California Wishes

by Casey Dawes

  What was she going to do about her business? Did it make sense to put in her savings? What if she didn’t get it back?

  She picked up the book with floury fingers and read the next set of directions. Once she covered the dough with plastic wrap, she set the timer for an hour and cleaned up.

  Just in time for her coaching call.

  The phone rang a few minutes later.

  “Hello,” Carol said. “How are you doing today?”

  “Well, better than the last time we talked.” At least Elizabeth hoped so.

  “What did you decide to do?” Carol asked.

  Elizabeth told Carol that she’d hired Alicia and that it was working out even better than she’d expected. “She’s a go-getter, that girl. And, she has lots of ideas about expanding the market to girls her age and the Hispanic market. Most of them are good. We’re trying them out one at a time.”

  “Ah. Sounds good. What about your product line?”

  “The credit union turned me down, too.” Elizabeth heard the disappointment in her voice. Why couldn’t life be easy? She may as well tell the coach the rest of it. “I think I have a chance there if I‘m willing to invest some of my own money. But I’m not sure I want to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  Elizabeth sputtered. “Because it’s my life savings. What if the line fails and I lose all my money?”

  “What if?”

  Uh-oh. Annie had warned her about the coach’s “what-if” questions.

  Still … what if Elizabeth lost all her savings? She was only thirty-eight. She could rebuild, couldn’t she? “I guess I’d start over again,” she finally admitted. “I’d hate it, but I could do it.”

  “Yes, you could. But, if you’re going to invest your own money, I’m actually going to give you some advice: go to a lawyer to make sure you’re protected so if the worst happens, you’ll have a minimal loss.”

  “You’re probably right.” It all sounded so clinical.

  “But I have a more interesting question,” Carol said. “What if you succeed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How would your life change if you became wildly successful, with your product known all over the globe and more money than you’ve ever dreamed of in your bank account?”

  Elizabeth smoothed the fabric of her capris, even though the tan fabric was creaseless. She tried to imagine what that would be like, but couldn’t. Would her life need to change?

  “I don’t know,” she finally admitted to the coach. “Wouldn’t I keep doing the same things I’d always done?”

  “Perhaps. Or maybe your world would get a little bigger.”

  Elizabeth’s stomach clenched. If she had more options, what would she do? Travel the world alone? It didn’t sound appealing. Give Sarah everything she needs? Not a good idea.

  But she could go to Italy more often.

  Bad idea.

  “What are you feeling?” the coach asked.

  “Afraid,” Elizabeth admitted.

  “Of what?”

  What was she afraid of? “Getting hurt, I guess. Or … maybe … people laughing at me because I don’t know how to act in a bigger world.”

  “Your mother’s voice again?”

  Was it? What would happen if she goofed? She’d be all alone in her shame.

  Not if Marcos was by her side.

  But that was impossible.

  “Sometimes,” the coach said, “it’s our fear of success that holds us back more than fear of failure. What would you like to do about your product line?”

  What was the definition of courage? Feel the fear and do it anyway? This was her shot to redeem herself, to prove to everyone, including herself, that she was more than a pregnant teenage statistic.

  “I’ll risk it. I’ll invest my savings.”

  Her stomach flipped, but at the same time, her spirits soared.

  • • •

  Elizabeth’s heart beat a little faster when she saw the familiar email address. Opening Marcos’ email, she read, “Ciao, bella. I hope you are well. I miss driving around the crazy mountain roads with you. Today I am in France. Like I told you, I am much disturbed about Jacques. As you suggested, I am going to spend some extra time with the books and out in the vineyard. If Jacques is stealing, I will find out.

  “But that is my matter. How goes the battle with the dough? Have you decided what to do with the loan? I am happy you want to try to make good pasta. I think it brings you joy. You should be happy, bella. But somehow I feel there is sorrow in your heart. I wish I were a knight of old. I would take my sword and kill the person who hurt you.”

  Elizabeth laughed at the image of slight Marcos wielding a sword. She sobered quickly. It would be difficult for Marcos to kill someone who was already dead.

  She read on. “I hope I have made you laugh. I wish we had more time when I was in California. Because of the situation with Jacques, I must be in France longer than I would like. Negotiations are slowly moving along for the vineyard. I wish soon to sit on top of that beautiful hill with you and watch the sun set.”

  It sounded like heaven, but like her plans for her business, she knew anything could happen. He could fall in love with someone else. Or she could.

  She hit reply and began to type. “Yes, I laughed. I could see you wielding a great big sword, dashing to my rescue on a magnificent white stallion.

  “It would be fun to watch a sunset with you. Maybe I’d be able to serve you homemade ravioli by then.” Her fingers hesitated over the keys. She longed to open up to him. The distance between them made her feel safer. If he couldn’t physically touch her she wouldn’t get hurt, would she?

  The memory of his kiss burned her lips. She’d been a fool to push him away. Instead of remembrances to keep her warm at night, her sheets were cold when she slipped into bed.

