Paul finished his wine, and another glass, before they embarked on the journey across the Golden Gate Bridge. Oh, and he carried some in a foam coffee cup, too.
He decided he’d talk as much as possible to keep his mind off of what he was doing.
“Do you know the bridge is seventy-five years old?” he said as they made their first steps across it. “I read up on it. It was built in 1937. It took almost four years to build.”
Ginger sensed what Paul was doing, so she engaged him. “Tell me more,” she said as she looked out at the stunning view. Paul kept talking, but she was mesmerized by the beauty and hardly heard him.
“Ok,” Paul said, “the bridge is one-point seven miles long. So, it should take us about an hour and a half to walk it. We’ll probably catch up with our mothers at some point.
“During construction, eleven men died falling off this bridge. They had this safety net hanging below the bridge and when men fell, it would catch them. Those who fell in it were entered into the ‘Halfway-To-Hell Club.’ It caught nineteen men.
“But eleven men died when a part of the scaffolding collapsed and ripped through the net. That’s crazy, right?”
Ginger didn’t answer.
“Here’s what’s even more crazy,” Paul added. “More people have committed suicide jumping off this bridge than anyplace else in the country. There was a documentary I saw called ‘The Bridge’ that actually showed some of the twenty-four suicides off this bridge in 2004 alone. Now that’s crazy.”
“Yeah, it is,” Ginger said. “I hope no one does that today, while we’re up here… Paul, look. Look out there.”
There were a plethora of sailboats elegantly drifting in the water, decorating the bay with brilliant colors. A few clouds seemingly strategically placed gave the image the feel of a painting.
Paul looked, and the view was so breathtaking that he stopped talking.
“My God,” he said. He sipped his wine. “Unbelievable. I imagined it would be beautiful, from what I saw while driving across the bridge. But this? This is crazy beautiful.”
Ginger looked up at him. “I know,” she said. “You cannot tell me there is not a God. Man built this bridge. But all that out there…the water, the island, the mountains, the sky…that’s God’s work.”
They walked the next five minutes without saying a word. Ginger could hardly take her eyes off the view. Paul watched the people. He could tell the locals; they walked briskly and hardly glanced to admire the stunning scenery. The first-timers or visitors took it in slowly, walking at a deliberate pace while stopping often to take and pose for photos.
“Since I’m up here,” Paul said, “we might as well get a picture.”
“You’re gonna need to get up against the rail,” Ginger said.
“OK,” Paul said with confidence that he did not have. But he decided to do it instead of thinking about it.
So, he stopped at an angle where Ginger could capture the magnificent San Francisco skyline behind him. But people walked by, between them, so she had to wait a few minutes before it was clear to take the photo.
In the interim, Paul sipped his wine and then made the mistake of looking straight down at the water. The combination of the waves, the height at which he stood and his fear of heights, set off a minor scare. It was like the blood in his body was draining.
But he was determined to not let it mess up his experience. So he closed his eyes for a few seconds and told himself, “Hold it together.” When he opened them, he was a different person. He felt relaxed, like wine can induce, but also alert and excited.
He posed showing the “peace” sign and smiled the biggest smile he had in some time. He felt on top of the world, literally and emotionally.
Paul again looked down over the railing at the waves, to test himself. Bad move. He got dizzy and disoriented. Ginger could see it coming on and immediately came to his aid.
“Here,” she said, putting his cup of wine to his mouth. “Concentrate on this.”
It worked. Paul pulled himself together rather quickly and they continued their walk—hand-in-hand.
Ginger looked down when Paul clutched her hand to make sure what she felt was real.
“You have not held my hand in at least ten years, Paul,” she said. “These changes in the last month or so have been dramatic. Maybe I should get you drunk so you’ll finally tell me what’s really going on because it has to be something.”
Paul smiled. He looked up at the expansion of the bridge and the view beyond it to take in the beauty of it all. And it almost came out right then. He wanted badly to tell Ginger that they were millionaires and their lives, as they knew it, had changed.
Telling her right there, on the Golden Gate Bridge, would be symbolic of how he felt about their future—they were above the world. But his mom was not around, and in his mind, he wanted to tell all three of the women at the same time at the top of the mountain at the Sterling Vineyard. That was the new plan he came up with. So, he held back, hard as it was.
