by Hayes, Lane
“I think I heard both of those that day.” I chuckled then set the frame down. “He seemed like a good guy. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Geordie’s Adam’s apple bobbed theatrically when he swallowed. He nodded in acknowledgment then moved like a ghost toward the window seat. He curled his long legs in front of him and leaned against the wall. When he didn’t speak, I thought he might be giving me a silent hint it was time for me to go.
“There’s a paper and pen on the desk. Don’t forget about your note,” he said in a faraway voice.
“Right.” I turned toward the desk and glanced sideways to thank him and say good-bye, but the sheen of tears in his eyes reflected in the lamp light stopped me. I moved closer and sat opposite him on the window seat. “Geordie, are you all right?”
He let out a strangled sigh. “No, I’m not. I’m not all right. I’m all wrong. But someday I’ll be better again. So they say.”
“Is there anyth—you’re shaking. I—do you want water?” I asked in a panic as tears spilled onto his cheeks and ran down his chin.
I spotted a box of tissues on the desk and hurried to grab a few and thrust them at him.
Geordie wiped at his cheeks and blew his nose. He tried to smile, but the gesture so was devoid of life or feeling that I wished he hadn’t bothered.
“Thanks. You can go, Nick. I’m a mess and that won’t change any time soon, unfortunately.”
Go, go, go. He told me to go. He didn’t need me. He needed someone cool, calm and collected like Wes because let’s face it, I was a mess too. A different kind of mess, but certainly no one’s idea of a safe port in a storm.
“Do you want to talk about him?” asked someone who sounded like me. “I’ve heard that helps sometimes.”
This time Geordie’s smile met his eyes. “You’re either hard up for a good time, or you’re a glutton for punishment. Which is it?”
“Both maybe. I just—I can’t leave if you’re crying. I think it’s against the rules.”
“What rules?”
“Cosmic rules in the universe.”
“Cosmic or karmic?”
“Yes. Humor me. Tell me about Mike. How did you meet him?”
Geordie cocked his head and considered me for a moment.
“We met at a bar in the Castro. He was by himself nursing a gin and tonic in the corner. He looked so…straight. Kind of uncomfortable but fascinated too. I noticed him staring at me and decided to have a little fun with him. I looked particularly fierce that night…guyliner, pink lipstick, and a gold mesh top. My friends laid bets on how long it would take before he scampered away like a scared rabbit. But he didn’t seem freaked out or nervous when I sat next to him. If anything, he looked like he’d won the lottery. I’ll never forget the way he smiled at me. I thought I was hot shit but with one look he made feel…incandescent.
“He was…friendly and funny and—he didn’t go anywhere. We talked all night. That’s all it took. One night and I was hooked. We were both just coming out of relationships, and he was still coming out of the closet at the ripe old age of forty-seven. It was a tumultuous affair in the beginning, but it never felt hard with Mike. He could find humor in anything. He was always laughing.
“I miss his laugh most of all. It’s quiet now. I hate the silence. I try hard to fill it but it’s harder than it should be. I’m not myself and I can’t remember who I was before I loved him. That’s why I came to the city. I had to see if I could recognize myself here.”
“How’d you do?”
“Well, I’m sitting in my dead lover’s robe with his former lover’s new lover blubbering like an idiot, so I’m going to go with…not well. I’m not well at all, Nick. In fact, you might even say I’m broken.”
I flinched at his word choice and shook my head. “No, you’re not. You’re sad, but you’ll be okay again. You just need time.”
Geordie raised his brow. I braced myself for a caustic reply but he seemed to visibly deflate before one came to mind.
“Maybe. But right now, I’m in pieces. Shattered from the inside out. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to talk sometimes. I lost someone I’ll never get back. He was my heart, my soul, my reason for waking up. I lost it all the morning he didn’t wake up. Maybe you’re right. Maybe one day I’ll be myself again. Maybe one day I won’t wrap myself in his old clothes hoping to catch his scent on my skin. Maybe I won’t sit for hours listening to musicals he loved just to remember the sound of his laughter. The way it boomed and made everyone around him giggle whether or not they were in on the joke. Maybe I’ll fill the emptiness with…something. But right now, I wish I was I with him.”
