Grayson's Vow
Page 5
The man before me was large—at least six six—wearing khakis, a red and blue striped shirt, and a Giants’ baseball cap on his head. His round face was full of fear as he glanced between the shattered dish and me.
I walked toward him and held my hand out. "Grayson Hawthorn."
His eyes darted to my hand. He reached out hesitantly and shook it, and when his glance finally met mine, I could see in his guileless eyes he was mentally slow.
Good God.
"My name is Virgil Potter, sir, Hawthorn, Grayson, sir." He let go of my hand and looked down shyly, glanced over at Charlotte sweeping up the plate and cookies, winced slightly, and then looked back at me. "Like the wizard, sir, only I don't got a scar on my forehead. I do got a scar on my backside, though, where I got too close to our electric heater once when I was—"
"What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"
"Oh, you don't got to call me mister, sir. Just Virgil."
"Okay, Virgil."
Charlotte gave me a sharp look from where she was kneeling on the floor. I looked back to Virgil, ignoring her.
Virgil hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, glancing again at Charlotte, who looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. He took the baseball cap off his head quickly as if he'd suddenly remembered he was wearing it, and held it clutched in his big hands. "I was hoping, sir . . . that is . . . I need a job, sir . . . and I thought I might do something for you. I heard some people talking in town and saying you was going to have a heap of trouble keeping this winery running, and I thought I could help. And I would come for cheap, seeing as that I'm not as smart as some other people. But I'm a real hard worker. My mama told me so. And I could work for you."
I sighed. This was just exactly what I needed. I was barely scraping by with the staff I had now—far fewer than needed, but all I could afford—and the only ones who'd stayed. I could hardly take on one more. Much less one I'd have to supervise around the clock, no doubt. "Virgil," I started to let him down, but he interrupted me.
"See, sir, my mama, she can't clean houses no more on account of that her back is so bad. And if I don't work, we won't have enough money to get by. And I know I can do a good job. If someone would just give me a chance."
Good Lord. When Charlotte caught my eye as she stood to empty the dustpan, I gave her my most icy glare. She was behind this. What was she thinking? When this place failed, both she and Walter would be out of jobs. I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them. "Virgil, I'm sorry, but I—"
"I know you probably think I'm not worth much, just looking at me, but I am. I know I am, sir. I could work for you." His large, child-like eyes were filled with hope.
If you were worth more . . .
The broken pieces of the plate clattered into the garbage can loudly, and I glanced again at Charlotte who still had her eyes trained on me despite her busy hands. I pressed my lips together.
If you were worth more . . .
"Fine, Virgil. You're hired," I said, keeping my glare trained on Charlotte whose lips curved ever so slightly in a tiny smile. When I finally looked back to Virgil, his eyes were wide with joy. I raised my hand as if I could hold back the intensity of his happiness with my gesture. "But I can't pay you much, and we're going to do this on a trial basis, okay? Sometimes we work past dark, and I didn't notice a car outside. I have a set of bunks down at the winemaking facility. You can stay there if you ever need to. One month and we'll see how you do." If this vineyard is even still running in a month.
Virgil nodded exuberantly, wringing the poor cap in his hands so much it would probably be unwearable now. "You won't regret this, sir. No, I won't let you down. I'm a hard worker."
"Okay, good, Virgil. Come back tomorrow morning to fill out the paperwork, and bring your ID. Nine a.m., okay?"
Virgil still hadn't stopped nodding. "I'll be here, sir, even earlier. I'll be here at seven."
"Nine is fine, Virgil, and you can call me Grayson."
"Yes, sir, Grayson, sir. Nine a.m. Okay."
Virgil turned his large, clumsy body, grinned and waved at Charlotte, then darted out of the kitchen, presumably before I could change my mind. I stood, silently watching out the window as Virgil left the house and started a lumbering run up my driveway toward the decorative steel gates at the beginning of the property. I swore under my breath for the hundredth time that day and gave Charlotte another icy glare. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to sabotage me from the inside out."
"Ah, but you do know better, my boy. I only ever root for your success."
Of course I knew it. I snorted anyway, for effect.
Charlotte grinned at me and started humming at the sink.
I turned without another word and headed for the shower. I didn't do it often, but tonight, I was going to drink myself into a stupor.
**********
Morning sunshine streamed through the windows, bathing the foyer in golden light as I descended the stairs, way too early seeing as I'd only returned home a couple hours before. I flinched, shielding my eyes against the too-bright glare. My head was pounding. No less than I deserved. But the alcohol had drowned out my problems for a night and so it'd been worth it. I'd been working from sunup until sundown most days, and it still wasn't enough. And after yesterday at the bank . . . Well, I'd deserved a night of drunken oblivion. A man could only take so much.
