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My mouth fell open. Red Blotch was a fairly new virus and it could wipe out vineyards. “No, that can’t be right. It’s only been found in California and Oregon.”
“And New York,” Carlo said. “Two cases last year.”
Unfortunately, I hadn’t kept up with local winery news. I was too busy and . . .Shit. I regarded my little babies, the dormant vines that I’d poured my blood, sweat and tears into. “Show me.”
“It takes time to develop. I could be wrong.”
Carlo, the world’s premier oenologist, wrong? I doubted it. That meant we would need to rip out these vines. We’d lose entire sections of the vineyard. And why hadn’t I noticed it?
Because you’re terrible at this. Dad would’ve caught it. Grandad would’ve caught it.
“Carlo, please. Show me before I start freaking out.”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “Maggie, breathe. Red Blotch is hard to spot. Many vines don’t show symptoms at all.”
“Yet you spotted it right away.”
“I didn’t spot it because there are no leaves to confirm it. As I said, it’s just a feeling based on what I’ve tasted and what I’m seeing here.” He dropped his hands. “But we shouldn’t panic.”
“Too late. What can we do?”
“I’ll take cortical scrapings of a few random shoots and get them analyzed today with the rest.”
“Do you want me to drive up to Cornell?” The university was about three hours away, and I didn’t want to force Carlo to make such a long journey.
He shook his head and reached for his shovel. “I don’t mind. I am anxious to meet their staff and see their facilities. Let’s finish these soil samples, then we’ll get the scrapings ready to go.”
He walked to his section, while I stared at the vines and wondered what I had missed. Wouldn’t I have noticed red marks on the leaves at some point in the fall? Wouldn’t the staff have noticed as we were harvesting the grapes? How had this slipped through the cracks? That was the thing about nature: no matter how competent you think you are, it always finds a way to humble you.
“Signorina!” Carlo called. He was toeing some dirt around and beckoned me over. “Come look.”
I went to see what he’d found. We both bent down and he picked up a few of the leaves leftover from the harvest that had been unearthed under the mulch. A tiny dark spot dotted the edge of one. It appeared brown at the moment, but it could have been red at one time.
“Goddamn it,” I snapped.
“It might not be Red Blotch,” Carlo said calmly. “This leaf is old, so we can’t tell for sure until the tissue samples come back. But it’s definitelysomething.”
“We’ll have to rip this entire section out.”
He straightened and folded his arms. “That would be the best-case scenario, no?”
Oh, god.I could lose all the plants.
Head swirling, I bent over and took a few deep breaths. This was too much. On top of everything else, this wastoo fucking much.Why did the universe hate me so badly?
“Che cosa?” a deep voice called down the row. “Are you sick?”
I lifted my head and caught Vito walking toward me, his long limbs clad in a suit and his black overcoat. Strange, but I didn’t find his presence annoying. Instead, a giant wave of relief went through me. I suddenly had an impulse to run up and throw myself in his strong arms.
As a card-carrying feminist, that impulse was concerning. But the vineyard wasn’t just my problem anymore—it wasourproblem. And that idea was . . . not terrible.
“We might have Red Blotch,” I blurted. “And you should fire me.”
He barely reacted, just a twitch of his nostrils as he came over. His tone remained even and calm in the face of my panic. “I’m not firing you. What is Red Blotch?”
Carlo gave the boss a quick rundown while I tried not to think about all the years of hard work that were now ruined. I couldn’t remember the last time entire rows of vines had to be ripped out. My dad was still alive, so maybe twelve years ago?
First, Mikey had lost the vineyard, and now I’d actuallylostthe vineyard. I massaged my temples with my fingertips and tried not to freak out.