John tore his gaze away from the land and looked at Adam instead.
“Take all the time you need, baby,” John murmured. “There's no rush.”
Adam took a deep breath and nodded. He glanced down at the urn in his arms, then looked back at John. “Um. Where?”
John swept out a hand. “Wherever you want.”
“Okay.” Adam let out a shaky exhale, then paused before he took a step forward. The next step came easier. As did the one after that. Before he knew it, he was standing several feet away from John, right alongside a rut that showed where the vines once grew.
A sense of peace washed over him as he unscrewed the lid on the urn, bent down, and carefully poured his dad's ashes into the rut, stepping slowly as he went, not stopping until the urn was empty.
John walked over to join him. Facing one another, they gently kicked the dirt over the ashes, patting it down until Dad's remains were safely tucked away and at rest.
Adam sighed, feeling the last of the weight lift off his shoulders. “What happens now?”
“Now,” John said, slipping an arm around his waist as he steered them back to the road along the fence line. They turned to survey the field, Adam's gaze focused on the spot where his dad's ashes were buried. “We let the land sit for a year or two. Let it heal. Then we'll pull out whatever weeds have grown, till the soil, and start planting again.”
Adam smiled. “That sounds nice. I can't wait to see it.”
“I can't wait to serve you the very first glass of the very first vintage that grows here again.”
Adam's smile grew. “I'd like that, too.” He set the empty urn back inside the truck, then gazed out at the field again. “I guess this is probably a first, huh?” he asked with a laugh.
“Actually, we do it more than you might think,” John said. When Adam's eyes went wide, the man clarified, “Not humanremains. Or, hell, maybe there are. It is private property, after all. But animals, though, for sure. The local vet clinics, when they cremate pets that have been put down, they bring the ashes to us to spread in the vineyards.”
Adam blinked. “That's somehow both really sweet and really sad.”
John nodded. “Speaking of that.” He waved a hand, silently beckoning Adam to join him, and headed across the dirt road to the next section of the vineyard. John crouched down and pointed at a small sign screwed to the post at the end of one of the rows. “Aubbie,” John read. “A Jack Russell whose ashes are spread here.” He pointed along the rows. “And there are more down that way.”
Adam glanced down the road. Sure enough, a few more end posts had those little signs attached to them.
John straightened up and started back for the empty riesling fields. “We've never had any for this section yet, but…” He stopped right where the end post would go for the row where Dad's ashes were spread, then pulled something out of his pocket and held it out.
Adam slowly took it, then gasped when he saw one of the little wooden signs, this one bearing his dad's name. “Oh my god. John…”
“I had that made, just in case you wanted it.” John barely got those words out before Adam gasped.
“Yes!”
John grinned. “We'll keep it safe until the time comes. And then, once we start planting, I'll make sure you're here with me when the sign goes up.”
Adam threw his arms around John, feeling at a loss for words, trying to tell him through the embrace alone just how grateful he was.
“I love you so much,” he managed to choke out, his voice thick with emotion.
John kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”
Adam pulled back and pressed the little sign to his chest, hugging it close, feeling like his dad was right there with him.
John put an arm around him again, and they stood there for several minutes, enjoying the silence and the peace that surrounded them. Adam couldn't help smiling even as tears kept slipping down his cheeks. He felt so happy and alive. So free.
And when he looked at John, he saw the same things written all over the man's face. The pain and fear and guilt were all gone.
A drop of rain landed on Adam's forehead.
“Uh oh.” John laughed, looking up and around. “We should probably get going before it downpours again.”
“Okay,” Adam agreed. He started to head back to the truck, then paused and turned around, seeking out the place where his dad was finally at rest. “Love you, Dad,” he whispered.
