“Don’t spill it, don’t spill it,” I muttered as I carried a bed tray upstairs, yet again. Balancing a tray of brimming wine glasses without spilling a drop was not a problem, but with soup...a different story. 

That day might have been different. Carefully I pushed the bedroom door open with my boot smiling triumphantly. My girlfriend dozed, not aware of the feat I’d finally accomplished.

Pausing, I took in Kara’s beauty. Even when sick, she was beautiful. Long dark hair fell around her slender shoulders as she sat propped up in bed surrounded by fluffy pillows. Her forehead damp with fever sweat and a white tissue wadded in her hand. Her nose red and raw from endless tissue contact, despite the ‘ultra soft’ quality claimed on the box. 

Walking closer, she opened those bright blue eyes. Those eyes that had instantly attracted me to her the first day we met six years earlier. 

The CPA firm handling my financial books was a hoity-toity company—one that charged too much and paid their employees next to nothing. Getting a job with that firm always looked impressive on a resume. 

They implemented a program called, ‘Knowing You and Your Business.’ The staff accountant assigned to a company’s books must visit their client annually. It was about public relations and enabled a face to be put with an email address. Those visits were a pain because I felt obligated to give a tour plus a complimentary bottle of wine. Typically, those middle-aged, male employees rarely made any coding errors on my books.

But that particular year, I had experienced way more bookkeeping mistakes. I looked forward to meeting the careless K. Neltman, who obviously was not paying proper attention to his work and my business. 

Was I ever surprised when Ms. Kara Neltman, 27 years old, entered my office. Her smile, hour-glass figure, and gorgeous blue eyes threw me off track! And, it wasn’t long until those few minor transposition errors didn’t really seem so bad. I mean $9,200 instead of $2,900—not that big of a deal.

The CPA firm’s efforts to motivate underpaid accountants and win overpaying clients backfired. I gave “my accountant” her tour along with several complimentary bottles of wine that we opened and shared the following weekend. Not long after, I convinced Kara to work for me directly. Then, I told her it would be easier to catch the errors on my books if she lived closer. That was a lie and she knew it. With a gleam in her eye, she moved in. I never stopped loving those striking blue eyes.

Then, it happened. As I set the tray on the bed in front of Kara, a few drops sloshed over the bowl onto the paper towel that I always used, just in case.

She smiled and responded through her congestion, “Thank you, Sweetie.” I realized how stupid it was to be proud of something so insignificant. 

“You’d think after doing this what say five times a year times six years, yes, 30 times, I’d be better,” I said. She offered a grin, acknowledging my efforts and changed the subject.

“How come I never get to bring you soup in bed?” she asked as she adjusted her position to sit up straighter.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Good immune system, I guess.”

“I guess,” she repeated. 

“Does anybody eat this stuff when they aren’t sick?” I wondered out loud.

Kara laughed then quickly snatched a new tissue and put it to her nose barely catching the violent sneeze that bursted forth. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, but Rachel’s going to come take me.”

Frowning, I protested, “I can take you.” 

“No, no, that’s okay. Rachel doesn’t mind and you’re busy with all the irrigation stuff.”

“Really, I will take you.”

Kara patted my arm. “Joe, you’ve got so much to do, and it honestly isn’t a problem.”

I conceded. I was behind in getting the system repaired. Still, I did appreciate how considerate Kara was, almost to a fault. After working too late, night after night, I  sometimes worried she wasn’t telling me everything. And that her secret unhappiness would some day show itself as a missing suitcase and a lowly note. 

I knew Kara was frustrated with my inability to take the next step in our relationship. At times her feelings emerged when we disagreed on something—which had been happening more often.

My cell phone rang and I answered, “Hey Austin, what’s going on?” Impatiently, I nodded my head. “Alright, I’ll be down in a minute. No. I’ll be there, soon.” I hung up.

“More leaks in the drips?” Kara asked. I nodded and the phone rang once more. It was Austin calling again. He was the resident intern and the most stressed out twenty-four year old I knew. A skinny kid, probably from his high metabolism and his tendency to worry endlessly. He needed to learn how to deal with pressure otherwise he’d be destined for a heart attack within the first year—month—day of running his own business.

“What’s the deal with this kid?” I said, ignoring the call.

“He’s still learning”, said Kara with her normally calm tone. I shook my head and the phone rang a third time. 

Angrily, I answered, “Austin! I said I’d be there in a minute.” 

But, it wasn’t Austin. It was a lady claiming to be from my father’s nursing home. I didn’t even know he was in a nursing home. She explained that my father had asked me to come see him. 

“Uh, I can’t do that. It’s just a bad time. I’m sorry.” After I hung up, Kara waited curiously for an explanation.

“It was some woman from wherever my father’s at. I guess he’s having old man guilt and wants me to go see him.” Kara’s stoic look wasn’t what I wanted to see. “Look, I’m not going. I’ve got too much going on here. If he really wanted to talk with me, he would have called himself.”

Kara defended my father, “Maybe he’s too sick.” I stood and started pacing as she continued. “How do you know he’s not sick and who cares if he’s feeling ‘old man guilt,’ you should go. Maybe he wants to apologize.”

I didn’t believe that for a minute. Kara had never met my father. He didn’t deserve that privilege.

“Look, you’ve complained about him for years, this might be your only opportunity to settle things,” she said.

“He’s too late.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Oh god, Joe. Could you be a little less dramatic?” She sneezed and pushed the last tissue from the box to her already sore nose. “I hate being sick. Can you get me another box?” 

After handing her a fresh box of tissues and kissing her forehead, I assured her we would talk later. Then, I left her alone with her runny nose and watery eyes.

That area of southeastern Arizona was not a big city metropolis by any means, but held a sense of community. There certainly was enough business to go around. Often us winemakers would find ourselves at each other’s property talking shop and debating the usage of yeast and the timing of harvesting. 

It was one of those beautiful, crisp days in mid-March with billowy gray thunder clouds hanging in an unmistakably blue sky. The red soil was distinctive and almost glowing in the early morning sunlight. Surrounding gentle hills alternated with sharp rocks jutting majestically into the air creating intriguing formations. 

Evidence of precipitation lingered in the distance. Long trails of falling rain darkened the horizon and a faint rainbow of color could be seen. But, it had been a drier winter that year, which was a good thing. Too much rain could ruin crops, we certainly had experienced some tough seasons in the past. 

Our tenth year on that land, seemed to have brought another problem. An abundance of leaks in our irrigation system. Several splits had developed in the aged tubing and others had popped out of the main water lines. We had been working on fixing the system for several weeks, trying to get everything repaired before the active growing season arrived.   

I had decided Austin and I should work apart for a couple of hours, more for my sanity than his benefit. And, as I fought the battle with one very stubborn oversized drip head, my cell phone rang. Still holding the tubing, I dug the phone from my pocket. The screen indicated it was a returned call from the manufacturer of our destemmer-crusher machine.

“Well, it’s about time you called me back, Stan. I’ve been leaving messages for five days.”

Stan sounded tired. “I know, Joe. Been busy. What can I do for you?”

“Man, you know. It’s the same problem we’ve been discussing for a while now. The one that you haven’t fixed yet.”

“Joe, I told you, the equipment is out of warranty.”

I argued with Stan for a while until he finally agreed to send someone from Phoenix to take a look at the worrisome piece of equipment.

“At no charge, right?” I pushed my luck. Fed up with my whining, he hung up.

I saw Kara walk slowly to the car with Rachel. I tried waving but she either didn’t see my gesture or was ignoring me.