  She began typing again. “I’m afraid my life is very dull compared to yours. This is my third attempt at making dough since you left. I think I’m doing everything right and then it’s either too dry and falls apart or too wet and clings to the rolling pin. It’s going to take me decades to learn to do this. By then I’ll be too old and gray to serve you ravioli as we watch the sunset.”

  Her finger hovered over the backspace key. Would he think she was too forward to talk about a future with him? Or would he take it like she meant it — just a joke.

  Or was it?

  The phone rang, startling her. Her finger jerked and landed on the enter key.

  The email was off.

  • • •

  Two more tries at ravioli over the following week hadn’t helped. Elizabeth stared at the gelatinous mess in her garbage pail, sighed, and closed the lid. Maybe she should give up.

  She squared her shoulders and began to clean the counter, her mind on assembling the documents she needed for the lawyer. Carol had been right; she needed to protect herself before asking any bank for money.

  She thudded the cleaned rolling pin on the counter to dry. The phone rang and she snatched it up. “Hello!”

  “You haven’t been that glad to hear from me in ages,” Bobby said.

  Her shoulders sagged. “Hi, Bobby.”

  “Now that’s the reaction I’ve come to know. Has your Italian friend left?”

  “Yes. He was only here for a few days; he’s been gone for over a week.”

  “What have you been doing?”

  “Oh, the normal. Store, taking care of the garden, learning to make ravioli … ”

  “Make ravioli? That Italian must have had quite an impact.”

  “No, it’s something I’ve wanted to do since I came back from Europe. I remember my nana making them when I was a little girl. I needed a hobby, so … ” Why was she telling him all this? She let the
silence linger a bit.

  “I was wondering what you’d decided to do about your product line,” he said. “I’m still interested in investing.”

  “I’ve decided to invest my own money,” she said.

  “Oh, really?” His surprise was evident. “Why do you want to do that?”

  She opened her mouth to answer and stopped. Just because he was a man didn’t mean she had to answer every question he asked.

  “I’d rather not go into it, Bobby. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Wow. Formal. I was hoping you weren’t too busy. I’d really like to take you to dinner.”

  “Bobby, I told you, we’re through.”

  “It’s only dinner.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I’m lonely,” he said.

  So am I. She thought of Marcos’ touch and an ache began in her chest. She missed him more than she ever thought possible.

  “It’s only dinner,” Bobby said again.

  “No, thank you.”

  “That isn’t an answer.”

  “Actually, it is. Bye, Bobby.” She hung up the phone and sat in thought for a moment.

  It was one of the first times in her life she’d been able to calmly say no to an insistent male.

  She smiled and went to check her email.

  Her inbox contained three messages from Marcos and her smile grew deeper with anticipation in spite of her resolve to put the man out of her mind. The first two emails were about harvest and Marcos’ issues with Jacques. The more Marcos probed, the more he was convinced that Jacques was stealing from him, but couldn’t prove it. The third email stopped her short.

  “I am coming back to America in the middle of November,” Marcos said. “The sale is getting bogged down and I believe it would be better if I am there in person. I would like to spend several days with you, if your shop can let you go. I find I cannot put you from my mind and I hope I can persuade you to come to Napa with me to relax. Separate rooms, of course. Perhaps in different surroundings, you will be able to tell me why you are so afraid of love.”

  Good question. What would happen if she went to Napa with Marcos? Would she succumb to him in the wine-soaked atmosphere of Napa?

  Her eyes fell on the card she’d pinned to her bulletin board many months before: Carol Eos, Life Coach. Her next call with the coach was the following week. Now that she was moving forward with the product line, it was time to tackle the Marcos question.

  Remembering her last coaching call, she posed the same question to herself with Marcos in mind. What would happen if the relationship turned out well? Could she imagine jetting all over the globe on the arm of a handsome Italian? Would she still be Elizabeth, or merely an appendage?

  She shook the thoughts from her head. Maybe the coach would have insight. Every time Elizabeth thought about Marcos, her head became a muddled, sex-obsessed mess.

  In the meantime, she could figure out how to make the damn ravioli. Her dinner with Annie was the tomorrow night and she’d like to report some progress.

  Chapter 17

  As always during harvest, no one was getting any sleep. If the crew wasn’t picking, they were crushing, stirring, moving future wine from tank to tank and monitoring temperatures, sugar and acidity. Harvest was an intricate dance between man and God, a misstep could turn an offering into sacrilege.

  At four in the morning the pickers were already hard at work. They should be done today; the French vineyard was a small one.

  Marcos stared at the scribbled piece of paper Jacques had handed him the night before. The numbers didn’t make sense. He’d seen the heavy load on the vines before they’d been picked. The baskets the trucks had brought to the crusher had been filled to the brim. Yet the weight numbers Jacques had given him told a different story.

