Read Online The Truth is in the Wine by Curtis Bunn - Free Book Online

then that Ginger, ironically enough, found a song on the radio that fit the occasion: “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge.
    She turned up the volume on the song and started to sing along with it. So did Paul.
    The parents looked at their kids with disdain.
    When the song ended, Paul decided to give the seniors a speech for them to consider.
    â€œThat song came on at the right time,” he said. “We are supposed to be reminded that we are a family. Like it or not, that’s what we are. And we’re doing something most families don’t get a chance to do.
    â€œWe’re taking a trip together as a family. In the end, that’s all we have. We are the people we should be able to rely on. And we shouldn’t be at each other’s throats. Especially today. How can we, on Thanksgiving, sit up here and listen to our parents go at it like enemies? That’s not right.”
    â€œI cannot believe it, to be honest,” Ginger contributed. “Although we are adults, parents never stop teaching and being parents. This is a bad example. Helena will get married one day and I hope to God Paul and I do not behave with her in-laws as you are. It doesn’t make any sense. We respect you so much. But this is disappointing.”
    The women felt foolish, but did not respond.
    Paul waited a few minutes before saying anything else. They had arrived in downtown San Francisco. They maneuvered up and down the hilly streets toward Union Square. Instead of piling it on, he decided his place was to leave it alone and showhis mother respect. Under any circumstance, he would honor his mom.
    â€œWelcome to San Francisco,” he said. “I can’t believe I am here. I heard so much about it, seen it on TV. To be here…”
    â€œIt’s very nice,” Ginger added.
    Paul decided to park in a lot right in Union Square, across from Macy’s. A prodigious Christmas tree with big, colorful bulbs rested in the center of the square, adjacent to an ice-skating rink.
    The mild weather—temperatures in the mid-sixties—promoted walking, and there were many people out on Thanksgiving afternoon milling about.
    Paul walked from the underground lot with his arm around his mother’s shoulder and Ginger locked arms with Madeline.
    â€œMa, we’re in San Francisco,” Paul said. “How awesome is this?”
    â€œIt is beautiful,” she said. “I didn’t tell you earlier, but I will say it now, son. I’m proud of you to get on that plane. I read all about people who have a fear of flying. Do you know most of them never conquer it? But you have. I’m proud of you.”
    â€œThanks, Ma,” Paul said. “It wasn’t easy. I hated it, to be honest. But I did it.”
    Behind them, Madeline said to her daughter: “See what I mean? She thinks she’s better than us, trying to talk about my drinking when she probably had more than me.”
    â€œMother, it doesn’t even matter,” Ginger said. “Like you told me, you are grown and can drink what you want. We don’t need her approval. I simply don’t want you to let something she—or anyone, for that matter—says influence your trip. This is supposed to be a great trip.”
    â€œYou’re right, honey, and that’s what it will be,” Madeline said. “People make me shake my head.”
    They walked around the square and up the hill, past an Italianrestaurant, Scoma’s, which was closed. The doorman at the small hotel suggested a diner on the corner, a small spot across the street or an Italian restaurant around the corner. But Ginger spotted a Marriott.
    â€œThey should have a bar and restaurant, right?” she said.
    â€œLet’s try it out,” her mother said.
    Not only that, but they had the Redskins game on, too.
    â€œMa, this is perfect, right?” Paul said.
    That comment annoyed Ginger. It was as if he was still seeking his