Here With Me (22 page)

Arturo shook his head. “For what it costs,
you’d think they would.”

“You could pick it up,” George said, looking
at Arturo.

“I could. But the vines are growing like a
son of a gun in Lot E and we need to get those trellis wires
raised.”

“Then you need to be here,” George said. His
tone had an air of finality, as if it was midnight and carriages
were going to start turning into pumpkins and horses into mice.
“I’ll go with Melody,” he said.

She felt like the ugly stepsister. “Don’t
bother,” she said. The words popped out, like pulp out of a
squashed grape.

Her grandmother frowned at her.

George didn’t make eye contact. “Just give me
a few minutes to get cleaned up and we can go.” He walked into the
house, shutting the door quietly behind him. Arturo went the other
direction, toward the wine shed.

Her grandmother reached out and brushed the
pad of her thumb across Melody’s cheek. “Are you feeling all right,
sweetheart?”

She felt small and petty and very needy.
“Maybe a little tired,” she said.

“Of course.”

Melody was grateful that her grandmother
didn’t push it. Five minutes later, when George emerged, his face
and arms were clean and he’d changed his shirt. He was holding a
paper sack.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“When Bessie found out I was leaving, she
made me a sack lunch.”

Proof that George, with his quiet ways and
good manners, had wormed his way into the cook’s heart. She
resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

Melody gave her grandmother a kiss and walked
down the steps. When they got to the car, she yanked open the
driver’s side. George waited until she got in and pulled her
seatbelt tight, then he carefully shut the door. He walked around
to his own side and got in with considerably more grace than the
first time he’d ridden in her car.

She took deep breaths as she negotiated her
way back to the highway. Getting to her grandmother’s from the main
road was tricky. Getting back to the main road from her
grandmother’s was downright dangerous. The decline and the sharp
curves were nothing to mess with. It didn’t help that Dionysos and
Hermes ran alongside the car for most of the way, making her even
more nervous.

“Damn dogs,” she said under her breath.

“You won’t hit them,” he said. “They know how
to stay out of the way.”

“I know you’re right, but Aunt Genevieve
would be crushed so I don’t want to tempt fate. You’d think given
that they’re named after Greek gods, they’d be a little
smarter.”

“Greek gods?”

“Yes. Although I could never quite figure it
out. Dionysos was the Greek god of wine, mysteries, and the
theatre, so I guess his name makes some sense. Hermes was the Greek
god of merchants and we are in the business of making money, so I
can buy that.”

“What can’t you figure out?”

“Dionysos and Hermes were part of a trio. The
missing one is Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love and
beauty.”

“Trio?” he repeated, sounding suddenly
hoarse.

“Uh-huh.” She negotiated the last turn and
eased her car onto the road to Napa. The dogs fell back, evidently
intending to return home.

“But there’s never been a third dog?” George
asked. “You’re sure?”

“I’m pretty sure. Aunt Genevieve just showed
up with them one day, said she got them from the pound. I think if
there had been a third dog, he’d have come home with her, too. Is
something wrong, George? Have the dogs been bothering you?”

“No. I like dogs,” he said, rather absently.
“I do.”

He was acting odd, but she couldn’t really
blame him. He’d had very little choice about coming with her. “I’m
sorry,” she said. “I know you don’t want to do this.”

“It’s fine. We need the pulley.”

So he was going to pretend that he didn’t
know what she meant. Fine. Two could play at that game. “I suppose
when the pump stopped working you learned some Spanish that can’t
be repeated in mixed company.”

That got her a small smile. “How did you
know?” he asked.

“I’ve spent more than one harvest working
side by side with Arturo. There’s nothing like having a truckload
of grapes ready and the crusher stops working to get the old
vocabulary going. The air practically turns blue.”

George turned his head to look out the
window. “There’s more to growing grapes than a person might think,”
he said.

