by Nicole Young
I shook my head. “Nah. I’ve just got a lot of thinking to do.”
“The offer’s always open,” she said.
Back at the lodge, Joel had fixed lunch. We took turkey sandwiches and lemonade out to the lakeshore. When we finished eating, Hannah splashed around in the cool water of Valentine’s Bay. Next to her, Melissa dipped Andrew’s toes under the surface, earning screams of laughter.
Watching them, my smile broadened. The frolicking children and happy adults were just what I had in mind when I bought this place.
I only wished I didn’t have to sell it, even more so after Olivia’s guilt trip about the property belonging to her father, my great-great-grandpa, and a Belmont, no less.
There would only be a drop of money left over after I fixed this place up, especially after the new heating system consumed its share. But if I got a job at the Grille with Samantha, I should be able to cover the taxes, mortgage, and bills. I’d have to shop at Goodwill for the rest of my life, but who cared? I’d be close to what was left of my family. And besides, Sam seemed to love her job. I was sure I would too.
As I made my plans, a nervous spasm shot across my chest. But inside my heart, I felt at peace.
28
Wednesday morning around ten, I headed down to Port Silvan. I figured I might as well get my job thing going. I could always keep working on renovations in my free time. I parked in front of the Silvan Bay Grille. Log siding disguised the building’s 1960’s cement block origins. A covered porch, like a Cracker Barrel wannabe, framed the entry. I walked in, nervous. I hadn’t held a job since the Foodliner in Walled Lake, unless I counted three years of forced labor in prison.
It took a minute for my eyes to adjust. A bar stretched the length of one wall. Opposite me, a bank of windows overlooked Silvan Bay, glistening white in the morning sun. Tables for four scattered the center of the room with booths tucked under the windows. Several patrons occupied the dining room. From the swinging doors on my left came clanging dishes and voices. I stood at the entry, unsure of my course. The Nancy person I should talk to was probably in the kitchen. My hands sweated. I turned toward the double doors and paused, rehearsing my lines. Just as I was about to push them open, Samantha came bustling through, a tray of food balanced gracefully on one hand.
“Tish!” she gushed. “How cool to see you! Give me a minute and I’ll get you a seat by the window.”
I waited, slightly annoyed, for Sam to come back my way. I shouldn’t have to explain my reason for being here. It was none of Sam’s business.
A moment later, a woman in a green Silvan Bay Grille apron stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a white cloth.
“Hi. Is someone helping you?” she asked.
“Well, Samantha—”
“Oh, Sam will take good care of you. She’s the best waitress I’ve had in years.” The woman pivoted and stepped behind the bar where she disappeared from sight, the tinkling of glassware the only indication of her locale.
“Uh, are you Nancy?” I stretched my body across the top of the bar to see the woman’s crouched form.
“That’s me.” She looked up and smiled, then kept on with her task.
“I’m Patricia Amble and—”
Her head shot up in my direction. “So you’re Patricia, huh? Olivia told me all about you.” From the tone of her voice, she didn’t sound impressed. Now standing, she plopped her cloth on the bar and rooted her hands on her hips.
I stammered for a minute, thrown off by the attitude. “I’m new to the area and I’m looking for work. Do you have anything here at the Grille?”
Her taut lips arced in a frown. “Olivia said you’re not much for working.”
I shook my head, dumbfounded. “That’s a misunderstanding. I’m a very hard worker.”
She stared at me, as if debating. “This summer I’ll need an extra hand. If you want, you can train with Samantha. Then come June I might be able to put you on the schedule.”
Sam approached from the dining room. “Sorry that took so long. I’ve got a spot all cleared for you.” She smiled and squeezed my arm.
Nancy picked up her cloth. “Looks like Patricia is going to help us out here at the Grille, Sam. Why don’t you show her the ropes so she’ll have her head on straight when the summer crowds pull in?”
