The Truth is in the Wine

by Curtis Bunn

  “So, they get the wine and everyone looks at it on the table for about, I don’t know, seven, eight minutes. They just stare at it. Then they pick it up and hold it above their heads and look at it again, trying to determine the age. The next thing was to smell it. So they stick their noses damn near in the wine. It was crazy. They got a clear, deep smell of the wine.

  “They do that a couple of times and then they begin swirling it in its glass—two fingers between the stem and circulate it while it’s sitting on the table. They’re helping it to breathe. This goes on for about five minutes. And I’m like, ‘I don’t care what you do. No way someone gonna be able to figure out one out of a million wines. No way.’ ”

  Paul listened as a child would a bedtime story. He was totally engrossed.

  “So, it’s literally about forty-five minutes later,” Roger continued, “and no one has said a word. They are all studying this wine, swirling, it, smelling it, staring at it. Finally, after all the foreplay, they finally start tasting the wine. Still, no one has said a word because the one thing they can’t afford to be is wrong. It would be horrible for their reputation.

  “So finally, almost an hour into this thing, one guy raises his hand. He says it’s a 1976 Chateau so-and-so from Southern Italy or some place. I can’t remember exactly what it was. But he was right. Can you believe that? This guy figured out this wine forty-something year-old wine from Italy from just studying it and tasting it. The other guys clapped politely for him. I wanted to give my man a hug and a high-five. It was amazing.”

  “Damn,” Paul said. “That’s what you call being an expert in your field.”

  Both men were quiet for a moment as they took in the story. For those few minutes, they were not in jail. They were in that room with some of the best wine experts in the world.

  “What was the wine that made you fall in love with wine?” Roger asked.

  “It was a Fairview Pinotage 2002, I believe,” Paul answered.

  “A South African wine?” Roger said.

  “Yes. My boy, D.J.’s wife, Wanda, went there for a visit and brought me back a bottle,” Paul explained. “I had never had a Pinotage before. It’s grown only in a few places in the world but especially in South Africa. Something about the soil. Well, I loved it. It made me feel like wine could be a meal. It was hearty and fruity and robust. It was different from any wine I had ever had. It was the wine that brought me all the way in.”

  “I understand how you feel,” Roger said. “What did it for me was a 2008 Tobin James Fatboy Zinfandel. I always liked wine, but this one goes down smooth, like an expensive cognac. All the dark berries are evident. And it’s 16.2 alcohol content, so it gets you there. I heard a guy call it ‘sex in a bottle.’ And you know what? You drink a bottle of that with your woman and you’ll get lucky for sure.”

  They talked of wine—viogniers, pinots, chardonnays, merlots—until the sun came up, starting a day they hoped would not end like the day before. They talked because they couldn’t sleep and because discussing wine kept them from thinking about where they were.

  So into the discussion was Paul that he hardly thought about Ginger and the abortion. And he was glad about that because he still had not figured out how to process it. But Ginger said they needed to talk and he hoped something would come out of it to make him feel better. But that would be later.

  Paul and Roger were corralled along with about twenty other inmates and shepherded to the courtroom in the detention center. Paul felt the weight of his trip as he stood for before Judge Jenson, who looked fresh and alert. He had an upbeat spirit.

  Paul looked around the courtroom and spotted Ginger, who offered a reassuring smile. He was glad to see her; he smiled back. Paul watched how the judge interacted with the inmates before him. He was expeditious, thorough and seemingly fair, giving Paul a sense of hope. When it was Paul’s turn, Judge Jenson said, “OK, you look like an upstanding citizen. What’s your deal?”

  It was a rhetorical question and Paul realized it, so he did not say anything as the judge examined the paperwork. “OK, Mr. Wall, I don’t see any results of a breathalyzer. Did you take one?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “I see,” he said. “Looks like you took the field sobriety test. Didn’t do so well, huh? What were you drinking?”

  “Sir, I had the best wine of my life at 1313 Main — a bottle of Caymus 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon.”