About a half-mile in front of them were Brenda and Madeline, who were becoming faster friends. They walked at a much less brisk pace than their children. And they talked the entire time, learning that they had been compatible all along.
“Finally,” Madeline said, looking down at her cell phone.
“What?” Brenda wanted to know.
“Mitch finally texted me back,” she said.
“OK, what did he say?”
“He said he has a friend for you and that they will be here either tonight or tomorrow night. We can decide.”
“I’d like them to come now, but it’s probably better that they come tomorrow,” Brenda said. “This is our first night. We probably shouldn’t separate from the kids tonight.”
“That’s true, but if I know my daughter, she will try to escort us tomorrow,” Madeline said. “It amazes me that she tries to be the mother sometimes. I agree tomorrow is the better day to do it, but…”
“But Paul will be all in it, too,” Brenda said. “I guess it’s better than them just saying, ‘Do whatever.’ We should talk to them about it tonight so they’ll be clear about it tomorrow.”
“Should I ask about his friend?” Madeline said. “We should know something about him before he gets here.”
“Yes, you should call him,” Brenda said.
And Madeline did. “I’m glad you called because it took me ten minutes to type that text message,” Mitch said. “Texting for me is only in case of emergency, if I’m tied up in a truck and being kidnapped or something.”
Madeline laughed. “You’re funny.”
They chatted and laughed and Brenda got a little jealous. She could see how much Madeline enjoyed Mitch and looked forward to seeing him, and Brenda did not have that in her life. She was not “hating” on her new friend, but she was envious.
“So what’s up with his friend?” she asked.
Madeline said, “His name is Lionel and he’s retired military, too. He says Lionel is a fun man, a good man.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean his interesting,” Brenda said. “But, at this point, how can I complain? Let’s see what happens.”
Madeline set it up for the men to drive to Napa from Sacramento and meet them for dinner the next night. “My son-in-law did a lot of research,” she told Mitch.” So I’m sure he will have some place to recommend for us.”
“You know what?” Brenda asked. “This walk has been great for my energy and my stomach. I feel a lot better.”
“Me, too,” Madeline said. “Almost like new. By the time we get back to Napa Valley, I’ll be ready to really eat.”
Brenda’s phone rang before she could respond. It was Paul.
“We’re almost on the other side,” Brenda said. “How’s the park?”
“I don’t know because we left the park,” Paul said.
“What? Well, where are you?” she asked.
“Right behind you,” he answered.
Brenda turned around to see her son and daughter-in-law about twenty yards behind them.
“Look,” she said to Madeline.
“Oh, my goodness,” Madeline said. “I thought you were going to stay at the park and pick us up on this side of the bridge.”
“We couldn’t let you all outdo us,” Paul said.
Madeline looked down at their clutched hands and smiled. She had viewed Paul as a slouch—or at least someone who was a good man but not a great achiever, which is what she wanted for her daughter. So, while she never protested Ginger’s choice for a husband, she never gave him a ringing endorsement or fully embraced him.
Watching Paul with Ginger on the trip gave her an appreciation for her son-in-law that she did not have. She listened to him speak, really listened, and determined that he was much smarter than she realized and much more cultured and definitely far more humorous. She, indeed, took him to be a humorless person, someone who could not enjoy a good joke and could not tell one.
His self-deprecating story on their way to the Golden Gate Bridge shed a new light on Paul, the man. Seeing him hold her daughter’s hand gave Madeline a much more favorable feeling about him.
At the same time, Brenda assessed Ginger—and told her so.
“Can I steal your wife from you for a few minutes?” Brenda said, grabbing Ginger’s free hand.
Paul didn’t answer. He released her hand and they walked in front of Paul and Madeline.
“I want to tell you,” Brenda began, “that already I have seen more of who you are since yesterday than I have in almost twenty years. And you know why that is? Because I probably wasn’t looking before now. Why that was the case, I cannot really explain except to say that as a parent, you can sometimes see your child as so special that no one is really good enough for him.
“I have seen the kind of mother you are and I have seen how nice a house you keep and how hard you work. But I couldn’t pull myself to believe you were right for Paul. And I’m sorry for that.”