Tears rained down his face now. Geordie trembled but he didn’t make a sound. It was a silent cry that somehow gave off a wave of desolation so sharp and raw I felt it deep inside my body like I’d been pierced with a sword. My throat closed, my eyes burned, and my heart ached. I reached out to touch his sleeve and sidled closer. Then I gathered him in my arms and held him tightly as he wept. He shook and heaved. Sorrow poured out of him in convulsing sobs of sheer agony. It frightened the hell out of me, but I held on. I didn’t say a word. Words didn’t belong here. And no equation would help me navigate. This was elemental emotion. Raw and real. This was love and loss. It couldn’t be dissected or understood in textbook form. It simply was.
This was the piece I’d overlooked. Complete and utter surrender.
I stayed with Geordie for a while. He pulled out old photo albums then made tea and insisted we sit in the living room with the curtains open to soak in the view of the lights on the Bay. I didn’t argue. I had nowhere to go, and I loved seeing pictures of Wes before silver threaded his dark hair. The three friends fascinated me. They reminded me of my own family of friends in a way. A couple of us had tried to be more and one succeeded. I traced Wes’s outline in a picture of him and Mike standing outside the Ferry Building. They had their arms around each other and big smiles on their faces.
“Wes always hates it when I take pictures like this. I’m surprised he smiled for this one.”
“Hmm. Was it strange for you that they stayed friends after you were with Mike?”
“Not strange, but it wasn’t always easy. Mike hurt Wes. He didn’t mean to, but he didn’t want the same things anymore. Selling their shares of their first company together was the end of one era. The winery was the beginning of a new one…with me. They mended themselves somewhere in between and went back to being friends. Wes wanted to fight the bastard who forced them out. He had lawyers and a plan of attack, but Mike wasn’t interested. He said he didn’t want to waste time being bitter about how unfair life was and that karma had a way of taking care of lawyer fees for those who are patient.
“Wes isn’t like me. He doesn’t beat his chest and lament his loss like the frightening aunt who shows up to a funeral in a raincoat, red high heels, and giant black sunglasses. He doesn’t advertise his pain. But he lost his brother and his best friend.”
“And he’s left with the frightening aunt?” I teased.
Geordie barked a quick laugh, sounding more like himself than he had since I’d knocked on his door. “Yes. And you.”
“Yeah. I have to work on that part.”
“Then do it. I don’t know why, but I’ve got this feeling Mike sent you here for Wes. It sounds loco, but he loved Wes. Just not the way he loved me. I think you’re exactly what Wes needs.”
It was tempting to brush off his words because the sentiment was fanciful and superstitious, but it held a hopeful note I needed right now. “What about you?”
“It’s not about me. Go on. Don’t waste time. It’s much too precious.”
Chapter 13
The drive to Napa was somewhat treacherous the next day. It started off pleasant enough, but the dark clouds over San Francisco followed me all the way to Conrad Winery. I wasn’t the least bit surprised when the sky opened as I turned down the cypress-lined driveway. Unlike the trip I’d made here months ago in my doomed Ran
ge Rover carting ten cases of wine and carrying the weight of selfish righteousness, this time I came prepared. Sort of.
I drove a Prius and came armed with an umbrella and nothing more. Certainly not pride. I didn’t have roses, and I could never seem to recall a poignant line from a song or a movie when I needed one. I had no plan per se, and I was afraid to call upon any mystic gods of karma should I be deemed unworthy. I didn’t have a clean slate. I had baggage and demons and a screwy brain. I couldn’t barter or trade anything worthwhile to plead my case. I only had myself. Talk about scary.