I walked toward him and held my hand out. "Grayson Hawthorn."
His eyes darted to my hand. He reached out hesitantly and shook it, and when his glance finally met mine, I could see in his guileless eyes he was mentally slow.
Good God.
"My name is Virgil Potter, sir, Hawthorn, Grayson, sir." He let go of my hand and looked down shyly, glanced over at Charlotte sweeping up the plate and cookies, winced slightly, and then looked back at me. "Like the wizard, sir, only I don't got a scar on my forehead. I do got a scar on my backside, though, where I got too close to our electric heater once when I was—"
"What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?"
"Oh, you don't got to call me mister, sir. Just Virgil."
"Okay, Virgil."
Charlotte gave me a sharp look from where she was kneeling on the floor. I looked back to Virgil, ignoring her.
Virgil hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other, glancing again at Charlotte, who looked up at him, smiled, and nodded. He took the baseball cap off his head quickly as if he'd suddenly remembered he was wearing it, and held it clutched in his big hands. "I was hoping, sir . . . that is . . . I need a job, sir . . . and I thought I might do something for you. I heard some people talking in town and saying you was going to have a heap of trouble keeping this winery running, and I thought I could help. And I would come for cheap, seeing as that I'm not as smart as some other people. But I'm a real hard worker. My mama told me so. And I could work for you."
I sighed. This was just exactly what I needed. I was barely scraping by with the staff I had now—far fewer than needed, but all I could afford—and the only ones who'd stayed. I could hardly take on one more. Much less one I'd have to supervise around the clock, no doubt. "Virgil," I started to let him down, but he interrupted me.
"See, sir, my mama, she can't clean houses no more on account of that her back is so bad. And if I don't work, we won't have enough money to get by. And I know I can do a good job. If someone would just give me a chance."
Good Lord. When Charlotte caught my eye as she stood to empty the dustpan, I gave her my most icy glare. She was behind this. What was she thinking? When this place failed, both she and Walter would be out of jobs. I closed my eyes for a second and then opened them. "Virgil, I'm sorry, but I—"
"I know you probably think I'm not worth much, just looking at me, but I am. I know I am, sir. I could work for you." His large, child-like eyes were filled with hope.
If you were worth more . . .
The broken pieces of the plate clattered into the garbage can loudly, and I glanced again at Charlotte who still had her eyes trained on me despite her busy hands. I pressed my lips together.
If you were worth more . . .
"Fine, Virgil. You're hired," I said, keeping my glare trained on Charlotte whose lips curved ever so slightly in a tiny smile. When I finally looked back to Virgil, his eyes were wide with joy. I raised my hand as if I could hold back the intensity of his happiness with my gesture. "But I can't pay you much, and we're going to do this on a trial basis, okay? Sometimes we work past dark, and I didn't notice a car outside. I have a set of bunks down at the winemaking facility. You can stay there if you ever need to. One month and we'll see how you do." If this vineyard is even still running in a month.
Virgil nodded exuberantly, wringing the poor cap in his hands so much it would probably be unwearable now. "You won't regret this, sir. No, I won't let you down. I'm a hard worker."
"Okay, good, Virgil. Come back tomorrow morning to fill out the paperwork, and bring your ID. Nine a.m., okay?"
Virgil still hadn't stopped nodding. "I'll be here, sir, even earlier. I'll be here at seven."
"Nine is fine, Virgil, and you can call me Grayson."
"Yes, sir, Grayson, sir. Nine a.m. Okay."
Virgil turned his large, clumsy body, grinned and waved at Charlotte, then darted out of the kitchen, presumably before I could change my mind. I stood, silently watching out the window as Virgil left the house and started a lumbering run up my driveway toward the decorative steel gates at the beginning of the property. I swore under my breath for the hundredth time that day and gave Charlotte another icy glare. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to sabotage me from the inside out."
"Ah, but you do know better, my boy. I only ever root for your success."
Of course I knew it. I snorted anyway, for effect.
Charlotte grinned at me and started humming at the sink.
I turned without another word and headed for the shower. I didn't do it often, but tonight, I was going to drink myself into a stupor.
**********
Morning sunshine streamed through the windows, bathing the foyer in golden light as I descended the stairs, way too early seeing as I'd only returned home a couple hours before. I flinched, shielding my eyes against the too-bright glare. My head was pounding. No less than I deserved. But the alcohol had drowned out my problems for a night and so it'd been worth it. I'd been working from sunup until sundown most days, and it still wasn't enough. And after yesterday at the bank . . . Well, I'd deserved a night of drunken oblivion. A man could only take so much.
