The Last of the Chianti

The Last of the Chianti

Phoebe Jones pulled off the Pacific Highway at the Laguna Beach exit. On her left, the last light of the day slipped beyond the horizon and she raced the thin strip of sunset along the coast to her father’s house. As she pulled into the large drive, her father’s dogs, a Rottweiler and a husky, came running to the car, barking and leaping up on the door. She fought her way out and started laughing as they recognised her and joyfully tried to knock her over.

The authoritative voice of her father boomed from the front door, ‘Wellington! Hunter! Heel!’ The dogs responded immediately, as did Phoebe - her back straightened and her smile tightened. As she moved around her car, her father’s silhouette relaxed and he tilted his head. ‘Phoebe? Is that you?’

‘Hi, dad,’ she hung back at the car, ‘Sorry it’s been so long.’ He held out his arms and she rushed into his embrace. She was shocked at the tears that sprang to her eyes and she held on tighter to hide them.

He stroked her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head. ‘When you still hadn’t made it back by Labour Day, I thought I’d be waiting until Thanksgiving.’

She cleared her throat and said, ‘I’ve been caught up with my dissertation.’ She stepped back from him and looked back over her shoulder to her car. ‘Every time I plan to come back here my supervisor calls me in about a new piece of research or something.’

‘I remember what it was like. I studied physiology too, remember?’ His tone was casual but she could hear the hurt at the back of it and it made her ache for all the time lost over the past year. As they moved inside under the lights of the entryway, she noticed new lines on his face.

The dogs, once again unfettered from their master’s orders, tumbled around them, sweeping Phoebe down the hall, past the doors that led into the library, under the arch made by the main staircase and into the sunroom at the back of the house. The two animals flopped down on the rugs near the sofas. The sofas were new, but in her mind Phoebe could still see the old, slouchy beasts that were in vogue in the eighties – a studied casualness that was a reaction against the ‘Greed Is Good’-style opulence so popular elsewhere. She remembered building forts with her cousins in this room when they were small children. The old fireplace still took up much of the north wall and he’d maintained the ‘nautical’ theme loved by her mother. The memory of her mom hit her at every corner of this room. It had been her favourite. French doors lined the west wall, opening out onto a terrace. Almost every evening she’d been in here watching the sun set over the Pacific Ocean.

Phoebe jumped as her father put a hand on her shoulder, calling her back to the present. ‘Take a load off. I’ll open a bottle of wine. Are you planning a long visit? Do you have any bags?’

‘Thanks,’ she started as she sat down. ‘I’ve got a bag in the car. I’m not sure how long I can stay. To be honest, I hadn’t really planned to come over - otherwise I would’ve called and warned you!’

‘Yeah, usually give me a fighting chance to make other plans,’ he joked back as he left the room. They were used to sparring with each other, but there was something brittle in this exchange that Phoebe put down to being a terrible daughter.

Phoebe stood up and walked over to the French doors, towards her own reflection. The flared jeans and oversized Abercrombie sweater with the old pair of Dunlops that she’d worn for comfort on the long drive looked like a political statement, particularly against the backdrop of casual luxury in this room. It always seemed to come down to this - making political statements when she thought she was just living. She walked over to the stereo and pressed play on the last album on her father’s MP3 player; Black Gold by Nina Simone. Jazz filled the room from the Bang and Olufsen speakers and Phoebe smiled sadly at the thought of her father listening to this album; her mother’s favourite. Her dad returned with an open bottle of Bordeaux in one hand and two glasses in the other. He had another bottle still corked under his arm.

Phoebe noticed his jaw tightening and said, ‘Dad, look, I’m really sorry I haven’t –’

‘No, forget it,’ cutting her off before she could go any further and taking a seat putting the bottles and the glasses on the coffee table. ‘So, really, what brings you here now?’

She was standing at his back now and ran her hands through her hair before moving around to sit on the sofa opposite him. ‘I have a bit of news.’ She clasped her hands together on her knees like a schoolgirl.

‘Is it about that paper you presented at the SPARC Conference?’ He said, sarcastically, ‘Your mother would’ve been so proud.’

‘Dad,’ she could feel the whining tone in her voice before she even started. The conference was on the Medical Benefits of Marijuana. It’d been held over a long weekend in San Francisco and her supervisor had recommended she attend mostly to get more practice in presenting to crowds. They’d known that there would be certain repercussions from the event, but it hadn’t occurred to her that her father would’ve seen it before she’d had a chance to speak with him. She sighed and tried again, keeping her voice more under control this time, ‘Dad, it wasn’t that big a deal, really. Hardly anyone even saw my presentation. Only about a hundred people hanging on at the end of the weekend.’

‘Yeah, I bet they were all high, too.’ As he said this, she rolled her eyes. His voice was level and he poured their glasses steadily as he continued, ‘You’re throwing away your career before it even begins. I know this industry, Phee. People make statements early in their careers that mark them for life.’

She took the glass he proffered and said, ‘The establishment is changing, dad. This is medical research and the evidence is –’ she cut herself off this time, and took a deep breath. ‘I don’t want to have this argument with you. Not tonight.’