I gave Samantha a big smile, expecting to see one in return. Instead I got crossed arms and pursed lips. Nancy took off into the kitchen. Sam grabbed my arm and led me to the booth by the window. The surface was still wet from her dishcloth.
“What’s going on?” Her voice was low and raspy as she slid opposite me into the booth. “I thought you were too busy with renovations to take a job?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking and I’d like to stay in the area. My family’s here and the lodge is part of my legacy. I decided I don’t want to sell it. I’m going to take a job and fix up the house as I go. Like normal people.”
She tapped her fingers on the Formica tabletop. “Tish, I understand where you’re coming from, but what about, you know, the rest of the people in your life?”
My lip rose in confusion. “Like who?”
She leaned close. “Like my brother. Remember him?” Her cheeks took on a heated color.
I looked at her like she was out of her mind. “Brad? He’s not exactly in my life.”
She set her jaw. “You took care of that, didn’t you? I thought there was more to you, Tish. But the longer I’m here, the more I realize you’re just a shallow, selfish human being who broke a guy’s heart and never gave it another thought.”
I sat dazed at her words. “Brad and me. We were just friends. Right?”
“He is so in love with you, and all he is to you is a passing friendship?”
The men at the center table turned in our direction. I lowered my voice to a harsh whisper. “Brad can’t be in love with me. You know, not love love. He’s got his life together and my life is such a”—I threw my hands up searching for the right term—“disaster. Guys like Brad don’t settle for girls like me. They go for the ones that have things like self-esteem, confidence, a good upbringing, a real career. You know, normal.”
“All I know is”—she smashed a finger on the table for emphasis—“Brad hasn’t been the same since you up and left him without so much as a goodbye.”
“That’s not true. I said goodbye.”
“Brad is not the kind of guy who gives his heart to just anybody. He’s kept it on reserve for the right woman, the perfect one for him. That was you, Tish. He gave you his heart and you flattened it the day you drove off in that gas guzzler of yours.”
I crossed my arms in self-defense. “Hey, he’s got a gas guzzler too.”
“I’m not saying he’s perfect. Just that you were perfect for him. And if you’re going to stay up here in that log tower of yours, how are you two ever going to get together? His life is in Rawlings. Can’t you just fix up your lodge, sell it, and go back downstate?” She bobbled her head, her big eyes glued to mine.
I wasn’t about to succumb to faulty logic. “In case you haven’t noticed, I have a life too. And it’s here in Port Silvan. If Brad wanted to be with me so bad, he’d find a job up north. Why should I be the one to compromise?”
She tapped her fingernails like she had all the answers. “Maybe because he’s the one with the steady income?”
“Come June, I’ll have a steady income of my own.”
“Not enough to support both of you.”
I humphed. “Who’s supporting who? I’ve worked my entire life. I don’t expect to kick back and sponge off a man. And I wouldn’t appreciate it if a man tried sponging off me.”
“I’m just saying, look down the road. If there are kids, Brad can afford to support a family. I don’t think you’re in the same position.”
I leaned back against the vinyl cushion, overwhelmed with Sam’s fortune-telling abilities. “You’re skipping pretty far ahead. Last time we talked, Brad and I couldn’t even figure out
who should jump in the car for a visit. Besides, Brad only thinks I’m perfect for him. But just wait ’til he really meets Miss Right. He’ll be relieved we never officially got together.”
Sam crossed her arms. “I can’t believe you. You’re so—”
“Excuse me, miss. Can I get a warm-up on the coffee, please?” one of the men at the center table asked in a booming lumberjack voice.
Sam jumped to her feet. “Absolutely. Of course. I’ll be right back.” She crossed to the kitchen and out of sight.
“So, you’re that Amble girl, eh?” the big guy asked.
I sized him up. His orangish hair was flecked with gray. The tatty black and red flannel shirt he wore seemed overkill for the warm spring day. The dab of ketchup and flake of toast stuck in his mustache cemented the fact that whatever opinion he was about to spout could hold no water with me.