  In the dim morning light, he spotted his vineyard manager talking to a thin man in overalls in the far north corner, almost hidden behind a few pines. Marcos stepped back behind the overhang of his office and watched the pair.

  The thin man looked around and then handed Jacques an envelope. The secretiveness made Marcos uneasy. Was his manager selling him out? And how could he prove it if he was?

  Marcos pulled the piece of paper back out from his pocket. The numbers couldn’t be right.

  He strode over to the crush pad behind the winery. Jacques had crabbed at him when he’d invested in a state-of-the-art platform scale. Jacques wanted to continue to weigh grapes the old-fashioned way — by eyeballing them.

  The crush pad was active, but Marcos got the workers to hold off for a few moments. He grabbed a couple of ten-pound weights that had been used to hold open doors and placed them on the scale. Checking the weight, his suspicions were confirmed.

  He removed the weights, signaled the men to get back to work, and went back to his office. Once there, he began to pace. If he fired Jacques, who would manage the vineyard? There were a number of young men who were almost ready to do it, but they’d need more supervision than he’d felt necessary with Jacques.

  Still, they probably wouldn’t steal from him.

  Would he need to delay his expansion to California? He thought of Elizabeth and smiled. He wanted to see her again. She was someone who understood the ups and downs of owning a business. He could tell her anything and she would have something intelligent to say in return.

  Would it be possible to convince her to become part of his crazy life?

  He shook his head — he was getting ahead of himself. He had a bigger problem to solve. He scanned the area for Jacques and saw him heading toward the crush pad. Out of the corner of his eye, Marcos saw another big load of grapes coming in from the vineyard. Now was the time.

  “Hello, Jacques,” he said when he reached the vineyard manager. “Looks like we should finish today, yes?”

  “Yes.” Jacques eyed his boss. “Did you want something?”

  “Nothing in particular. I wanted to see the grape weight. Yesterday’s figures were low.”

  Jacques shrugged. “I only wrote what the scale said.”

  Marcos watched as the first bin was placed on the scale. With Jacques, he checked the numbers. Jacques waved for the next bin to be loaded, but Marcos gestured for the driver to stop.

  Marcos placed the two ten-pound weights on the scale. He gestured to the reading.

  Jacques looked at the numbers with the expression of a man who already knew what he would find. “The scale appears to be off.”

  “Yes,” Marcos said. “You were to calibrate it at the beginning of harvest, remember?”

  “I did. Someone must have changed it.”

  “Really?”

  The question hung in the air. All work had stopped and the workers stared at the two men.

  Jacques looked at Marcos with defiance. “I did nothing wrong.”

  That’s when Marcos knew his mind was made up. He’d figure out a way to get to California somehow.

  “You’re fired,” he said to Jacques, turned on his heel and walked back to his office, sorting through his employees to determine who would become the next vineyard manager.

  • • •

  “I am sorry I have not been in touch with you recently,” Marcos typed to Elizabeth a week later. “I have fired Jacques after I discovered the scale had been adjusted downward. This gave me false readings. Thank you for listening to my problems in California. It is lonely being a business owner sometimes.”

  Marcos paused in his typing, imagining Elizabeth’s smile and laughter. He missed her. Even though he hadn’t spent much time with her, her absence was noticeable. Yet it would be weeks before he saw her again. Would she agree to go to Napa with him?

  “With Jacques gone,” he continued to write, “I have had to take on the management of harvest by myself. The crop has b
een good and I have sold most of it. I have kept some back and crushed it to make my own wine. As you know, it is my dream to create wine from all over the world, but for now, I can only do small lots. I have hired a young man to watch over the wine while I come to California again.”

  He paused again, trying to decide how to phrase the question. In the end, he simply asked.

  “Will you be able to join me in Napa?”

  What could he say to convince her? She was established in California. A relationship with him would mean a different life — one of travel and living in various parts of the world. But even if she developed a successful product line, they could be together. He was sure of it.

  Between them they could have great synergy, cross-pollinate their business knowledge. He imagined vibrant late-night discussions about business, the world, even, heaven forbid, politics! They could see many places, get their children together for vacation and spoil future grandchildren.

  He laughed out loud. He was so far ahead of himself. First he had to get Elizabeth to join him in Napa.

  He templed his fingers as he thought about the different methods he could use to persuade her.

  He began to type again. “I know we have only known each other a short time, but I feel a kinship with you. Your passion to learn to make ravioli and how you make things around you so beautiful are dear to me. I am growing to care very much about you.”

  I am falling in love with you, he admitted to himself.

  “I wish to court you, if you will allow me. Please let me begin with Napa.”

  He read it over again, added his name and clicked send.

  Then he began his search for the perfect inn for his courtship.

  • • •

  “Thanks, Mandy,” Elizabeth said as the waitress put down glasses of wine on the table for her and Annie.

  Annie raised her glass and said, “Here’s to regular meals with good friends.” She clinked her glass to Elizabeth’s. “So what’s up?” Annie asked. “Anything new with that handsome Italian?”