One Flew Over the Crow's Nest by Ken Casper

Author:Ken Casper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks Inc.
Published: 2015-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

THE FOLLOWING morning, Thursday, I drove the perimeter road over to the Dodge Slope. We’d made a decision on Sunday to expand our vineyard there. It was time I visited the place.

I arrived to find the site in a positive, enthusiastic state of flux.

Joe Gutierrez had already scraped the surface of the new vegetation that threatened to reclaim the land we’d cleared only months before. He’d filled in low spots, leveled high, and begun terracing areas that were currently too steep for planting.

Fernando Amorado’s crew was laying out long, straight, parallel rows of stakes. In the weeks ahead, a thousand posts would be pounded into the soil and miles of heavy-gauge wire strung between them to support hundreds of new grapevines.

Ned waved and indicated a spot for me to park. I climbed out of my pickup.

“It’s looking good.” Ned greeted me, bouncing on his toes, like a kid who’d just found a shiny new electric train under the Christmas tree. “If Joe continues to move at the pace he’s been going the last two days, and Nando can keep up with him, we’ll finish ahead of schedule.”

“Don’t jinx it,” I replied with a laugh. “Never underestimate Mother Nature or Murphy’s Law.”

I hung around for half an hour, envying the men who were wielding shovels, picks and axes, dragging heavy chains and climbing over obstacles—things I couldn’t do, at least not easily or efficiently. Since nobody needed me supervising, much less getting in the way, I decided to use the time to visit my neighbor. It was well past nine, half the morning shot for me, but I imagined it was only beginning for Dolly Dodge Spites. At least I hoped she was up and coherent. As it turned out, she answered the doorbell.

“This is Shelley’s day to go to the supermarket. The good news is that she put on a fresh pot of coffee before she left. You game?”

I accompanied her to the kitchen, which I estimated was about thirty years out of date, charming in some respects, like the arched brick fireplace in which the iron gas stove was located, and discouraging in others, specifically the avocado-and-black appliances.

Dolly motioned me to a rustic trestle table off to one side of the room while she snagged a pair of heavy ceramic mugs and a nearly full Silex pot.

“Now, what brings you here, Jason? You and Michiko have already offered your condolences, for which I thank you. Lou’s chicken casserole was delicious, by the way.”

“Thank you. I’ll let her know you said so.” I waited until Dolly had filled our cups and seated herself across the table from me. “You didn’t mention Mom’s visit the other night.”

She pulled back. “Julia? Here? What are you talking about? When was this supposed to have happened?”

“Friday night.”

“Jason, I haven’t seen—except from afar—or spoken to your mother since Brayton and I announced our brief engagement and subsequent marriage.”

This wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry she’s having so much trouble coping,” Dolly commiserated. “I’ll be honest, I’ve missed her.

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