The Truth is in the Wine Page 4

  She did quietly wonder how three-and-a-half days with her mother and her mother-in-law would pass without someone looking to pull out someone’s hair. But she was up to the challenge because the trip very well could be the turning point in her marriage, which she wanted to get back on track.

  Paul wanted that, too, and he was in a good place in his life, finally. He was with his beloved wife on their dream trip, even as she remained suspect about him. He had lost ten pounds since receiving the lottery check and discarded the cloud that hung over him. He was rich. And, above all, he had hope.

  He did have a bit of drama, though: the way he saw it, his wife had not totally fallen back in line; indeed, she carried a bit of an attitude with her to California. But he could work on that. His mom and Ginger’s mom represented a different story. They had not seen each other in months and that time apart did not temper their issues.

  From the start, they did not agree that their children should marry. Brenda Wall saw Ginger as an overly emotional weakling who only sought a husband, not a true mate.

  “I don’t trust her,” she told Paul at the time. “There’s something about her that is sneaky and underhanded. And you told me she can’t have children, right? So, why would you want to marry someone who cannot bear your children?”

  “Because I love her, Ma,” Paul said. “Because I am better with her than without her. Because we match and enjoy each other and have the same ideas about life. I’m almost ashamed that you’re telling me to not marry someone I love because she can’t have children, like that’s all there is to life and happiness.”

  Brenda accepted her son’s position, but she never agreed with it. And so, she treated Ginger with disdain or disregard, albeit not overtly. When they adopted Helena, the new grandmother said at a gathering of family and friends: “I’m so proud of you, Paul. You’re going to be a great parent and instill all the character in this child that she needs.”

  She did not mention Ginger, and Ginger’s mom was incensed. She told her daughter in the kitchen, when they were alone and away from the guests: “This woman is sick. How dare her ignore your role in your baby’s life. I don’t have a problem with Paul. But that mother of his…going around talking about God this and God that. In reality, she’s Lucifer. Let her disrespect you like that again and I’m—”

  “You’re gonna what, Ma? Fight her?” Ginger asked. “That’s not happening. You’re too old to be even talking about something like that. She might have a problem with me, but we’re gonna take the high road. Momma, I’m a mother. I have a baby. We shouldn’t even be talking about that woman right now.”

  And the talk ended there, but the animosity did not. They were around each other for special occasions like Helena’s graduation from high school, and they had token conversation. This would have to change over the trip, and neither Paul nor Ginger knew in what way.

  A sense of what was to come occurred at the Atlanta airport. Ginger’s mother, Madeline, was a bit taken aback by the South-west Airlines boarding procedure—first-come-first served—and complained about it to her daughter for twenty minutes. Finally, Ginger told her: “Mother, we’re gonna get on the plane and that’s it. It’s Thanksgiving morning. Let’s be thankful for this.

  “Plus,” she added, “you’re a senior. You can board before everyone else.”

  That logic brought down Madeline’s emotions. “It could be worse,” she said. “I could be sitting next to Brenda.”

  “Momma,” Ginger said, “you’re sharing a room with her in Napa. So, what’s wrong with sitting next to her on the flight? We’re not gonna have any nonsense on this trip. Right? Right?”

  Madeline reluctantly nodded her heard.

  “This is an important trip,” Ginger said. “We’re going to a beautiful place. We’re a family. Let’s enjoy it and not mess it up with petty stuff. I don’t get along that great with Mrs. Wall, either. But I don’t let it bother me. I do what I believe is the right thing and keep it moving. You should adopt the same attitude.”

  “Yeah, well, we’ll see,” Madeline said. “She thinks her son is all that, that he’s too good for you. And here he is, he can’t even keep a job.”

  “Mother,” Ginger jumped in. She found herself defending her husband, which was not the plan. Her position was more about altering her mother’s attitude than taking up for Paul.