“But what has happened for you to feel differently, Ms. Wall?”
“My son is perfect to me but he’s not perfect,” Brenda said. “He has his little—what do they call them?—idiosyncrasies. And I see where you manage them very well. You got him to get on an airplane. Let’s start with that. And even though you didn’t sit with him—and even though I was drinking with your mother—I saw how you checked on him and reassured him, helped him get through it. I saw that you really cared—even though things haven’t been that great with the marriage. I know what’s going on—some of what’s been going on. I commend you for that.”
“Thanks, but I’ve always cared about Paul and always tried to be a good wife,” Ginger said. “We’ve had our problems, but no more than anyone else. I would like to ask you something, though.”
“Go ahead,” Brenda said.
“In the last month or so, Paul has been different,” Ginger said. “He’s been happy and positive and it has thrown me off.”
“I noticed the same thing,” Brenda said. “I actually was gonna ask you if you knew what was going on with him.”
“What are y’all talking about?” Paul said from behind them.
“You,” they said in unison, and laughed.
“Forget it,” Paul said. “I don’t even wanna know.”
“Well, I know this,” Madeline said. “I’m not walking back across that bridge.”
“I’ll go back and get the car,” Paul said. “I’ll call you when I cross the bridge and turn around.”
“Paul,” Ginger said, “you sure you don’t want me to go with you? I don’t feel so good, but I’ll go with you if you want me to.”
He smiled. “You do care about me,” he said. “If you’re tired, you should stay with them. I’ll be fine. I can walk a little faster so I can get back here as quickly as possible.”
Paul went on his way, and the ladies crossed the bridge and found a place where they could rest and talk.
“Might as well tell you this now, Ginger,” Madeline said. “We have a dinner date tomorrow night.”
“Excuse me?” Ginger said. “A dinner date? With who?”
Madeline explained and Ginger was not happy.
“I don’t think that’s the point of us coming out here,” she said. “You don’t really know these men. And you think I’m going to let you run off with them? I don’t think so.”
“I wasn’t asking your permission, child,” Madeline said. “I am your mother, not the other way around. I was giving you the courtesy of letting you know what we were going to do. I know this man and it’s not like we’re in jeopardy—or that we won’t be in a public place.”
Ginger turned to Brenda. “Have you told Paul this?” she asked.
“Not yet,” she answered. “And I’m sure he will have the same feelings as you, that we shouldn’t go. But we’re not some young kids who don’t know what we’re doing. We invented dating.”
She and Madeline laughed. Ginger did not. And the look on her face told of her over-the-top concern. She had read about the Craigslist killer and the guy who met a woman on Christian Singles.com and killed her. Ginger could not see any good in them going out with men they hardly knew.
“Why is it that you young folks think we don’t know what we’re doing?” Brenda asked.
“Exactly,” Madeline chimed in. “We raised you. I taught you how to deal with young boys and then men. So you know I know what I’m talking about because you’ve told me as much. So, it really comes down to this: You think I have lost it as I have gotten older? You think all the stuff I shared with you has somehow departed my mind and I’m some lost little girl going out into the dating world?”
“I’m not saying that, Mother,” Ginger said. “I’m saying that things are different now. People are more crazy than ever and you have to be careful about who you sit across from at dinner.”
The back-and-forth went on for several minutes, with neither side budging. Finally, Paul called to say he had crossed the bridge in the rental car and had turned around and was headed their way. He met them near the tollbooth and they jumped in the car and headed back toward Napa.
“By the time we get back, it’ll be time for lunch,” Paul said. “You all feeling better? Think you’ll be ready to eat? I found this cool place online where we could stop and eat outside if it’s warm enough when we get there.”
No one said anything. “Hello?” Paul said. “OK, what happened?”
“These senior citizens are talking about they’re going on a blind date tomorrow night,” Ginger blurted out.
“Oh, now we’re senior citizens?” Brenda said.
“You’re not too old for me to whip your butt,” Madeline said.
“Wait a minute,” Paul said. “What do you mean?”
“What she means is that my friend, Mitch, is visiting his cousin in Sacramento and he and his friend, Lionel, are going to come up and take me and Brenda to dinner tomorrow night,” Madeline said.
“You have a problem with that?” Brenda asked, almost daring her son to challenge her.