The wind whipped around me the second I climbed out of the car. I opened my umbrella, tightening my grip on the handle when a gust of wind and rain threatened to yank it from my hand. I wasn’t even halfway to the entrance when another blast of frigid air blew my umbrella inside out, exposing me to the elements. I dashed for the door, but it was too late. I was soaked. Rain seeped through my gray V neck sweater and the white oxford shirt underneath and splattered my designer jeans. I stomped my wet sneakers on the giant mat, expecting to be greeted by Lauren or another smiley college kid. No one appeared so I headed through the stone archway into the tasting room.
I hadn’t counted on a crowd. It was a weekday at eleven a.m. in March. This had to be an event of some kind, like stop one on a celebratory birthday bash. The crowd was an even distribution of middle-aged men and women. I could make out bits and pieces of animated conversation above the clinking of glass and the classic jazz Wes preferred. It didn’t matter who these people were. Their joy was palpable. I glanced longingly toward the roaring fire in the giant hearth before making my way to the corner of the bar. I spotted Ryan at the far end with two interns I recognized but couldn’t remember their names.
But no Wes.
“Excuse me. Do you know where Wes is?” I asked the girl pouring wine closest to me.
“He’ll be right back.”
“Is he in his office?”
She cocked her head and gave me a suspicious half smile. “No, he’s in the reserve room, but—”
“You’re back,” Ryan said with a guarded look as he skirted the bar.
“I’m going to find Wes.” I started to move away from him but something in his expression changed, and a missing puzzle piece clicked into place. “You sent the wine to my office, didn’t you?”
He smirked as he pulled a dishrag from his back pocket and wiped his hands methodically. “How’d you like it? Great year, fine bouquet…”
“Where’d you get the code?”
“From Wes,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
I shook my head distractedly, mentally removing myself from whatever game he was playing. “You’re lying.”
Ryan grunted then glanced away. When he looked back at me, some of his bravado fell away. “He pulled it from his pocket like a fucking fortune cookie scrap when he spilled wine on himself. I figured it might be yours, so I returned it in clearer handwriting with a bottle of Conrad’s best.” He waited a beat then added, “You’re welcome.”
“You’re an asshole. Why?”
“Why do you think? I’ve heard you’re nuts and—it doesn’t matter. Wes might be too. At least, he’s crazy about you. Go find him.” He inclined his head toward the exit before turning back to the bar.
I backed up a couple of steps then quietly made my way through the arched doorway leading to the herb garden. Fuck. The rain was coming down sideways. I could barely see two feet in front of me. I fumbled with my ruined umbrella for a moment before giving up and hurrying down the gravel pathway as quickly as possible. I kept my head down and used familiar outposts to guide my way to the reserve room. The old olive tree next to the lavender plants. The potted herbs next to—bam!
I slammed into a hard wall of man and fell flat on my ass. In the rain. My hand scraped against the gravel when I tried to break my fall. Rain sluiced down my face, clinging to my lashes making it difficult to focus until a dark shadow appeared out of nowhere to shelter me from the storm.
“What are you doing here?”
I looked up at the vision dressed in black, framed by a giant green-and-white umbrella that made his eyes pop. I wanted to smooth out the crease in his brow and run my fingers through his thick hair. But more than anything, I wanted another chance.
“I’m—I was…it’s raining,” I said. Lame.
“Get up. Here. Take my umbrella.”
“No, it’s too late. I’m already soaked,” I replied as he gripped my scraped hand and helped me to my feet.
“Your hands are like ice cubes. Go back to the tasting room and warm yourself by the fire. I’ll talk to you lat—”
“No! This can’t wait.” I moved out from under his umbrella and paced a few feet away and then back again as I weighed my words.
“Nick I—”
“I love you. I shouldn’t have told you I didn’t believe you. It wasn’t you I didn’t believe in. It was me. It wasn’t you I didn’t trust. I didn’t trust myself. I wish I knew how to write a sonnet. Or a song. Or a poem. Right now, I would say something witty and amazing about standing in the rain with you and how beautiful you are. Your heart, your soul…the things you’ve learned about love, loss. I’m humbled by your strength. I wish I was worthy. I’m not. But I want to be.”