I nodded in answer to his question, then looked out the window. I could see my grandfather’s house along the shore, tiny in the distance.
“Thought so,” the man said. “You look like your ma. Don’t she look like her ma?”
“Yep,” his lunch date said.
I looked. The other man was nearly as burly as his buddy and equally unkempt.
“Sad what happened that night. I remember it plain as day,” the first man said.
I snapped my head in his direction. “My mother’s accident? You saw it?”
“It was no accident. She drove straight into that quarry like she wanted to die.”
“You were there?” I tensed with interest.
He shifted in his chair. “Heard all about it. Later. Couple days later.”
I let out my breath. I should have known he was exaggerating.
“But,” he said, “I was at the bar that night and I saw her arguing with Jake before she killed herself over it.”
I walked to their table and grabbed a vacant chair. “You saw my mom arguing with my dad?”
“Yep. Then she went and drove straight into that quarry.”
I leaned close enough to smell the absence of deodorant. “Start from the beginning.”
Sam walked up and topped off their coffees. “Here you go. Hot and fresh.” She lifted the decanter and looked at me. “Ready to start your training, girl?”
I shook my head, not wanting to pass up an opportunity to investigate my mom’s death. “Not today. But I’ll take a cup of coffee, if you don’t mind.”
She gave a big sigh and twirled away.
I gazed into my informant’s slightly bloodshot and red-rimmed eyes. “Okay, go.”
He looked across the table at his friend. “We got to the Watering Hole around seven that night. There was a big shutdown going on at the paper mill, and we headed to the bar as soon as our shift ended. I was surprised to see Jake there. He’d pretty much quit hanging at the bars around the time he went clean. But there he was, sitting in that corner by the john. Anyway, your ma sits at the table with him. They look all lovey-dovey for a while, but pretty soon she stands up and starts yelling at him, then walks out. He tries following her, but takes one look toward the door and hightails it the other direction.”
“Why? What was by the door?”
“The grim reaper, I guess.” A smile flicked across his face and was gone. “I imagine he saw a couple buddies from his drug-dealing days. Probably going to set him straight for turning in that trucking guy. But before they could get a hold of him, Jake makes it out the back door and no one’s seen him since. Beth made it about five minutes down the road before she called it quits on life.”
A cup of coffee dropped in front of me, almost spilling. “Anything else for you, Tish?”
I looked up at Sam, somehow seeing only Mead Quarry and my mom’s Ford in an endless spiral above it. “No, thanks.”
The men slurped their coffee and ate their fries, silent out of respect for the dead, or because they could tell I was going to start crying any second. The scenes ran over and over in my mind. Everything my grandfather had told me combined with what these guys had said, coming together to form a movie—a poorly written and directed film that left the faces of my father and the thugs at the door blurred and unrecognizable. Even the soundtrack was damaged. Nothing could turn up the volume so I could hear the words that made my mother end her life.
I composed myself and looked at the redheaded guy. “You mentioned something about my dad turning someone in. What’s that all about?” I didn’t want to waste the opportunity to soak them for information.
“Majestic. Frank Majestic. He owns a trucking line other side of Escanaba. Went to prison for a few years after Jake squealed on him,” Burly Man Number One said.
“Squealed on him for what?” I asked.
“Drug running. He arranged shipments of drugs along with regular payloads in and out of the U.P. Don’t know the details. It was in the papers.”
I thought about the Witness Protection Program my grandfather and I had discussed and wondered why my father hadn’t been part of it. Frank Majestic sounded like a pretty big player. I pictured life under the protection program. Me and my mom and dad could have lived together in peace and security. Somewhere tropical. Like that little island in Fiji. It would have been a different existence for me. A world of love and laughter, palm trees and coconuts. My mom would have been a photographer for National Geographic and my dad would have owned a sugar cane plantation and I would have been their little princess and the native children would have come over for lemonade . . .
The scrape of chairs on the tile floor snapped me out of my daydream. “Where are you going? Hey, I didn’t even get your names.”