“Ah, yes, I do, as a matter of fact,” Paul said. “Who are these people? And I thought this was a family trip.”
“It is a family trip, and us having dinner with someone else will not take away from it, Paul,” Brenda said. “And you and your wife can have a nice dinner together without us around. It works out for everyone.”
“Why can’t we all have dinner together?” Paul asked. “The six of us.”
“Because we don’t need you and Ginger trying to chaperone us,” Brenda said. “What are we? Teenagers?”
“I can’t believe we’re still talking about this,” Madeline said. “We appreciate your concern. But we’re not going skydiving or mountain climbing. We’re having dinner. So relax.”
“And I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Brenda said.
Paul drove on and glanced over at Ginger, who shook her head.
“Wait, what, exactly, is the problem?” Madeline said. “Could you please tell me? If it’s something more than you thinking we shouldn’t go with them because they are men and we don’t know them that well, you can keep quiet. But if there is more to it, then please share with me.”
Again, Paul’s and Ginger’s eyes met.
“Well,” Ginger began, “it’s basically like this: I’ve never seen you with another man or even heard of you with another man or even conceived of you with another man. It was always you and Daddy; that’s all I know.
“So to tell me you’re planning to go out with someone, well, that doesn’t sit well with me. And I realize it might sound crazy; I do. I’m a fully grown woman but you’re still my mother.”
“I appreciate that, baby,” Madeline said. “But your dad—God rest his soul; he was a good man who was good to me—but he’s gone. It took me a while to accept it, to deal with it. I’m still dealing with it. But it has been almost a year and I have got to live my life, whatever time I have left. And it’s not like I’m trying to marry this man. I met him at church and I have seen him a few times.
“He lives in San Diego, but he happens to be visiting his family near here. Why wouldn’t we see each other? What’s the harm? And above all, why wouldn’t you trust me enough to enjoy the company of a man without dishonoring your father? And I knew him better than anyone in the world. Your dad would not want me mourning him for the rest of my life.”
Ginger appreciated her mom’s points.
“If he’s her friend,” Paul asked his mother, “how did you get involved in this, Ma?”
“Because I asked Maddy to ask if he had a friend,” she answered. “Why not? I’m single. I like adult male attention, too. And don’t bring up your father. I’m sure he’s living his life, which is what he should do. I have to live mine.”
Neither Paul nor Ginger had any retort of consequence, so they rode on in silence, admiring the wonderful landscape.
When they got into Napa, they took Route 29 all the way in to St. Helena, a quaint little mountainside town in the heart of the Valley. And they really liked it because of its name, Helena, same as their daughter. They admired the wineries they passed along the way: Beringer, Sutter Homes, Peju, Milat, and the endless row of restaurants and shops that begged for a visit.
“You feel like eating?” Brenda said to Madeline.
“I finally feel like myself, for the most part,” she answered. “Well, at least I can eat. My body isn’t quite right, but that walk did me good. Shoot, I’ll be ready for some wine with lunch.”
“I have a cool place for us to eat,” Paul said. “It’s up ahead, I think. Looked it up on the Internet. It’s called Gott’s Roadside.”
“There it is,” Brenda said, pointing to the left. And so it was. It had an American flag hanging in front, high above the street, and a huge patio filled with umbrellas, people everywhere and smoke rising from its chimney.
“It must be good because it’s packed,” Madeline said.
“Very cute,” Brenda added.
Paul parked the car and they made their way in and ordered. They were lucky; they were able to secure a table under an umbrella up against the white picket fence that surrounded the patio.
Madeline had the Chinese Chicken Salad, Brenda the Shrimp Tacos, Ginger a bowl of chili and a Classic Tuna Melt and Paul the Classic Tossed Cobb Salad and garlic fries. He also ordered a bottle of LaFollette 10 Pinot Noir for thirty-three-dollars.
“Can’t have good food without good wine,” Paul said. And no one argued with him.
Madeline said grace and they ate. “Hey,” Paul said, looking at his and Ginger’s moms, “you all think you’re slick. You were supposed to tell us an embarrassing story that you haven’t told anyone.”
“That’s right,” Ginger said. “Who’s going first?”
“I’m not sure I can tell mine now; we’re eating,” Madeline said.
