t realized how much my own low expectations were getting in the way.”

  Berit held her hands in front of her chest, with her palms facing Tace. “Wait a minute.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Let me savor this for a moment…Okay, here goes…” She opened her eyes again. “I told you so.”

  Tace laughed and started walking again. “Don’t be too smug. I’ll be saying the same thing at your going-away party, while all the students and faculty from Whitman are weeping in despair because you’re leaving.”

  “Ha. They’ll be throwing a ticker-tape parade as they escort me out of town, more like.”

  Tace shook her head with a smile. She felt elated after a small step forward for the brewery and for her own self-confidence, but her mention of Berit leaving left her with the same hollow feeling in her belly she’d noticed before. Hungry. She was hungry, that was all.

  “There’s a diner around the corner,” she said. “You hurried me out of the house before I had a chance to eat breakfast. How about I buy you a plate of the best pumpkin waffles you’ve ever had?”

  Berit smiled. “Sounds good. I’ve never had them before, so I have a feeling your words will be prophetic.”

  Tace was quiet as they left the fairgrounds. She had felt happy before, of course. Hiking through the natural beauty of the Northwest or watching Chris graduate from high school and college. External things. This was different, however, this something stirring inside her. It had to do with her. With her achievements and her own effort. She wasn’t sure how much to let this budding dream grow. Enough to fill her life for a short while, but not enough to really hurt her when the dreams came toppling down.

  Even as she celebrated the small victory for the brewery, she couldn’t help but caution herself against feeling and expecting too much. She wouldn’t override a lifetime of restraint and common sense because of a word of encouragement from a single wine merchant, but she could certainly enjoy the high from it this morning. Tace lifted her face toward the sun as the second wave of balloons lifted into the air. A rainbow of colors, gliding silently across the
sky. Tace turned her attention back to Berit and helped her cross a deep groove in the field. Waffles and plenty of hot, strong coffee were calling Tace back down to earth, where she belonged.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  After New Year’s, Tace walked into the Blue and wrinkled her nose at the powerful odor of stale beer. She’d never noticed it before, even though she’d been sort of a regular here for years. She’d been spending hours with Joseph at the brewery where they sampled warm, flat worts, analyzed the flavor components, and made small adjustments to the recipes. Her nose was becoming increasingly sensitive to the nuances of their different products. She’d never taste or smell mass-produced, bland lagers the same way again.

  She went to the bar and the manager came over as soon as he saw her. “Hey, Tace. You here to sell or to drink?”

  “Hey, Dan. I’m meeting a friend tonight, so I’ll have a glass of the seasonal. Although, if you have time later this week, I’d like to bring a sample of our new stout for you to try. I’m sure you’ll want to stock it by Saint Patrick’s Day because it makes a delicious black-and-tan with our IPA.”

  Tace watched him pour her beer using the tap pull with Joseph’s drawing on it. A picture of the snowy north ridge of Sawtooth Peak—based on a photo she’d taken while on a hike the previous winter—was in the background of his bike-trail scene. Wallowa Winter Wheat was printed in red letters under the logo, and Bike Trail Brewery was written in a blocky font across the top. She’d been seeing the taps in more and more bars lately, and she never got tired of the thrill of accomplishment she felt when she saw one.

  Dan handed her the beer and waved off her money. “Bring a keg of the stout when you come, not just a sample. If it’s anything as good as your others, I’ll want to have it here. Remember, the big bike race is in April. I want to be sure I don’t run out of anything with Bike Trail on the label.”

  “Great. I’ll come by on Thursday, and we can get your order in early.”