Page 35 of Call Off the Dark

In the kitchen, Tyler’s dad, Gary, was brushing marinade on veggie skewers. He looked up, and warm introductions were made.

Then he said, “I’d give you a hug, but I’m not exactly in the shape to do that.” He gestured to his black chef’s apron, which was smeared with marinade.

“His barbecue apron is his favorite look,” Tyler said.

“It is,” Gary said. “Because it usually means my family is together.”

He grinned then, and Helen was struck by how much he resembled Tyler when he smiled. She found herself grinning too.

“What?” said Tyler.

“You two are definitely related,” Helen said. “Same smile.”

“You’re welcome, Son,” Gary said.

Tyler just laughed and shook his head.

Gary picked up a tray of hamburger patties with one hand and the veggie skewers platter with the other. “Get the back door for me, Tyler?”

Tyler glanced at Helen, and she nodded encouragingly. Go, go! And that’s how she ended up alone in the kitchen with Evelyn.

“This is for you.” Helen held up the bottle of wine.

Evelyn took the bottle and crinkled her nose as she read the label. “Is this from the grocery store?”

“Yeah, it is.” What did Evelyn expect? A bottle straight from a French vineyard?

Evelyn set the bottle on the counter. “Thank you, but Gary insisted on burgers, so we’re having hard ciders from a local brewery.”

“That sounds even better than wine.”

“Not really. I don’t care for cider, but with it likely being one of our last warm weekends, Gary wanted a proper barbecue. I may have to slip away though for a glass of wine. I prefer a strong Burgundy myself—2005 and 2002 were spectacular years. Do you have a favorite wine?”

“I like Burgundys too,” Helen said, even though to her there were just two kinds of wine: red and white. Too late, she realized pretending anything else was a bad idea.

“What’s your favorite Burgundy, dear?”

Helen smiled ironically. “Trader Joe’s?”

Evelyn didn’t smile. “I understand you work in the corporate world. It might behoove you to learn a bit about wine. I imagine many of your clients are oenophiles.”

Helen had never heard the word oenophile before, but she wasn’t going to ask its meaning. She could only guess from the context that it meant “wine lover.” Or as she stared at Evelyn’s face: “wine snob.”

“You’re right. I should,” Helen said. “I’m only twenty-three.”

“When I was twenty-three, I started a catering business for high-end clients.”

“Oh, that’s really cool!” Helen perked up to show how cool she thought it was, then she cleared her throat. “No, I meant I’m just starting to learn about wines. Since I’ve only had a couple years of drinking under my belt.” She wasn’t including the underage years of chugging cheap beer in the college dorm. “Do you drink wine a lot?”

The color drained from Evelyn’s face, and Helen wanted to take the question back. She’d simply been trying to talk to the woman about something that was clearly an interest of hers: wine! Yet Helen had obviously touched a nerve.

“No,” Evelyn said in a clipped voice. “I don’t drink wine a lot. Are you normally so rude when someone invites you into their home? Do you always inquire about everyone’s drinking habits?”

“I’m sorry, no. I didn’t mean it like that,” Helen said quickly.

“Would you like to know what medications I take too?”

“No. I just meant, do you, like, attend wine tastings or go to vineyards?”