“That’s a cop out,” Brenda said.
“OK, fine,” Madeline said. “You have to get closer because I don’t want to say this too loudly.”
Everyone leaned in. “It’s not a long story,” she began. “I was about twenty-two and dating this guy that I really liked. He was strong and smart and funny and he liked me for me.”
“Sounds like Daddy,” Ginger said.
“Ha, ha. It was your Daddy,” Madeline said. “So, we’re dating like three months and we’d never been intimate. We spent a lot of time together because we enjoyed each other so much. I was holding out—not because I wasn’t attracted to him or even really liked him. I was in love with him and I had to make sure he respected me.
“You know how men can put you in a category if you’re too forward. They start thinking you’re that way all the time and never once consider that you could only be that way with them because of something they did with you that freed you up.”
“Right,” Brenda jumped in. “Don’t get me started with the double standard of how women are viewed by men.”
“That’s a whole different talk show,” Madeline said. “But anyway, I had to make sure that he knew I wasn’t easy. So, I was having a hard time sleeping and took some sleeping pills one night right before he came over to my place. My mother was sick, I was thinking about graduate school; there was a lot on my mind and when it was time for bed, I would lie there on my back, looking at the ceiling.
“Well, I also had been sick—stomach problems—and when I was growing up there was no such thing as hot mint ginger tea. My mom gave us a laxative. So that’s what I took to feel better.”
“Uh-oh,” Brenda said. “I see where this is going.”
No one else did. “So, he’s over my apartment,” Madeline went on. “We’re talking and having a good time and it’s about two or three in the morning and we’re both asleep on the couch. When I woke up, I couldn’t ask him to go home.
“So I tell him to come on, ‘Let’s go to bed.’ He perks right up and I guess thinks we’re gonna do something. Anyway, I change into a gown and he’s in bed in his boxers. And we’re hugging and kissing and I’m so tired that as soon as we stop, I fall asleep. The sleeping pills took over.
“I guess after a while your dad fell asleep, too. Around six in the morning, I wake up. The pills were so strong that I’m a little bit disoriented. I see him resting there peacefully. The sun is peeping through the blinds. Just a perfect little morning.
“Then I start to smell something. I start sniffing him, seeing if it’s coming from him. I sit up in the bed and I’m looking around the room, and the scent is getting stronger and stronger. Now it’s plain old stinky. So I move the sheets back and the funk bursts into my face. Again, I thought he had passed gas. But the reality was crazy.”
Madeline leaned in even closer so that she could lower her voice and they could still hear her. “It turned out that it wasn’t him,” she said. “I looked between my legs and there was a small pile of shit in the bed, all runny and wet. I had shit on myself in my sleep.”
The group burst into laughter so loud that almost everyone on the patio turned to see what was happening. Paul got up from his seat and leaned over the white picket fence, laughing uncontrollably.
It took them a few minutes to get themselves together.
“Mother,” Ginger said when it calmed down. “Are you serious?”
“The moral of this story?” Madeline asked. “Don’t take a sleeping pill and a laxative at the same time.”
And the laughter started again. It took them a few minutes to calm down.
“I tell you what,” Brenda said. “If he married you anyway, he really loved you.”
“Wait,” Paul said, “how did you explain to him what happened?”
“Oh, well, that was funny, too,” Madeline said. “So, I was, as you might guess, panicked when I realized what happened. So I tried to cover up the pile with the sheets to mute the funk and then ease out of the bed without waking him. But all the movement woke him up. So, I tried to hurry to the bathroom, but it was on his side of the bed, so I had to walk right past him.
“Remember that nightgown I said I put on? Well, it was white and the back of it looked like I sat in a giant pile of dark chocolate. It was crazy. I tried to hide it but there was too much mess.”
Laughing, Ginger asked, “What did Daddy say?”
He said, “You OK?”
“I hope you said, ‘No,’ ” Brenda said.
“I did. I told him to not move; I didn’t want him to—God forbid—roll over onto that mess or pull the cover off of it. So, he just lay there. I cleaned myself up and told him to get out of the bed as I pulled the sheets off.
“He never said a word. He just looked at me. And I never said anything about it. It was so stinky and nasty. But that’s the kind of man he was: He didn’t want me to be any more embarrassed than I already was.”