  “Paul has worked all his life,” she said. “He got laid off. It’s been a tough economy lately. But he still worked hard to provide for us. You need to stop looking at him as a failure. He could have given up or sat back and collected unemployment. But he didn’t. It hasn’t been easy for him. But he’s hung there.”

  She said all that and yet she at times felt about Paul exactly as her mom did. But the wife in her would not allow anyone, not even her mother, to bad-mouth her husband.

  “If you say so,” Madeline allowed.

  “Momma, you can get on the plane now,” Ginger said. “I’m in Group B, so I will be on later. Why don’t you sit with Mrs. Hall?”

  “What?” Madeline said. “No way. She left to go to the little store over there and didn’t even ask if I wanted anything. She only cares about herself.”

  “Momma, you were in the bathroom when she went to the store; so how could she ask you if you wanted something?” Ginger said. “And why can’t you walk over there and get something if you want something? See, this is what I’m talking about, Momma. This is unnecessary drama you’re trying to create and that’s not good.”

  “Well, I’m still not sitting next to her,” she said. “I will hold a seat for you.”

  “Momma, what about Paul?”

  “What about him? He can sit with his mother,” Madeline said.

  In the store, as they sought reading material for the flight, Brenda Wall said, “This is a long flight; I hope you plan to sit with me.”

  “Why you say that, Ma?” Paul asked.

  “Because I don’t want to sit next to a stranger; you never know who those people are,” she said. “I don’t want to have to fake small talk with someone I’ll never see again.”

  “Then read and go to sleep,” Paul said. “No one said you have to talk to anyone. And why don’t you sit with Ms. Price anyway?”

  “No way,” she snapped. “I’d rather sit on the wing.”

  “Ma, I have enough anxiety already; I hate to fly,” he said. “I haven’t been on a plane in ten years and I’m not that excited about getting back on one now. And you’re complaining about sitting beside strangers? Sit with Ms. Price and you’ll see she’s not nearly as bad as you think.”

  “She’s a borderline alcoholic who would go anywhere alcohol is being served,” Brenda said. “And you want me to sit with her as she drinks for five hours?”

  “Yes,” Paul said, “I do. I want you to and I need you to at least try to get along with her. I bet you’ll find that you all hate the same things.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?” she said, while purchasing a fashion magazine. “What are you saying? That I’m negative? That I’m like her?”

  “All I’m saying is that you probably have similar interests and could probably at least learn a little more about each other. Maybe that will help you all act more like family toward each other.”

  As it would turn out, with Southwest’s open seating policy, the in-laws were unable to sit together, even if they wanted. But that did not mean it was a smooth flight for any of them.

  CHAPTER 5

  UP, UP AND AWAY

  Minutes before the doors were shut on the plane, Paul went to the men’s room and splashed his face with water. He took some Dramamine and talked to himself about enjoying the experience of flying as opposed to fearing it. He read something on the Internet about that approach.

  And it worked. He stepped onto the plane feeling at ease and confident. Paul chewed the gum in his mouth at a furious pace, but it helped calm him. There were no seats near the front, so he managed his way near the back, where he found a center s
eat between a young man who seemed to be hung over and an older woman who was working on a crossword puzzle.

  He thought, This guy is sleeping and this lady is doing a word game—it’s going to be fine.

  And it was—for a while. Paul’s heart pounded as the jet picked up speed on the runway. He held on to the armrests with a death grip. His body constricted and his breathing was impaired. He began to sweat. And he even started to feel nauseous.

  The guy and senior on either side of him did not notice his issues. And when the plane elevated from the ground, Paul began to feel more and more at ease. He looked around and only he seemed uptight about the take off. Many passengers were already asleep; others seemed totally unconcerned.

  Finally, Paul calmed all the way down to where he eventually dozed off. He felt accomplished. He had conquered his fear. He was flying to California. When he woke up, he looked around and found Ginger across the aisle two rows in front of him. He didn’t even notice her as he entered the plane; he was so wound up with anxiety.

