The Truth is in the Wine by Curtis Bunn Page B

one-by-one.
    That was a relief for Paul, who did not give the demands of traveling with three women much thought when he cooked up the idea. He was focused on reconnecting with his wife and wine. As he swerved into the valley, his mind wandered.
    It was gnawing at him that he had not told Ginger of their newfound wealth. He felt a lot better about where they were going in the marriage, and that she was receptive to making it work after so much bad stuff.
    Paul purchased a David Yurman diamond ring for Ginger, a gift he planned to give to her on the trip, after he was sure shewas sincere about making the marriage work. He figured the last vineyard they would visit would be Sterling in Calistoga, where they would take a tram up to the top of the mountain to visit the winery.
    Its website indicated and the pictures confirmed it was one of the most romantic wineries in Napa Valley, with pristine views of beauty stretching miles and miles in every direction. Out on the deck was where he envisioned presenting it to Ginger, a gift to consummate a restart of their marriage. He would tell them later, at the hotel about the money. That was his plan.
    He drove past signs saying Vallejo and continued along dark stretches where he, at times, could see beautiful landscape. He let the window down for a minute to consume the breeze and the smell of fresh California air.
    Paul felt more carefree than he ever had. He was on his dream trip with his dream girl and, while the trip promised some bumpy times, he anticipated the sense of family to come out of it would be worth the occasional discord.
    He hoped.

CHAPTER 8
HOTEL, MOTEL, HOLIDAY INN
    A s if they could sense they were getting close to the hotel, the ladies all woke up within minutes of each other. Paul was glad they were close because he had to go to the bathroom for the previous twenty-five miles, but did not want to stop or disturb the sleeping women.
    â€œHow close are we now, Vino?” Brenda said. It was the first time she used her nickname for her son around Madeline.
    â€œVino? Who’s Vino?” Madeline asked.
    â€œI am,” Paul answered. “It’s my mom’s pet name for me, so to speak.”
    â€œI know the next question,” Brenda said. “The answer is, I was with him the night he discovered that he liked wine. It was amazing. He was like a self-taught expert, right from the start. He could taste the elements of the wine and tell you what it was. Accurately. He was amazing.
    â€œAnd he was twenty-one. How many young men at that age are even trying wine? Well, Paul was. He was drinking it and loving it and analyzing it.
    â€œSo, one day I called him ‘Wino,’ and he was offended. He said, ‘A wino doesn’t appreciate wine. He only appreciates the next drink he can get.’
    â€œOf course, I let that nickname go right away because he wasright. So I decided on ‘Vino.’ Wine. If there were a word for wine lover, I would call him that. Since there isn’t, I just call him ‘Vino.’ It fits. He’s all about wine.”
    â€œAll right now,” Madeline said. “Vino, get us to the Marriott, please.”
    â€œYou know what’s crazy, Mrs. Wall?” Ginger said. “He loves wines so much and studied them. And yet, he won’t do anything with this knowledge.
    â€œI told him to go be a bartender at a wine bar. Become a sommelier.”
    â€œA what?” Ginger’s mom said.
    â€œA sommelier,” Ginger answered. “A sommelier is a wine expert, someone who can pair wines with meals based on understanding wine. They know everything about wines.
    â€œWhen he lost his job, there was the perfect opportunity to pursue his passion,” Ginger said. “But he did nothing.”
    â€œI didn’t not do anything,” Paul said. “I did a lot of stuff. I just didn’t do anything with wine.”
    â€œExcept drink it,” his mom chipped in.
    It was an