“Hello?”
“Hello, Liz? This is Peter.”
“Oh hi, Peter! How’s it going?”
“Liz, it’s your father. He’s in the hospital.”
Silence.
“Liz, I think it’s time for you to come home.”
“But mom! I don’t wanna move in with grandpa. This is totally unfair!” Erik leaning forward threw himself back in his seat in the back of the Reed’s SUV and sulked angrily with the untamed emotions of a 16-year-old.
Liz’s husband Joe who was driving turned to her and they exchanged a knowing look. They were on the road, driving to Liz’s childhood home in Missouri.
She tried to compose herself. “You’re right Erik, it is unfair. It’s unfair that your grandfather’s health is failing and it’s unfair that you have been, as you put it, ripped away from your friends and forced to move to Missouri.” Liz didn’t know what else to say. Her own emotions were in turmoil ever since she got the call from Peter the week before.
Her dad was the sole proprietor of Schmidt Vineyards which was passed down to him from his father. It was located just outside of Hermann, a small town west of St. Louis bordering the Missouri River. He ran the place together with Peter.
Peter worked with the customers in the ‘Cave,’ as the stone looking building was labeled, where people came to visit the winery for tours and tastings. He held the positions of Sommelier and Tour Guide. And when business was good, Cashier.
Part of the tour which always made customers feel special, like it only happened on rare occasions, was for Peter to take small groups in to see the illustrious owner for a barrel tasting.
Peter found her father in the laboratory that day collapsed on the floor where he had no doubt gone to test the latest batch of wine. The doctor’s said it was a faulty heart valve that wasn’t giving him enough blood. He had ignored the signs he had been noticing for weeks, shortness of breath and lack of strength, because he was a stubborn man and a hard worker. He thought he could just power through it.
The condition was easy enough to deal with. He needed a replacement, but the operation and recovery would take time. The plan had always been for Liz and Joe to return and take over operating Schmidt Vineyards, except now her dad’s condition moved the timetable up a few years instead of waiting until Erik was done with Highschool.
“Mom?” Erik asked.
“Yes, dear?”
“Is grandpa going to be okay?” The concerned look on Erik was evident.
“Grandpa is going to be fine. You’ll see.”
He looked down in thought, then directed his gaze out the car window. “How much longer till we get there?”
“Just passed Williams Arizona.” Joe piped in. “Hermann is about…” He consulted the app on his phone. “…20 hours from here.”
“Two more nights on the road,” Liz said.
And so it went on, three more days of driving, staying nights in Albuquerque and Oklahoma City and then late on the third day they arrived.
Joe turned into a wooded drive and drove down its long tunnel-like path towards Liz’s childhood home. Peter and her father were sitting out on the porch waiting for them and the sight of her father brought Liz back to another time and place.
“It’s your turn,” Joe said.
He rolled over in bed and flipped the pillow to the cool side. He harrumphed.
“I thought babies were supposed to wake you up by crying, not laughing.”
Giggling could be heard from the room next door, then a thump.
“Erik?” Jill jumped out of bed.
“Joe, did you hear that?” Liz said. She reached for his shoulder.
“I’m up. I’m up.”
Joe flicked on the lamp next to his bed and together they went to Erik’s room. They found little Erik on the floor sitting in the dark and staring at a blank white wall. He was pointing and laughing.
“What are you doing Erik?” Liz asked.
She hurried over and picked him up cradling him in her arms.
“And how did you end up on the floor?”
In response Erik laughed and waved his little arms. Liz suppressed a smile.
Joe moved to Eriks crib and inspected the rails which ran along all four sides of the bed. All were intact.
“Jill, how the hell did Erik get out of his crib this time? All the sides are up!”
“I told you when you put it together to read the directions,” Liz said under her breath.
“Not helping,” Joe responded.
Erik’s bed lay in the corner of the room next to a window. It was brown with four wooden sides that reached up a few feet. The sides were there to prevent Erik from rolling out of bed and could be removed later after he reached the age of a toddler.
Jill bent down and placed Erik back in his crib.
“There you go, my little Houdini,” she said.
Erik giggled again and pointed over her shoulder.
Liz and Joe exchanged a quiet look and then Joe shrugged.
“I don’t know Liz. I don’t know.”
“What’s all the commotion?”
Liz’ dad crossed the threshold of the room and hovered his hand over the light switch.
“May I?” He asked.
“Dad, yes, go ahead.”
Don Schmidt, Liz’s father, stood framed in the door. Dressed in pajamas, he stood holding a colt 45 in his right hand, left paused on the light switch he had just turned on.
“Dad, put that away. Everything is fine.” Liz said.
“Don,” Joe said. “Sorry to wake you. Somehow little Erik here managed to climb out of his crib. We found him on the floor over there. He’s a little escape artist, our son.”
“Hmpf,” Don grunted. “I could have sworn I heard laughing.”
“You did dad.” Liz said. “It was Erik.”
“Alright. Glad everything is okay. I’m going back to bed then. Your mom and I are still leaving in the morning to drive back home to Hermann.” He turned to leave. “See you at breakfast.”
“Goodnight, Don.” Joe said.
“Night dad, sorry to wake you.” Liz said.
Don left and seconds later the door to the guest bedroom snapped closed.
“All right mister, get some sleep, and no more flying around the room.” Liz said to Erik. She cupped his little chin with her hand and kissed his forehead. “Go to sleep.” She said.
Joe and Liz left a smiling little Erik and went back to bed oblivious to the presence of the two transcended beings who watched with evident humor as they floated between realities above where Erik had sat in front of the white wall.
