At Wits' End - Kenzie Reed Page 0,35

minimum to keep us operating. If I cash in my 401k and savings, and use my credit cards, I can just about afford the marketing company, the equipment repair, some local advertising, and hiring a few new employees. Cashing out my 401k means a massive tax hit, and fines, but Aunt Fernanda will be able to pay me back when the property sale goes through before I actually have to pay.

“If they can get started right away, then yes, hook me up.”

“I will contact them right now. Don’t worry, babe, you got this. Okay, Amelia wants to nurse, or maybe just use my boobs as a chew toy. Pray for me. I’m going in.”

Chapter Eleven

SIENNA

Before I leave to visit Aunt Fernanda, I take a quick walk through the vineyard to take pictures of the vines. Our vineyard manager, Pietro, is out there with his teenage sons, who are being paid ten dollars an hour for a vineyard internship. They’re carefully shaping the canopies of the vines, snipping here and there, repairing trellises, adjusting ties. At Aunt Fernanda’s vineyard, she goes for low production and high quality, snipping off many of the budding grape clusters so there are fewer per vine but the remaining clusters are more flavorful. It’s an art form that takes many years to master, and we were lucky to find someone experienced, who was also passionate about the biodynamic process.

Heading towards us down the vineyard is Sara, leading a group of tourists on a vineyard tour. She grins and waves at me, and I wave back.

Her voice drifts through the rows of vines, with the familiar spiel. “That’s right, we don’t irrigate at all. It’s a common practice in organic and biodynamic vineyards; the only water that the vines get comes down from the heavens. The process is called dry farming. Wine grapes benefit from tough conditions and poor soil, from having to work hard for their nutrients. It forces them to develop a stronger root system, as they search deep in the soil for their food. And it results in a more intense flavor. Now, I’d like everyone to kneel down and grab a handful of dirt.”

Everyone obeys. “That’s pure gold you’re holding,” she says. “Jory soil is the official state soil of Oregon. It’s perfect for grape-growing because it’s low in nutrients and has excellent drainage. And the tale of this soil began millions of years ago…” As she walks, her voice fades.

Inspired, I pull out a little notebook from my purse and tear out a sheet of paper. I fold it and scrape a little pile of dirt into it, then make the paper into a little envelope, which I tuck into a pocket inside my purse.

And then I head out to visit Aunt Fernanda. It’s an hour-long drive, but a beautiful one, with the road winding past vineyards and farms, the sky a wash of bleached-denim blue.

The family has arranged to take turns visiting her, so she’s got people seeing her at least five days a week. I’ve been visiting her on Saturdays.

The Sunrise Rehab facility is aggressively cheerful. A sign with an enormous sun bursting through clouds tops the mid-century modern building, and there are pots of gingham fabric sunflowers inside. Everything smells like lemony-astringent cleaner. I’m glad it’s clean here, but I feel badly for Aunt Fernanda. She hates fake flowers and artificial scents.

I sign in and show my I.D., then head to her room in the back of the rehab center.

Right before I enter, I remember to take off my wedding ring and shove it in my purse. Oh, what a tangled web we weave…

Standing in the hallway, I hear her voice. “I’m fine! I can do it myself. Oh, hell. All right then. You can help me, but just so you have something to do.”

I look through the doorway. The nurse’s aide is helping my aunt stand up. She stands by her side as she slowly shuffles across the room to the bathroom, using a walker. Aunt Fernanda nearly falls a couple of times; she’s weak on the left side now. Each time, the nurse’s aide catches her and my aunt curses loudly in Italian.

I wait for her to finish. The minutes drag slowly by. When I catch a glimpse of her settling back into her chair, I hurry in.

She’s wearing a yellow flowery house dress and white orthopedic shoes. At home she always wears her thick shiny white hair in a bun. Here she’s let it flow loose