by Casey Dawes
Annie stopped moving, looked at Elizabeth and rolled her eyes. “Does that mean I can actually put cartons of Chinese food on the table? I don’t have to put them in bowls?”
Elizabeth shook her head in mock horror. “No, that’s not what it means.” She pointed to the other counter. “Bowls are right there.” She smiled. It was good to have her light-hearted friend around.
Annie began to dish the aromatic food into the bowls Elizabeth had indicated. “What’s that?” Annie asked as she pointed to the ravioli press Elizabeth had hung on the wall.
“Something I picked up in Italy — it’s to make ravioli. I thought it would be pretty as a decoration.” And in case I ever lose my mind and decide to make ravioli. She grabbed serving spoons from a drawer. “Where’s your boyfriend tonight?”
“John’s having some sale at the bookstore and they needed the extra help. We went out last night and we’re going riding tomorrow. Ready?” Annie had the bowls of steaming food in her hands.
Elizabeth picked up a bowl of rice and plate of thin Chinese pancakes and followed her friend into the dining room.
As soon as they were seated, Annie said, “Tell me all about Italy! Did you find your Nonna’s house? Did you fall in love?”
“Okay, yes, and no.” Elizabeth said with a half-smile. “Italy was fabulous, Nonna’s house was very small and run down and I didn’t fall in love.” At least I don’t think I did.
“Wait. What was that?” Annie asked.
“What?”
“That smile. What was that about?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about Italy. There’s a feeling there … I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe there is something to the phrase la dolce vita and we don’t understand it in this country.” She smiled. “But I had a fabulous inspiration!” She picked up a piece of chicken with her chopsticks and told Annie about her idea for a new product line.
“Sounds fabulous!”
“Do you really think I can pull it off?” Elizabeth poked her chicken with her chopsticks.
Annie leaned back and stared at Elizabeth. “Of course you can. Why would you think you couldn’t?”
“I’ve never tried anything this ambitious before. What if I can’t do it?” Elizabeth heard the doubt in her own voice.
“First of all,” Annie said, putting her wrapped food down, “you can do this. Second of all, in the extremely unlikely case you can’t make it happen, you’ll know you tried.”
Tried and failed. “Were you afraid when you quit your job?” Elizabeth asked.
Annie nodded. “Terrified. But it was worth it.” She smiled at Elizabeth. “But I bet you were afraid after Joe died, too.”
Elizabeth sighed as she remembered the dark days after her husband’s heart attack.
“Sorry,” Annie said. “Didn’t mean to bring up bad times. But I wanted to remind you how capable you are. You can do this.” She picked up her food and took another bite. “Now, how about you tell me about the man you met in Italy?”
“There’s no man.”
“Give me a break.”
“Oh, all right. I met a guy in Italy.”
Annie’s dropped the pancake back on the plate and clapped her hands. “I knew it! Tell me what happened! Every detail? Did he kiss you?”
Elizabeth laughed and told her friend about the dinner and the visit to the winery.
“Well?” Annie asked when she finished. “Did he kiss you?”
“Yes.”
“How was it?”
The deep blush began at Elizabeth’s cleavage and worked its way up to her cheeks.
“That good?” Annie asked.
“That good.” Elizabeth remembered the night Marcos had dropped them off at the hotel after the vineyard tour. He’d waited until Sarah had gone inside the hotel before planting a lingering kiss on her lips. The kiss had been all he attempted.
She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed.
“Have you heard from him? Is it serious? What’s his name?” Annie asked as she picked up her dishes and trailed Elizabeth to the kitchen.
“He lives in Italy. It can’t be serious. His name is Marcos.”
“Long distance relationships are the in thing. And wasn’t there that writer who met the guy in Bali? You both own your own businesses. You can make it work.”
A dull headache began to throb in Elizabeth’s temples. “It’s not that simple, Annie. I’m planning a big business expansion. I haven’t got time for a man. The two don’t mix. A woman can either run a business or a marriage, but not both.”
The garbage can lid clattered closed. “Where did you get that antiquated notion?”
“I don’t think it’s that old-fashioned. Men are real supportive when a woman starts her business, but I’ve heard far too many stories about women becoming successful and their husbands asking for a divorce.”
“Maybe … but I bet there’s lots of people who stay together, too.”
“I can’t take that risk.”
“That’s too bad. If anyone could use a good man in her life, it’s you.”
“I had Bobby.”
Annie shut the dishwasher. “Bobby was okay and he did love you, but he was a bit of a control freak. I can say that now that you’ve broken up.”
“Wow. I never knew you thought that.” Elizabeth pondered her friend’s statement. “But I think you’re right. Maybe that’s why I didn’t want to marry him.” She laughed, a sense of relief lifting her spirits. “Coffee?”
“Sure … but I can’t stay too late. John wants to get to the horses early in the morning — too early if you ask me. And, he wants to have breakfast first, so I have to get up, get ready and meet him at the Silver Spur at seven.”