  He waved at her and she nodded her head in a reassuring way. She wanted to take Serena’s advice and embrace reconciliation. But it was not easy. Being stubborn and prideful remained a part of her disposition. But she fought her instincts.

  Ginger got up from her seat and came over to Paul’s row. “How you feeling?” she asked. She said it in a loving way, a way Paul had not heard from her in some time. It made him feel like his wife was coming back to him. She cared.

  “I’m not on the floor curled up in the fetal position, so I guess I’m OK,” he said.

  Ginger laughed, and Paul’s world lit up. When he was in his rational mind, he loved to make her laugh; it made both of them feel good. He had forgotten how much he enjoyed that because he had not heard her laugh in months.

  “Good,” she said. “Get some rest. That’ll make the trip shorter.”

  She went back to her seat and checked on her mom, who was sitting directly in front of her, on the aisle. Ginger leaned forward and her mom leaned back so her ear could meet her daughter’s mouth.

  “Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?” Ginger whispered. “How can that be? They haven’t even started the beverage service yet?”

  “Why I have to wait on them?” Madeline Price said, showing Ginger a small plastic bottle in her purse. “It’s legal. It’s the right size to take as a carryon. And who are you anyway? I’m the mother.”

  “Well, it would be nice if you acted like it,” Ginger said.

  “What did I do now?” Madeline asked.

  “Why can’t you wait until they bring you drinks?” Ginger said. “Do you have to bring drinks with you? It’s not even eleven o’clock and you’re drinking. We’re going to Napa Valley, for Christ’s sakes.”

  “Don’t you get snappy with me, girl,” her mother responded, almost turning completely around in her chair. “You watch your mouth with me. If I want to drink now, I will drink now. I don’t need your permission or anyone else’s.”

  She then reached into her purse, pulled out her little stash and took a swig. Ginger dropped back in her seat, frustrated and angry and was not sure which emotion was more prominent.

  Maybe we should have left her at home, she thought to herself.

  At the same time, Brenda Wall was seething. She had a window seat, but the man next to her smelled of some kind of vinegar, from his mouth and pores. And he would not stop talking.

  “I live in the South because the people are nicer,” he said to Brenda. “You said you’re going to Napa. You’re gonna love it. I would start off slow. That’s where first-timers make the mistake. They come in so excited that they shoot their whole wad at the first winery. Big mistake.

  “You have to pace yourself. Enjoy wherever you go first, but realize that’s only the first one. You don’t have to try to get drunk on your first visit. There is nothing out there if there isn’t wine. So, it’s not like they’re going to run out of it, you know?

  “I like the smaller vineyards over the big ones. Small ones like—you want me to write this down for you?—Black Coyote and Brown are very underrated. But the big ones aren’t overrated. Mondavi, Beringer, Mumm’s…they are all good. Really, you can’t go wrong out there. I realize you’ve probably done your research. You look like a woman who plans things out thoroughly, to every detail.

  “Am I right?”

  Before Brenda could answer, he jumped in and went on.

  “Of course, I’m right. But, still, when you’re going somewhere you don’t know, local knowledge is very important. So be sure to contact the concierge of your hotel and anyone you run into who lives out there. They’ll really give you someplace that will be nice…”

  He went on for another five minutes before taking a breath. She had long since stopped hearing what he was saying and was seething that he would besiege her with chatter—and an aroma that insulted her senses. When he took that pause, she finally jumped in.

  “Thanks for all that info,” she said as politely as she could. “I will put it to good use. Now I’m going to get some sleep so I can have some energy when we get there.”

  She was relieved to get that out, but it did not stop her neighbor.

  “Sleeping on planes is overrated,” he said. “You’re not comfortable, you’re probably going to get a stiff neck and that doesn’t feel good. Plus, sleep on a plane is fake sleep; it only fools you to believe you are rested when you really are not. So, pretty soon after you get off the plane, you’ll crash.

  “I make sure I get my rest before my flight, no matter how early it is. That way, I don’t have to worry about sleeping or being rested when I get to the other end. You get what I’m saying?