“No offense, but he still married you?” Paul said. “Now that’s love.”
“So if that were me, you wouldn’t have asked me to marry you?” Ginger said.
“Gin, you can do-do right here and I’d clean it up and keep it moving,” Paul said. Everyone laughed, and the tension of the parents’ double date the next day was gone.
“I have never told anyone that story; I actually tried to forget it,” Madeline said.
“When you really think of it, it’s romantic,” Ginger said. “You showed yourself at a vulnerable position and Daddy still wanted you. It didn’t matter to him. He did not care. He loved you.”
Paul poured everyone more wine. “See, this is what I’m talking about,” he said. “A beautiful day, good food, good wine, lots of laughs and family.”
“How you feeling, Mother?” Ginger said. “Your stomach.”
“I feel like I’m back to normal,” Madeline said. “Bring on the wine tasting.”
“I feel a little sluggish, but I’m ready to go, too,” Brenda said.
“Speaking of going, it’s your time to go,” Paul said. “What’s your embarrassing story?”
“I haven’t had enough wine yet to tell it,” she said. “Let’s keep drinking and go to a tasting and then let me tell my story.”
No one argued with Brenda. They had laughed so hard at Madeline that they needed a break anyway. So they enjoyed the mid-sixties November temperatures and absorbed being in Napa Valley.
“I said it already, but I could live out here,” Paul said. “There’s a feel of peace and calm out here that I never had before.”
“Yes, but I’m sure it’s the idea that there is wine all around you that makes it even more appealing,” his mother said. “Look out there. Vineyards everywhere.”
Ginger wanted to talk about something else. “I probably didn’t handle it well on the bridge, but can I ask you something, Mother—and you, too, Miss Wall?” she asked.
The ladies nodded their heads.
“It hasn’t even been a year ago since Daddy died and I haven’t gotten over it,” she began. “I still dream about him being here and I wake up so devastated and even angry when I realize that it was a dream. I can admit—I was a daddy’s girl and I haven’t moved on. I want my father here. So, how do you do it? How do you move on?”
Madeline took the defensive at first. She didn’t want her daughter to think she loved her father any more than she loved him as her husband. But she surprised herself by her ability to eschew her personal feelings and, instead, seek to give Ginger some clarity.
Madeline sipped her wine and motioned for Paul to pour her more. He did and she took a sip of it and reached across the table and held her daughter’s hand.
“I guess we’re one big happy family here, so I can share this right here, right now,” Madeline started. “I miss your father more than anyone could possibly know. You don’t love him or miss him any more than me, I can promise you that. I can hardly remember my life before him. His love is infused in my body, in my heart. No one could ever replace who he was to me, who he remains to me, even in death. I learned how to love through your father. Everything good in me came from my parents and your dad.
“I am so glad to hear how much you love and miss him. It’s only right because you were the crown jewel of his life. He loved me, sure. He coveted you, Ginger. You know what he said one time? He said, ‘Maddy, I can die a proud man knowing I helped bring my daughter into the world.’ That’s how much you meant to him—everything.
“So I guess you thinking I must be crazy to not still be totally devastated by his death. But you’re wrong, honey. Do you have any idea how upside down my life has been since he died? Do you have any inkling what it is like to have one of your arms cut off? That’s what it is like for me.
“So, my answer is, I don’t know how to tell you to move on. I’m living my life, but I haven’t moved on. This man lives in me every day and always will. I knew him better than anyone on the planet. He shared so much with me, and me with him. And because I know him, I know he hardly wants me sitting around playing the victim and not living my life. That’s the man he was.
“I never dishonored my husband in life and I damn sure won’t in death. And he would want me to live my life. I have to, Ginger. If I don’t, what happens to me? I don’t have my husband anymore and you can rest assured I’m not OK about that. I have the same dreams you have about him being here, only to wake up in tears. We got sick last night and while I was in bed, I thought about how he would have reacted to me throwing up in the hallway of a hotel. And you know what? He would have made sure I was all right, cleaned up the mess and once I started feeling better, laughed his ass off at me. He would have made me laugh at myself.