  “That place is great,” the judge said. “I go there on occasion… OK, let’s see here. So you stopped in the middle of the intersection, didn’t fail the sobriety test but didn’t pass it, either. The officer used his judgment, which he is entitled to. But he did not administer a breathalyzer. Can you pay the bail?”

  Paul turned to Ginger, who nodded her head.

  “Yes, I can, sir,” he said.

  “OK, Mr. Wall. They don’t have much of a case against you without the breathalyzer, but because it is a DUI case, I’m going to set a court date. See the clerk on your way out and then pay the bond, which is ten per cent of five thousand dollars. And, if I were you, I’d hire a lawyer to negotiate this thing so you don’t have to come back out here just for this.”

  “Thank you, judge.”

  And just like that, Paul was again a free man. He looked at Roger, who was a few feet away. “Good luck, man. Call me,” he said, and Roger nodded his head.

  Paul saw the clerk, got some paperwork and went through a side door to claim and change his clothes. Ginger, after paying the bail, waited in the lobby for her husband, unsure of how he would receive her. It was her news that she aborted their child that led him to leaving her at the hotel and the ensuing drinking binge. Would he blame me? she worried.

  At the same time, she remained flummoxed by learning she again was pregnant. How could I go from not being able to get pregnant to pregnant twice in about five months? When do I tell Paul? My mother? Helena? Are we ready to have a child?

  She was overwrought with concerns and not confident on what to do. She was sure she would tell Paul, though. This pregnancy was a blessing from God, a chance for me to redeem myself to Him and regain whatever I lost from my husband.

  Then she thought: What if he’s so angry with me that he wants out? What if he believes he can’t trust me?

  She was going to play more games with her mind, but Paul emerged from the locked doors. Their eyes met…and there was no animosity between them. There was relief.

  Otis’ story about losing his daughter and wife resonated with Paul. He wasn’t sure if he would not deteriorate as Otis had without his girls. And now that he had financial means, it was the time for them to come together, not pull apart. He faced the fact that while Ginger’s decision on abortion was extreme, she never would have taken that path if he hadn’t lost all confidence in who he was and said he wanted a divorce.

  Ginger was remorseful that she acted out of spite and anger instead of calm and responsibility. Despite Paul’s claims, she came to the belief that it was her responsibility to share her pregnancy news with her husband and let them decide together what route to take. She told him what she did as a way of overcoming her guilt, but it only heightened animosity in the relationship.

  So now they were face-to-face after so many personal revelations, and they were unabashed in their remorse and shared responsibility for their plight.

  “Thank you for being here,” Paul said, hugging Ginger. “I’m sorry about all this.”

  “I’m sorry, too, Paul,” she said, holding her man tightly. “I am so sorry.”

  They hugged for an extended period. When they finally let go, Ginger used the back of her hand to wipe away tears.

  “It’s OK,” Paul said. “I’m OK, and we’re OK. Let’s get back to our vacation. We have one more day in California. I have some plans for us.”

  Ginger pulled out her vibrating phone. It was Brenda, Paul’s mother.

  “He’s right here,” Ginger said, handing over the phone.

  “I’m good, M
a. No problem. Everything’s fine. We’re headed back to the hotel. Ah, huh. Yes… It was bad, but… Ma, we’ll be there in twenty minutes. No, maybe longer. We’ve got to go get the car. They impounded it. So we’ll get the car and be there in the next hour… OK. Ma, I’m fine. OK. Love you, too.”

  He ended the call and looked at Ginger. “It’s not like I was in Sing Sing or Alcatraz,” he said.

  “A parent will be a parent until the end,” she said.

  He nodded his head, grabbed her hand and they headed out to retrieve the rental car.

  When they got back to the hotel, Madeline and Brenda were in the lobby, waiting.

  “Let me look at you,” Madeline said to Ginger.

  “Why are you worried about her? I was the one in jail,” Paul said.

  “You don’t know?” Brenda said.

  “Know what?” Paul asked

  “I wasn’t feeling well last night,” Ginger said, “so after I left the jail I went to the emergency room.”