‘Who’s arguing? I’m not arguing. This is just a frank and open dialogue between professionals.’ He held his glass out and said, ‘Cheers,’ and she automatically put her glass up to touch the edge of his. ‘I’m more experienced than you are. But, maybe you’re right. To the changing of the guard,’ he raised an eyebrow - an expression she’d seen on his face so often over the years. Taking a seat opposite her, he placed his glass on the large, maple coffee table between them and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped between them.

‘Can we set this aside? Or maybe just take it up later or something? I want a chance to actually see you.’ She could feel the wheedling tone creeping back in and took a drink instead of continuing. Nina Simone sang about being young, gifted and black and Phoebe felt the familiar pang of guilt for being white, privileged and probably terribly spoilt and ungrateful.

‘I haven’t seen you in a year, Phee, and the only reason you come now is because you’ve become some midnight toker. Well, here we are. What do you want to talk about?’ It looked like he was asking the floor.

‘I’m not -’ She took a deep breath and started again, ‘How have you been?’ She asked. ‘Have you been seeing anyone?’

‘What the hell does that mean?’

‘Not like that!’ She blushed, ‘I meant friends. Has Kai been around?’

‘Kai?’ He all but spat the name out and Phoebe looked over at him expecting him elaborate, but all she got was, ‘No, I haven’t seen Kai in some time.’ His mouth twisted when he said his friend’s name.

‘Oh, that’s a pity.’ Phoebe was flustered. ‘I was hoping to ask a favour of him while I was out here.’

He finished his wine and set the glass down, hard, on the table, like a full stop. Wellington barked softly and shifted away from Phoebe. She sighed and refilled their glasses, emptying the bottle. Picking up the other bottle her father had brought in, she walked over to the sideboard to find a bottle opener. The yellowing label looked familiar. ‘This is the Chianti from that vineyard in Tuscany.’ She paused before taking up the opener, and looked over her shoulder at her father. He still sat on the edge of the sofa, elbows on knees, hands clasped - but now his back was bowed into a question mark.

‘Yeah,’ he sighed as he spoke, ‘Do you remember that trip?’

She smiled - her first genuine smile since the dogs greeted her on the drive. ‘Of course. Two years ago, wasn’t it? I’d just graduated with my Master’s.’

Her father returned her smile. ‘I was so damn proud of you. Physiology, just like your dear old Dad.’

‘That was the last time we were all away together. You, me and mom.’ Their smiles faded. Instead of walking back to the sofa she leaned against the sideboard and said, ‘I’m really sorry I haven’t been around since mom died. I just -’ she stared down at her Converse sneakers pointing a toe along the grain of the hardwood floor. ‘I didn’t know what to say.’

‘You didn’t have to say anything. You didn’t have to come.’

‘I wanted to. I really did. Life just… got in the way.’

‘Life gets in the way of death, Phee. That’s the point of it.’ There was a pause and then he changed the subject, ‘So what about this paper, then? What’s this new interest in medical cannabis research? I remember in Tuscany you were all set to study brain-machine interface.’

‘You’ve kind of got that field covered, dad. I think I just needed to branch out a little.’

‘Branch out? That’s planting a whole new tree.’

‘Did you actually read my paper? Or did you just read the title and get scared that your daughter was headed into Reefer Madness?’ She waggled her fingers beside her head in a parody of ghost storytelling. ‘The cancer research is unbelievable. I felt so damn useless when mom was dying of that damn brain tumour and I couldn’t do anything! We couldn’t do anything!’ Phoebe felt tears well up and turned her back on her father. She walked over to the glass doors again but, unable to face her own reflection, she opened them and stepped out onto the terrace. It overhung the cliff and she could feel the boom of the waves crashing against the shore. Even though it was early autumn the air was still warm. It tasted salty and fresh and she knew she was home.

‘Here,’ her father had followed her out. He’d emptied the glasses and brought out the Chianti to refill them, ‘Remember that villa we stayed in?’

‘Yeah.’ She cleared her throat and started again, ‘Yeah, I remember. Do you remember that Italian woman flirting with you? In her bikini by the pool? Mom was so mad.’

‘Yeah she was.’ He closed up again and turned away from her.

‘What is it, dad? What’s going on?’

‘She wasn’t perfect you know. Your mom, I mean.’ He was leaning against the railing looking at the full moon path on the ocean. Phoebe walked over and leaned next to him, silently waiting for him to finish. ‘She’d been having an affair. Before she contracted the cancer she and Kai had been -’ He bowed his head and she saw his shoulders shake and realised he was crying.

She stood, stunned, not knowing what to do. She looked stupidly at the glass she was still holding. There was a moment when she wanted to drop it, throw it or smash it in a parody of disapproval and she almost laughed at the image that formed in her mind. ‘How do you know?’

Her dad sniffed and said, ‘After she died I was sorting through her things. I found emails between them and cards he’d sent her.’

‘Oh, dad. You should’ve told me. You could’ve called.’

‘Never seemed to be an appropriate time I guess.’ They stood for a long time in silence together, listening to the crash and boom.

‘I’m sorry about what I said earlier, about wanting to see Kai.’

‘Ah, I’ll get over it.’ He looked down at her and smiled through the tears glazing his eyes. Then he raised his glass to hers and said, ‘I thought this would be a good time to finish these bottles. I’ve been saving this last one for when you visited again.’

‘Good things it’s a keeper then, ‘ey?’