She flipped on her turn signal and took the
Napa exit. “It can make a sane person crazy. First of all, there’s
the climate. It’s either raining too much or not enough. Too sunny
or not sunny enough. Then there’s the soil—is it fertile or not? Is
there too much slope or not enough? What about drainage and
erosion? The list is endless.”

He turned to look at her. “I’ll never look at
a grape the same way again.”

“You know the French have a word for it.
Terroir
. It’s that unique magical combination of natural
factors that makes every vineyard different. Our grapes are
different from our neighbor’s grapes. That’s what makes our wine
different.”

She pulled up behind a line of cars that were
waiting to make a turn at the light. She looked at her watch.
“Peterson’s Plumbing is on the far-east side of Napa and my
doctor’s office is just a few blocks north. It took a little longer
than I thought to get here. Do you mind if we do my appointment
first?”

“That’s fine.”

She watched the road carefully. “I’m sure
there’s a McDonald’s or something around here. I know you already
ate what Bessie packed, but maybe you could grab a cup of coffee
and some cookies to go with it.”

When he didn’t respond, she looked over.
“Okay?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Just watch
these cars.”

Melody handed him a slip of paper that she’d
stuck in the empty cup-holder. “I wrote the building address down.
Can you read it off to me?”

He did and she drove another block. “There,”
she said. “It’s got to be one of those four buildings.”

“You don’t know where you’re going?” George
asked, sounding concerned.

“I sort of know,” she said. She pulled into a
lot between two of the buildings and parked her car. “And you’re in
luck. The golden arches are almost just across the street. I’ll
come get you when I’m done.”

She opened her door and got out. She started
walking toward the building. He caught up with her in a few steps.
“If it’s all the same to you,” he said, “I’ll stay with you until
you’ve found the place.”

There he went again—taking care of her. It
should have been confining and overwhelming but it felt sweet.
“This is a good neighborhood, George,” she felt compelled to
explain. “I’m not going to get mugged.”

He didn’t answer. He simply fell into step
next to her and she was surprised at how natural it felt—like
they’d been walking side by side for years.

When they got inside the first building, she
consulted the directory on the wall. “I was right,” she said.
“Fourth floor.” She pushed the elevator button and the silver doors
slid open.

It startled her when she heard a sound come
out of George’s mouth—like someone had punched him in the stomach.
“Are you all right?” she asked, as she stepped into the
elevator.

“Oh, sure.”

He didn’t sound very convincing and he looked
like he was about to be ill. And for a man who just minutes before
didn’t seem to want to leave her side, he now seemed rooted to the
spot. “Coming?” she asked.

He took a giant step over the threshold of
the elevator.

“Step on a crack, break your mother’s back,”
she teased.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, when the elevator
doors closed and it started to move, he sort of threw himself into
the corner and braced his hands on the walls on both sides.

Oh good grief. Was the man afraid of heights?
Had she found his Achilles’ heel?

When the door opened, she stepped out. He
followed without a word. Just a few steps down the hall, she
located the doctor’s office door and opened it. There was a
receptionist at the front desk.

“Melody Song for Dr. Thacker,” Melody
said.

The young woman entered the information into
her computer. “First appointment,” she confirmed.

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” She held out a clipboard with a
stack of papers attached. “Fill these out. And I’m glad to see that
you brought your husband. Dr. Thacker likes to have a conversation
with Dad.”

“Oh, he’s not—” Melody stammered.

“Staying?” George interrupted. “Of course I
will.” His smile took in both Melody and the receptionist and he
took the paperwork from the receptionist’s outstretched arm. “Much
obliged, ma’am,” he said. He walked over to a set of purple chairs
at the far side of the room.

She followed, feeling like some kind of sad
puppy. A sad, fat puppy whose thighs were starting to rub together.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “They never said anything about you
being here when I scheduled the appointment.”

He handed her the clipboard and then picked
up a magazine off the table next to her. “If we’re going to pretend
that we’re married and this baby is mine, then we stick to the
story. At all times.”