“Homer Johnson,” the first guy said. “And that’s Cody Baker. Sorry about your mom. She was a good lady.”
He flipped cash on the table to pay the bill, and they left me alone, crying in my coffee.
29
Sam found me with my head buried in my arms at the table.
“Hey, it’s going to be all right,” she said, rubbing slow circles on my back. “You don’t have to know what happened to your mom to know that God is taking good care of her.”
I shrugged her arm away. “I don’t think she even knew about Jesus. She’s probably rotting in hell.” How many times had Grandma Amble lamented the fact that she’d never brought my mother to church as a child?
“No, no.” Samantha’s lulling voice tried to draw me from the dregs of self-pity. “Your mom was a special lady. God loved her very much.” Sam came close and hugged me.
I brushed off her touch and stood. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted a time machine with the dial set for May 6, twenty-six years ago.
I threw down some money to pay for my coffee, stormed off to my Explorer, and headed north toward home. I wished I could believe what Samantha said about God taking care of my mother. I always liked to imagine Mom with the angels in heaven. But that was just a coping mechanism, my own protective denial.
I held back the tears. Unless, like Puppa said, I had smoke in my eyes. Was there a chance my mother had somehow accepted God’s love, even in an airborne Ford?
I slowed for the turn down my driveway. A rusty white Suburban was just pulling out. I stared at the driver, taking notes on the curly brown hair and handsome GQ face. Our eyes met as we drove past one another. I angled down the two-track, squinting to see his license plate as he headed toward Port Silvan.
HOT1. Easy enough to remember. Hopefully, the driver was a friend of Joel’s just checking in. But there was the chance he was one of Drake’s buddies. I stepped on the gas, afraid of what I’d find at home.
I slid to a stop, threw the car in park, and headed inside.
“Missy? Joel? Anybody here?”
Before I panicked at the silence, I looked out toward the lake. Relief flooded over me. They were building sand castles at the shore, the four of them. The guy in the Suburban could have been a tourist checking out the area. No need for alarm.
I packed a basket full of lunch goodies and joined the gang
at the beach. We were still playing in the sand when Samantha showed up midafternoon. She came down to the water’s edge, ignoring my wave.
She gave the group a terse hello. “Can I talk to you a minute, Tish?” The tone of her voice made me want to run the opposite direction.
“Sure.”
We walked back toward the lodge in silence. Once out of sight of our friends, she lit into me.
“You are the most immature person I know. What are you thinking messing with my stuff just because we had a disagreement this morning? I don’t feel safe with you tampering in my bedroom behind my back. I’m sure Missy wouldn’t feel safe either after what you did. I won’t tell her this time, but please don’t ever do it again.”
My arms flapped and my fingers pointed as I tried to defend myself without words. Finally, my mouth kicked in. “What are you talking about? I haven’t gone in your room since I got the upstairs bathroom cleaned up three days ago. Believe me, your stuff is safe from me.” I had no use for lava lamps and butterfly wall art.
“Then how do you explain this?” She stomped to her room and threw open the door.
I cringed at the mess in my mother’s old room. Mom had always kept things so tidy. Now, there were clothes strewn in piles on the floor in front of the dresser. The bed was stripped and the blankets, sheets, and comforter scattered all over the tile.
I took a cautious step toward the bathroom. Powder covered every surface as if Sam had doused her whole body, then shook off like a dog.
“Geez, Sam. Maybe you should hire a housekeeper.” I tried diffusing the situation with a little humor.
“Very funny.” She crossed her arms. “You did it. You get to clean it up. And don’t ever come in here again, or I’m leaving.”
Her offer sounded too good to be true, but I refrained from saying so. “Look, Sam. You know I wouldn’t have done something like this. It’s my house. And my mother’s old room.”
She looked me over. “You seriously didn’t make this mess?”
I shook my head. “Why would I? It wouldn’t make sense.”