“Why don’t you two just move in together? That way you could sleep in while he made breakfast.”
Annie pulled two coffee cups from the cabinet. “He’s old-fashioned. Doesn’t want to live together.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Has he mentioned marriage?”
“We’ve only been together five months. Be real. He says we need time to get to know each other — a year at least.”
“Wow, that is old-fashioned. Are you telling me you haven’t even slept together?”
Annie grinned, a smile that lit up her pixie face. “He’s not that old-fashioned. Thank goodness! So what are you going to do about Marcos?”
Elizabeth groaned. She’d hoped the subject was closed.
“He’s coming to California in October to look at some land in Napa, and maybe here in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I tried to convince him not to come.” Elizabeth poured coffee. “But he’s insisting. I guess I’ll figure out what to do then.”
“I think you’re way over your head with him.”
“You can say that again.” Elizabeth had to figure out a way to convince him not to come to California.
“Do you still have that business card I gave you a few months ago? The one for my coach?” Annie asked after she sat on the couch and took a sip of coffee.
“Sure.” Elizabeth sat at the other end. Somewhere …
“Give the coach a call before he comes so you know what your options are. She may be able to help you with your business plans, too.”
“Maybe.” Elizabeth was doubtful. How could a life coach help with developing a product line?
After Annie left, Elizabeth walked into her office. The card was where most business cards went — tacked to her bulletin board. She unpinned it and fingered the stiff cardboard. Should she call?
It was time to take her life into her own hands. It was past time.
And she definitely needed help with Marcos.
Flicking on the computer monitor, she pulled up Carol Eos’ web site. She scanned through the woman�
�s qualifications and credentials. The coach seemed genuine, and she’d done wonders for Annie.
Before she could chicken out, Elizabeth clicked on the form to make an appointment.
• • •
The call from Carol Eos came around nine the next morning while Elizabeth was in the kitchen pouring a second cup of coffee. “I believe I know you,” Carol said after they’d exchanged hellos. “You’re Annie’s friend, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“She told me how supportive you were for her as she went through her own troubles this year. You must be a special friend.”
“I … I hope so.”
“Well, you are. Now, how can I help you?”
Elizabeth paused. Where to begin? She took a deep breath. “I broke up with my boyfriend, my mother died, my daughter is heading off in her own life, I’ve met a great guy, but he lives in Italy. Oh, and I want to produce my own line of products.”
“All that.”
“Yeah. All that.” Elizabeth laughed.
“What would you like to start with?”
Elizabeth was startled. She’d assumed the coach would lead the discussion. “Um … Marcos, I guess.”
“Marcos being the Italian?”
“Yes. I met him while I was over there on vacation. He’s coming here in October.”
“And you’re afraid.”
How could the woman tell that over the telephone line? But then Elizabeth realized the coach was right. She was afraid. “Yes.”
“Which are you afraid of — going to bed or falling in love?”
“Both.” Elizabeth sank into a kitchen chair. The coach didn’t pull any punches.
“Why are you afraid to take a chance?” Carol asked.
Elizabeth searched her mind for the answer. “When I was a teenager I took a chance with Joe — my husband. We had sex and I got pregnant. My mother … ” Elizabeth’s stomach began its familiar upheaval.
“Yes?”
“She made me feel so ashamed. She told me I’d disgraced the family and it was … it was a good thing we’d never go back to Italy since she wouldn’t be able to hold her head up.” Elizabeth remembered how small she’d felt while her mother yelled.
“And?”
“Joe and I got married and I had Sarah. Joe died when she was five. Heart attack.” Her life sounded so flat. When had she had time to live? Many of her friends had carefree twenties. Where were hers?
“So what happened with the boyfriend? When did he come into the picture?” Carol asked.
What had happened? Elizabeth searched her mind for the beginning of their relationship.
“Sarah was fifteen or sixteen, I think. Bobby was my financial advisor. After working together for a year, he asked me out. Sarah seemed old enough and we kept it discreet. He kind of became part of the family.”
“Why did you break up?”
Elizabeth paused. “I didn’t want to get married. He did. The idea of being married to him was stifling.” She giggled. “Annie told me last night she thought he was a control freak I’d never looked at him that way. Most of the time he was sweet and charming. But she’s right. Everything we did was his way.”
Carol let the silence linger, and Elizabeth thought about what she’d just said. She’d never realized how much Bobby had dictated their lives together.
And Joe had been the same.
She let out a breath of awareness.
“So why does Marcos scare you?” Carol asked again. “Do you think he’s controlling?”
“Maybe.” He’d certainly taken control of their time in Italy. But at the same time he’d given her space to express what she was feeling and thinking. What was the real problem?
“I don’t really know how to be with him. Will he be like Joe, Bobby and my family? He’s Italian. Don’t Italian men need to be the boss? Won’t he make me give up my business?”
“I’m quite sure that’s a stereotype,” Carol said.
“Probably. But … if he isn’t … then I don’t know what the relationship will be like? I mean, how do I act with him? How do I figure out what he wants?”
