Turn or Burn (31 page)

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Authors: Boo Walker

BOOK: Turn or Burn
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Another tape had surfaced, too, and it was a YouTube sensation. Abner’s sermon from the night before. One of his people had released it to the media, and needless to say, it had consumed the interest of the world. Nothing like it since Waco, Texas, the talking heads said. Perhaps it was enough to remind people that those folks that live in the Middle East aren’t that different from us. Though I’m not a believer, I know the vast majority of the believers out there are good people, no matter whom or how they worship. But there are lunatics in every bunch, and you can’t judge the whole group by a few. I know, I know. I’m shutting up now.

 

***

 

Back to the vineyard on Red Mountain I went. In a way, retreating; and in a way, revitalized.

The leaf canopies were large and healthy and soaking up the sun like they’re meant to do, helping the now tiny green grapes grow to ripeness.

All was right with my world. All but her.

Francesca had gone back to Italy. She had checked in on me at the hospital the following afternoon and then said good-bye. It was a sad one. She said what she’d been saying all along: that it wasn’t going to last, that it would never happen again.

I told her I was in for the long haul if she changed her mind, and she said she already knew that. But sometimes we put ourselves second. For better or worse, we do. And she took that plane to go please her parents. I had no doubt in my mind that she loved me. No doubt at all.

So a week after it all went down, I found myself right back where it began. She wasn’t there, but so it goes. I still had Roman. He was watching me dig the fifth hole of the day, trying to find a leak in a stretch of PVC pipe that fed water to my Merlot. Unfortunately, he only dug on his own terms, so he wasn’t much help other than keeping me company. That’s more than I could ask for anyway. Poor dog would have to put up with me the rest of his life.

I stabbed my shovel into the dirt and felt the sting in my left shoulder where Jameson Taylor had shot me. But I thought of Ted and smiled. We’d had some good times over the years. He and his brother were two of the finest men I’d ever met, and I’d miss them until I was in the ground.

The phone began to ring in my pocket. Like every other time it had rung the past week, I hoped it was her. I hoped that somehow she’d landed in Palermo and looked the honorable Prince Salvi in his eyes and instantly realized she’d made a mistake.

Ha ha, Harper. That’s a good one, my friend.
The sun don’t shine on a dog’s ass that often. No offense, Roman. Anyway, I answered.

“Harper, it’s Jacobs. You won’t believe this. You heard they brought Luan Sebastian in today, right?”

“I hadn’t heard that.”

“It’s true. But that’s not what I had to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Luan’s pregnant.”

A quick flash of Abner’s face came to me, and I saw Luan chained to that bed again. I had no words.

“Abner got her pregnant. Can you believe that?”

“Jesus Christ,” I said, not thinking of what I was saying.

“Yeah, exactly. Jesus Christ.”

 

***

 

An hour later, I’d found and fixed the crack in the pipe. As I was tossing dirt back into the hole, my phone rang again, making me almost feel popular. I pulled my gloves off and dug it out of my pocket.

“I’ll be damned,” I said to myself. It was
her
, and all of a sudden my heart was racing like someone was shooting at me.

“Hello,” I said, acting like I hadn’t looked to see who it was.


Ciao
, Harper. It’s me.”

“Who’s ‘me?’”

“Francesca.”

“Francesca who?”

“God, you’re a riot.”

“Haven’t we already established that? Anyhoo, what are you doing, little lady? How’s the prince and princess of Palermo?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”

“Why not?” I acted like this wasn’t the biggest news since the moon landing.

“Well…I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. I’m driving through vineyard country and it made me think of you. I wish I was drinking one of those Red Mountain blends you speak so highly of.”

“That right? You know that Chianti crap is rubbish, don’t you? The Italians make better cheese than wine.”

“That’s funny and
not
true. No, really. It makes me want to live on a vineyard one day.”

“Well, I’m sure Prince Poppycock could make that happen.”

“I was actually hoping
you
could.”

Right that second, I heard Roman growling. Then I heard a car swinging a left onto my driveway, just like Ted had days before. Roman started running. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

“Me? Where?”

I watched a little rental car start coming toward me, spitting up dust. And I could see her face through the windshield, and I felt her like a warm wind.

“You’re in so much trouble,” I said.

“I’m here, Harper.”

“For how long?”

“That’s up to you.”

That’s when I dropped the phone and started running toward her. She threw her car into Park and climbed out. When she saw me running, she started running, too, and it felt so damn right.

We embraced and held each other and I kissed her like I’ve never kissed another woman. Over the next few hours, I shared my wine with her and we spoke of the past and of the future. We watched the sunset and made love on the porch and in the dirt below the vines. Right there and then, we became part of the terroir
of Red Mountain
.

Right there and then, it all became whole.

 

 
 
 
 
Thanks for allowing me to share my art with you.
Please take a moment to leave a review and then come find me at:

 

boowalker.com
 
Acknowledgment

Mikella Walker, I am humbled and honored to call you my wife and best friend, and I will never stop chasing you.  Thank you for your love, support, and presence.  This book is as much yours as it is mine.  

 

About the Author
Boo Walker spent his College of Charleston years and a few after in Nashville as a banjoist and songwriter for the avant-garde punchgrass band, The Biscuit Boys. Some hand problems knocked him out of the game, and he stumbled into a position with a short term equity trading firm based out of Charleston, SC. To feed his ravenous muse, he began writing his first novel, Lowcountry Punch.
 
Around that time, what started as a passion in wine became a neurosis.

  After six years of the Wall Street thing, Boo decided it was time to end his sedentary, computer-driven lifestyle.  He grew out a handlebar mustache and moved clear across the country into a double-wide trailer situated on 5 acres of Malbec vines just down the road from Hedges Family Estate on Red Mountain in Washington State.  The Hedges family took him in and taught him the art of farming and the old world philosophies of wine.  He now travels the galaxy peddling the family's juice, and chances are you can find him in an airport somewhere working on his next novel.

 

 

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