  “You OK? What did they say?” Paul asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Better than ever. Just had some stomach issues.”

  “What did they say, though?” Paul asked.

  “That I’m fine,” Ginger answered. She did not want to tell him standing right there in the lobby. She was not sure the best scenario to tell him, but she knew that was not it. “I had some ginger ale and I felt better.”

  She was convincing enough that no one questioned her.

  “Well, what’s the plan for the day?” Paul said. “I’ve got to get a nap. I did not sleep at all last night.”

  “I bet you didn’t; I wouldn’t,” Brenda said. “How bad was it?”

  “Terrible. Humiliating,” he said. “But I met some interesting people. But I can’t talk about it now. I need a good, long shower and at least a two-hour nap. Let’s have lunch by the pool around twelve-thirty.”

  They agreed to do so, and Ginger walked with Paul back to their room. The in-laws went for coffee and fruit.

  In the room, Paul hardly delayed in getting into the shower. “I have to wash away that experience,” he said. Under the hot water, he felt himself come back to life, the smell and grime and aura of the jail flowed down the drain. He spent an extra ten minutes in the shower, letting the flow douse his hair, the water serving as therapy.

  “This has been a crazy trip,” Ginger said when Paul exited the shower. “You feel better?”

  “I feel like I washed the Napa Valley Correction Center/County Jail off me,” he said. “I don’t get why a jail has to be so disgusting.”

  “I’m just glad you’re out,” Ginger said. “But it’s not made to be a resort, you know?”

  Paul, with his silk robe wrapped around him, nodded his head knowingly, and rested on the bed. He let out a sigh of relief. Not too long before then he was on a super-thin “mattress,” staring at the ceiling and wondering how his life degenerated to that situation. Being in the confines of his hotel room was so welcomed.

  Ginger had the television on ESPN, but the sound was down, and Paul rested on his back as if he were in a coffin: hands clasped together across his chest.

  She went to the bathroom and returned after several minutes. “Paul, we really need to talk. There’s something important I need to tell you,” she said. Ginger had gathered the courage and the words to give Paul the news that would turn his mindset.

  Paul’s response? He snored.

  “That was fast,” Ginger said. She sat on the adjacent bed and stared at Paul as he slept. She looked down at her stomach and put her hand over it. And she started to cry—tears of joy and regret. Then she figured out why she cried so much. Her hormones were screwy.

  Life is growing inside of me, she thought to herself. And when she thought of the abortion, she cried more. God, please forgive me.

  To have a second chance when much of her life she was told she had no chance to get pregnant, well, it made the miracle of child bearing that much more miraculous. She was anxious for Paul to wake up. She wanted to apologize to him again and to share news with him that she was sure he would embrace.

  But he slept and slept—and Ginger alternated between staring at him and reading the literature on how to eat for two. She knew right away she would be obsessed with making sure she gave her child the best chance to be born healthy.

  She also thought about how to tell Paul; what to say, where to say it, how to say it. Her mom and Brenda were not going to join them for dinner later that night, so Ginger thought it would be better to tell Paul first, over dinner, before sharing it with anyone.

  Make it a special announcement in a special place, she thought. Paul had identified French Blue in St. Helena as their dinner destination. There was something special about that place because it was in a town named after their daughter.

  Yes, that’s the place to tell him, Ginger thought.

  CHAPTER 17

  DAWN OF A NEW DAY

  For the first time in their lives together, Paul’s snoring did not bother Ginger. There were times when she slept in the guest bedroom or demanded he sleep else-where because the noise was so distracting. But on this day, with the news she had to share and all that they had been through, she wanted to be close to her husband.

  She was in a remarkable place in her life. All the pain and hurt and disappointment of a few months before were gone. Ginger lay cuddled up with her snoring husband feeling as alive and womanly as ever.

  As much as she felt like a mother in raising Helena, she was shocked that knowing she would birth a child changed how she felt about herself. She was so broken and disenchanted when she was pregnant several months before that she never gave herself the opportunity to embrace the magnitude of the responsibility.