“How do you stay secure?” Carol asked.
The question stopped Elizabeth cold. She thought about growing up with her family. She’d always known what they expected and she complied — except for Joe, who’d been her one rebellion. She’d gotten back in line after the pregnancy.
When she knew what was expected, she knew what to do. Her life was stable … and dull.
“How do you feel secure when you don’t know what’s going on?” she asked.
“Security comes from inside of each of us. Everything around us, even relationships, don’t last forever. People die, as you know. Jobs are lost, like your friend, Annie. In the end, it’s between us and God, if you believe. Otherwise, you’re the bottom line.”
“But how can I rely on myself? I’ve never done anything right!” Elizabeth wailed.
“I suspect you know that’s not true. You’ve raised your daughter by yourself and kept a roof over your heads.”
“Why do I feel like a failure, then?” Elizabeth’s mind was beginning to whirl. She had a feeling the coach was going to blow her well-constructed world to bits.
“That’s what we’re going to work on.”
“What about Marcos?”
“We’ll see,” the coach said.
Chapter 6
Marcos’ mind wandered as he exited the snarled cars of Marseilles on the last leg of his journey to the Rhône Valley. The sun shone with the promise of later heat and traffic was light enough that he could enjoy the scenery, not that he could see it. He couldn’t rid himself of the images of Elizabeth sitting at the vineyard picnic table or the soft taste of her lips when he’d bid her farewell. He missed her already.
He tried to push her out of his mind. He was done with women. After walking in on his wife in bed with his best friend, he’d sworn to keep all females at arm’s length. Besides, Elizabeth lived halfway around the world. “Imbecile,” he muttered. He had other problems.
The French vineyard had yet to show a profit, or any hope of one. Last year, early rains had forced him to harvest too soon and leave un-ripened grapes hanging. Part of the small crop was in barrels, but it would be another year before he could bottle and sell the wine. The rest of the grapes had been sold at a good profit, at least he’d thought so at the time.
But he was still pumping cash into the business and it was disappearing at an alarming rate.
Almost too fast. His manager, Jacques, had told him everything was in order, but Marcos couldn’t shake his unease.
The miles passed beneath the wheels of his car, the sun taking on the warmth of midday. Vineyards, heavy with the fruit of summer, covered the hills. He turned off the main road a little north of Avignon and began to wend his way on small roads and through even tinier vineyards.
Jacques strode out of the winery to greet him, a beret cock-eyed on his head.
“Why is it you insist on wearing that thing?” Marcos asked. “It’s so old-fashioned.”
Jacques gave a Gallic shrug. “C’est moi.”
“It’s you all right.”
The men hugged and patted each other’s backs.
“So?” Marcos asked.
“It goes.”
“A little more than that, please. I’ve got everything riding on this harvest. Last year we didn’t break even. If we have another year like that … ” He imitated Jacques’ Gallic shrug.
“The water and sugar levels are good.” Jacques walked toward the nearest vine and Marcos followed. The men spent the next hour walking the vineyard, pulling leaves and occasionally popping grapes into their mouths to taste them before spitting them out on the ground.
“If
we manage the leaf canopy right and the rain holds off, we should get a good harvest,” Marcos said at the end of their walk. “But I’m going to need you to take over more of the management here so I can handle the Italian vineyards, and maybe one in California.”
“California?” Jacques’ eyebrows peaked. “Very dear, California land. You must be doing well.”
Marcos was startled at the man’s boldness. He shook his head. “No, not so well. You see the books for this vineyard. We’re in the red. But I want to move forward with my plan. Land is cheaper with the recession.”
Jacques looked at the ground. “Peut-être. But we need more money to make it through harvest since the government has given the workers a pay raise.”
“Mannagia tua!” Marcos blew out a deep breath. “So be it. How much?”
Jacques told him.
“I’ll wire the money when I get home.” Marcos shook his head and walked to the winery, his shoulders slumped. Even if the minimum wage had been increased, the figure Jacques had indicated seemed too high.
Marcos spent the rest of the day in the cool of the barn he’d converted, tending the three barrels of wine he’d made from last years’ grapes. The pinot noir was aging well, but still hadn’t developed the peppery zing he’d hoped to get from it.
During his evening meal in a small café, Marcos’ thoughts turned back to Elizabeth. The kiss had been a tease. He wanted more. What would she look like with her hair mussed and spread out on a pillow, her lips swollen from his kisses? It had been a long time since he’d had a woman in his bed.
He shifted uncomfortably. Probably not a good idea to continue down that path of thinking. Instead, he took out his phone and pulled up a calendar. Harvest came in late September at the earliest. A few weeks of hard labor and he’d be able to make a brief trip to California in October.
He’d intended to spend all his time in Napa, but Elizabeth’s description of the Santa Cruz Mountains intrigued him. Of course, he could only go if he could depend on Jacques to complete the vineyard chores after harvest.
He’d known Jacques for years. But all of a sudden he began to feel he didn’t know the man at all.