“Nick—”
“Let me finish. Please. The first time I came here, I asked the wrong person to marry me. The second time, I came to unload the wine I’d bought for a wedding that never happened. I thought if I left ‘Nick and Lisa Forever’ here, I could walk away from the guilt and hurt and sorrow I’d caused. It seemed so simple. But I know it’s not. There’s no such thing as a truly clean slate. I can’t erase what I’ve done or where I’ve been or who I am. I can only try to be better.
“I want to be better for you. I want to be worthy of you. I love your strength and resilience, but more than anything, I love that you’re kind. You don’t mind playing just one more game of chess because you know I hate losing or giving me more of the blankets because I get cold faster than you. I love that you can list the cartoons you loved as a kid and recite your favorite lines from a beautiful poem. These pieces of you…they’re so real. I want them to be mine. I don’t have much to offer in return, but whatever I have is yours. My pieces aren’t as pretty as yours. They need work, but I want you to know…I love you and I don’t want to waste any more time spinning on things that aren’t important. I just want you.”
Wes let go of his umbrella and pulled me into his arms, crushing me hard against his chest before fusing his mouth over mine. I held on tightly. It was dark and gray outside and rain poured over us incessantly. A few months ago, I might have suspiciously thought the downpour was a bad sign, but today it felt cleansing.
Wes pulled back slightly to rain kisses all over my face…my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, my chin. He bit my bottom lip and then reached down to grab his umbrella to shelter us. “I missed you. I needed some space and—”
“No. You were right. Sometimes I can’t see clearly. I have too many thoughts battling for dominance in my head and I lose sight of what’s important. Norm, Finn, Don and that stupid deal…they don’t matter. We’ll win the next one.”
“What do you mean?”
“We walked away from the Byzantine deal. We let Norm have it. I’m sure he’s still doing cartwheels,” I said with a huff. “It wasn’t worth losing our integrity. And personally…I’d already lost too much.”
“You didn’t lose me. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
“Thank you. I—it’s okay. There are other deals out there. This wise old man told me you gotta know when to let go. He said sometimes you end up gaining more than you lose in the long run. Or something like that. I trust him. I trust you. I think you should know I’d follow you anywhere. Off a cliff, off a bridge, out of an airplane. If I’m going to fall, I want to do it with you. I love you, Wes.”
“I love you too. You’re safe with me.”
We let the moment unfurl aro
und us. It was soothing and tender. It offered forgiveness and a second chance. I was going to cling to it with everything I had in me because I knew this was the real thing. The real thing wasn’t going to allow me to skim the surface. It couldn’t be reduced to a feel-good love song or a romantic comedy. It was so much bigger. Love demanded courage, patience, compromise and trust. In return, it offered immeasurable joy. No equation could calculate what I knew was real. It was time to surrender and lean into the fall.
Epilogue
“Think of love as a state of grace; not the means to anything but the alpha and omega, an end in itself.”—Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera
Harvest season was in full swing. The white tents perched on the hill were buzzing with workers gathering grapes. I could make out the activity in the distance, but there was no way to make out individual faces. I’d have to walk up the driveway or find a golf cart to find him. I shrugged my suit coat off and slung it over the bench next to the herb garden then rolled up my sleeves. It was a gorgeous autumn day. Blue skies for miles and barely a breeze. The helicopter ride home was smooth and less painful than the bit of traffic I’d hit on the main road leading to the winery.
I looked toward the house and considered changing before I went to find Wes, but…nah. It could wait. I adjusted my sunglasses and headed up the path just as a cart turned the corner. The sun’s reflection off the window was blinding or maybe that was my smile. My cheeks hurt as I made my way to greet my man.
“Hi, honey.”
“You’re home,” he said as he jumped out of the vehicle.
He pulled me into his arms and smothered me in a bear hug then peppered my face with his customary round of twenty kisses before fastening his mouth over mine. I was breathless when he released me.