  “Now, some people—and you might be one of them—can sleep on a plane as they do in their beds. Not me. My arm goes to sleep. My knees get achy. My head is jerking all over the place. Me, I like to sit here and meet nice people and talk and learn something and take in the view and enjoy a great experience that way…”

  Brenda was beside herself. She told the man she wanted to go to sleep and he ignored her and continued to talk—and shoot that disgusting smell in her direction. She did not know what to do. At an earlier time in her life, she would have stopped the man in mid-sentence and let him know he was annoying her. But as she got older and seriously involved in the church, she softened a little.

  So, instead of humiliating the man, she pretended to fall asleep as he rambled. She slowly closed her eyes and even let her head drift forward. She had to hold back laughing at herself. Still, while it was funny to her, to the guy it was another reason for him to talk.

  “Hey, watch it,” he said. “You’re falling asleep. That’s what I’m talking about. Your head jerked, you were kind of suspended. Any minute you were going to be slobbering all over yourself. And that wouldn’t have been pretty. See what I’m saying?

  “One time I saw this man snore on a plane. He had stuff dripping out of his mouth. He was a mess. And when he woke up, guess what he said: That he was tired. All that snoring and everything and he still felt sluggish. Best thing to do is to get some rest and a light meal for the flight and you’ll be fine. You won’t need to try to go to sleep in this tight little space.

  “The best thing—”

  Brenda couldn’t take it anymore. She stopped him in the middle of another monologue. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Even with that, the man continued to talk. “Good luck in that little space in there,” he started. “I have heard of a case where a particularly large person got stuck in there. It took two flight attendants and a passenger to pull him out.”

  “Excuse me,” Brenda said again, sounding exasperated as she unbuckled her seat belt. “I’ve really got to go.”

  Finally, she was free, and when she reached the aisle, she let out a sigh of relief. Oddly enough, there was but one free seat on the plane—next to her son’s mother-in-law, Madeline. It was a center seat that became vacant just as she got up
from her seat, as that woman moved to the only other open seat on the plane, a few rows up near a friend.

  So Brenda had a choice: to return to sit next to stinky mouth-all-mighty or to sit next to Madeline, who she did not like. It was a tough choice. Before she decided, though, she asked Ginger if she wanted to take the seat next to her mother, which would give Brenda Ginger’s seat.

  “No, thank you,” Ginger said without hesitation. “It’s all yours.”

  Damn, Brenda thought. Her own daughter doesn’t want to sit next to her. Why should I?

  She went a couple rows back to check on Paul, who was sleeping. That relieved her because she was concerned about his paranoia around flying. After the bathroom visit, she decided she could not bear another few hours next to the loquacious man. So she swallowed hard and asked Madeline to allow her past so she could take the now-empty center seat next to her.

  Madeline was shocked, but obliged. As she stood up to let Brenda into the aisle, Paul woke up. The women were face to face in the cramped aisle, and to Paul it looked like a confrontation. And he panicked.

  “No,” he yelled, and everyone turned to him. “Stop. Stop.”

  “Paul,” Brenda said.

  “No, I don’t want to hear it,” Paul answered. He unbuckled his seat belt and climbed over the sleepy-headed guy next to him and stumbled into the aisle, bumping into a seated passenger.

  He hurried over to his mother and mother-in-law and separated them. “Why can’t you just simply get along?” he said. “This is silly. You’re fighting on a plane?”

  “Paul,” Ginger said, pulling him by the arm. “No one is fighting.”

  “I saw it; they were in each other’s face,” he said. “And I heard them yelling.”

  “Honey,” his wife said, “you were dreaming. They weren’t fighting.”

  “Is there a problem?” a flight attendant asked.

  Paul looked around confused. “Maybe I was dreaming,” he said. “I’m sorry. I think I dreamed that you all were fighting and then I woke up and there you were, in each other’s face… I’m sorry.”