  This time, she did, and even though she was in the very early stages of the pregnancy, she intuitively placed a hand on her belly often, as if she was protecting the fetus from impending danger.

  Mostly, she felt extra womanly. She knew it was a silly notion; she was a full-fledged woman all along, a mother, a wife. But having life growing inside her injected Ginger with a sense of pride and self-esteem that she had not felt. Ever.

  I have a life growing inside of me, she said to herself while resting in the bed. Oh, my God.

  Before she fell asleep, she thought about names for the baby and how the child would look and how her mom would spoil it and how she wished her dad were alive to see the baby, to see her pregnant. She also thought about Helena. She was such a delightful young lady, a teenager without the teenage attitude or sense of entitlement. She prayed her child would have the same temperament.

  But mostly she prayed that Helena would forgive her and Paul for not telling her that she was adopted. Theirs was parents-raising-a-child, genuine love that was strong and everlasting. But Ginger could not help but wonder how Helena would feel about not being told the truth about her parents all these years.

  For a second, she thought that maybe Paul was right. What good would it do to tell her? We’re her parents. But that thought passed swiftly. As her parents we are obligated to tell her, Ginger told herself.

  Still, the effects it would have on her concerned Ginger. Would Helena accept hearing the truth and not judge her parents? Would she want to meet her birth parents? And with Ginger pregnant, how would Helena receive that news? Would she resent the forthcoming child?

  All those scenarios scared Ginger. Helena was her world, and she could not fathom their relationship not being the same as it always had been. Telling an eighteen-year-old she was adopted at virtually the same time as revealing her mother was pregnant would be a lot to take in at once.

  It was a lot for Ginger to take in, and so she finally closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. She rested peacefully, with dreams of Helena posing for photos with the new baby, proud that she was a big sister.

  Paul, meanwhile, dreamed of being in jail and having to fight his way out of closed-in places to prevent being raped. There were two guys, one bigger tha
n him, one smaller. They approached with caution and bad intentions. “Been waiting for this since you got here,” the little one said. “You gonna be mines.”

  “And mines,” the bigger guy added.

  Paul grabbed a bottle of wine, a 2011 Alouette Pinot Noir and blasted the smaller man across the head with it, knocking him out and breaking the bottle at the same time. In his hand was the neck of the broken bottle with its sharp edges. Confidently, he approached the big guy and stabbed him in the gut with it, and he fell to the floor.

  Paul let out a primal scream, and raised his hands in victory. He had conquered them. But in his salutations, he realized he had become one of them, and it scared him so much that he shook himself out of his dream and woke up.

  His movements in his sleep startled Ginger, who moved away so she wouldn’t get struck by a flailing arm.

  “Paul, you OK?” she said. “You must have had a bad dream.”

  “Oh, man. I did,” Paul said. “I dreamed I killed two men—or at least hurt them badly while I was in jail. Hit and stabbed them with a wine bottle.”

  Ginger laughed. “A wine bottle? You had a wine bottle in jail?”

  “I did,” Paul said, wiping his face. “And a good bottle of wine, too.”

  They laughed. Paul turned his body and embraced Ginger. It was just before 1 p.m. “I tell you, Gin,” he said, “I hate we have gone through some of this drama. But I really believe it can—it will—make us stronger and closer.

  “Jail was not a good experience, but I’m almost glad I went through it. I ain’t that religious, but I can say with confidence that I believe God puts us in positions that are uncomfortable so we can learn from them. I felt like I was sub-human part of my time last night. It’s humiliating to be in handcuffs and to be locked into a space. But I met people with real problems. It makes you understand that as bad as something may seem to you, it’s not even as bad as it could be.

  “You would think we would know that. But we take it all for granted. I mean, I met this man who looked so haggard—he was in the holding cell with me when I first got there. But I could see that he really wasn’t as old as he looked. He was just unkempt. Anyway, the man could look at you and tell you about certain things about you because of your body language.