“Think about it: He never ran stuff into the ground. He was always about moving on to the next thing. He was positive, Ginger. And so I’m not going to be the widow so devastated that she sits in the house with the shades drawn. And you know why? That’s not what my husband would want me to do. And so I am honoring him by living my life. And that’s what you have to tell yourself and believe it. Your father wants you to live your life.”
With that, Madeline wiped the tears that streamed down her face. Ginger did, too. And so did Brenda. Paul practically popped an eye muscle he worked so hard to prevent crying.
In a very real way, one he never articulated, this was the kind of thing Paul wanted to happen on their trip. The more he thought of their parents going with him and Ginger, the more he thought it was an ideal way to bring the families together for more than holidays, graduations or funerals.
There was a divide between the families stemming from unfounded perspectives. Brenda perceived Madeline’s self-assuredness as arrogance and snobbishness and Madeline interpreted Brenda’s unfiltered tongue to a lack of sophistication. Their discord was as transparent as glass, and so the families hardly spent time truly getting to know each other because Brenda and Madeline spread misleading rumors and sometimes all-out lies about their child spouse’s family.
It was pathetic, yes, but it was their way. Paul saw this cross-country venture as an opportunity to end the madness, to bring together the families and form a bond. It was a truly noble idea, especially with women in their sixties who were stuck in their ways, however warped.
But it was working. Something about being away from home opened them up, batted down their guards and they allowed the other to see her for who she really was. Madeline’s explanation to Ginger silenced the table, except for the tears.
Paul looked at his mother and he knew she had a new respect, a new appreciation for Madeline.
“Let’s have a toast to your husband,” Paul said, as the women wiped away tears.
Ginger rose from the table and came over to the other side and hugged her mother. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m sorry,” she said softly.
Madeline, crying again, nodded her head. Brenda reached across the table and handed her a napkin. Paul and Ginger’s eyes met, and she resumed crying.
It was a heart-tugging moment, a moment that was awkward on the patio of a crowded restaurant. Most people went about their business. A few people noticed the outpouring of emotion.
“OK,” Paul said. “Let’s have this toast before people start thinking we’re weird or something.”
Ginger let her mom go and went back to her seat. But Brenda came over and hugged her. “It’s OK to love your daddy and to be emotional about him,” Brenda said into her ear. “Trust me, he feels good about it.”
“Here we go,” Paul said, raising his glass. He was not being disrespectful; he was trying to move beyond it because Madeline got more and more emotional. He recalled attending his grand-mother’s funeral and the pastor inciting emotions instead of offering comfort. His posturing seemed contrived. Brenda and Ginger were sincere.
“To Richard Price,” Paul said, “a man who remains loved by many and never forgotten.”
They tapped glasses and took a sip of the wine. To loosen things, Paul offered an evaluation.
“Next time, I want you to taste it with all your senses,” he said. “I want you to put your nose in there good and smell it. Then I want you to twirl it around in your glass to let it oxidize or breathe. Red wine needs to breathe so all its flavors and aromas can come out. Then I want you to lean your glass over and let the wine reach the rim of the glass and then turn it back upright and watch the ‘legs,’ which is how the residue of the wine goes back to the bottom of the glass. If it’s really fast, then the wine is pretty young. But if it flows back slowly, then it’s older.
“Then, before you sip it, smell it again—you will notice a difference. It’ll be more flagrant. That’s what twirling it around does—it brings out the aromas… Now sip it.”
The ladies followed his instructions.
“Wow, it does taste better,” Madeline said. “It’s like all that stuff woke it up.”
“That’s actually a good way to put it,” Paul said.
“It tastes sort of peppery but fruity,” Ginger said.
“I can taste the spiciness, too,” Brenda said. “Very interesting. I’ve never paid this much attention to tasting wine before. I sucked it down. If it wasn’t bitter, it was OK with me.”
“I don’t know how or why I was never that way,” Paul said. “I, somehow, always appreciated wine.”
“I can see a few days with you and Ginger and I’m gonna be a wine snob,” Brenda said.
“Well, that’s not a bad thing,” Paul offered.
They laughed and conversed about the wine, the weather, life and family. Paul excused himself and went to the bathroom. When he returned, he stopped about twenty feet from the table and admired the women—his women—laughing and getting along over a glass of wine. And he felt at peace.