He was right. She felt sophomoric and
careless. For all she knew, the receptionist and her grandmother
got their hair done at the same place and she’d be outed during a
wash and blow-dry.

Could this get much worse?

She realized it could when George flipped the
page and the article was titled
Pregnancy and Constipation.
She grabbed it out of his hand, ignoring his startled look. She
turned to the index, scanned it, and turned to page 73. “Here.”

She desperately tried to ignore him while he
dutifully started reading about pregnancy and the benefits of a
good walk. She worked her way diligently through the stack of
papers and had barely finished when the nurse called her name.

The young woman in the pale yellow smock
dotted with cute little ripe strawberries and matching red pants
led them down a hallway. They stopped in front of a scale and
Melody dutifully stepped on and tried not to cringe when she saw
the number. Then they continued on until they reached a small room.
The nurse motioned for Melody to take a seat on the exam table and
for George to take the chair in the corner. Then she took Melody’s
temperature and her blood pressure. She was still making notes in
the chart when there was a discreet knock on the door and an older
man, probably close to sixty, wearing a light blue coat,
entered.

“I’m Dr. Thacker.” The man extended his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Johnson.”

It was the first time someone other than
George had referred to her as Mrs. Johnson. It startled her. Her
first thought was
Who is Mrs. Johnson?
and then, as the
words seems to hang in the air, her second thought was,
Whew,
thank goodness it was Mrs. Johnson who’d now gained a total of
twelve pounds and not her
.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, finally
recovering. “Uh. . .this is my husband, George Johnson.”

George stood and the two men shook. Then the
doctor picked up her file and looked through it. After a minute, he
said, “I appreciate you having Dr. Jetille forward on your records.
That always makes it a little easier.”

She nodded.

“It looks like you’ve had a pretty uneventful
pregnancy so far. Still having the morning sickness?”

She stopped to think. “You know what, I
haven’t thrown up in three days.” She looked at George and he
smiled at her.

“Good. That’s the way it works sometimes.
It’s like somebody flips a switch.” Dr. Thacker motioned for her to
lie back on the table. “Why don’t we have a look?” he said.

She saw George start to move to the door. Dr.
Thacker looked up and smiled. “You don’t want to miss this, Dad.
Have a seat.”

She could see the indecision in George’s eyes
but he nodded and returned to his chair. Then Dr. Thacker helped
her lie back and lifted up her shirt. The doctor took a tape
measure and measured both the length and width of her stomach.
“Looks fine,” he said. “Let’s have a listen.” He took a tube,
squeezed out some clear gel, spread it across her stomach, and then
placed the transducer on her belly. And suddenly, as plain as day,
amidst the gurgles and slurps of her stomach, was the unmistakable
sound of Jingle’s heart.

She thought her own heart might burst with
joy. She heard George’s chair scrape the tile and suddenly he was
there, standing beside her. He was pale and his eyes were
suspiciously bright, like he might have blinked away tears.

She reached for his hand and she felt the
calluses on his palm. Together, they listened.

And all felt very right with the world.

After a minute or so, the doctor stepped
away. “Sounds good but I think it would probably be a good idea if
we took an ultrasound today.”

Her other doctor had never even mentioned an
ultrasound. “Is something wrong?” she asked, before turning her
head to look at George.

He squeezed her hand.

The doctor shook his head. “I have no reason
to think so. Ultrasounds are perfectly routine and just give us a
more accurate way to assess the baby’s development.”

“Will it be painful for her, this ultra
sound?” George asked, saying it like it was two words.

“Absolutely painless for both mom and baby.
Actually, it’s sort of fun. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Fifteen minutes later, she and George got
their first glimpse of Jingle. He or she was curled in a ball.
“There’s the spine,” the doctor said. “And that’s the heart. Look,
you can see all four chambers.”

It positively took her breath away. “Can you
tell if it’s a boy or a girl?” she whispered.