Daddy’s Wild Friend

by Charlize Starr

  The boutique where I bought all my favorite clothes in high school is still open, and I smile, remembering hours spent in its racks, convinced everything they sold was the coolest, the prettiest, the trendiest. It has a Christmas display in its windows now: mannequins in dresses and scarfs or jeans and sweaters pass wrapped gifts to each other, surrounded by large red and green glitter pieces. Three teenage girls push through the boutique’s doors, giggling and whispering as they do, making me think maybe not much has changed around here at all.

  The whole town feels like that—new teenagers, some new stores, but the atmosphere holds the same easy content feeling it always has. I keep walking, passing three different families with ice cream, a new music store, and the small diner where I had my first kiss. Then I reach Dad’s restaurant and gasp. I’ve seen pictures, but I’m blown away by how great the space is. The navy and gold lettering stands against the brick front of the building, making the words, Dock’s End Bistro, popping in a dramatic way. The front windows are wide and inviting, with glimpses of tables and patrons visible from the street. I’m so excited to see the rest of the space that I almost run through the front door.

  The inside is just as stunning as the outside had been: tables that seem intimate even though space is huge, high ceilings and dramatic lighting, splashes of color from curated photographs taken around town on the walls. It’s perfect. I can see touches I know must have been my Dad’s—the colors of the table linens, the font on the specials cards, the light, upbeat music piping throughout the space. I’ve seen it all before, in videos taken on Dad’s phone and in dozens of newspaper pictures, but none of them did it justice.

  “Wow,” I breathe, shaking my head slowly.

  “Charlotte?” a deep, surprised-sounding voice says. I turn my head and—

  “Danny?” I ask, sure the surprise in my own voice is obvious. I’d be embarrassed if I could stop staring at him to notice it. Danny looks so different. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad, his features are sharp and his eyes are bright, his hair is carefully styled, and the shirt he’s wearing clings to his well-defined muscles. He looks so good. I’ve never thought about Danny looking good or bad or like anything but Dad’s friend Danny even once before in my life. I’ve always thought of Danny as so much older since he’s my Dad’s best friend – my Dad’s peer, not mine. Except now, seeing him again after so much time, he doesn’t look old at all. Maybe it’s that I’m a lot older myself, not a kid anymore, but I can’t help but let myself think that he looks better than anyone I’ve dated lately. It’s odd to think, but he’s hot in a head-turning way. In a way where if he’d been a stranger I’d seen across a room, I still would have noticed him – remembered him long after.

  “Your Dad said you were back today,” Danny says, stepping in toward me, smiling broadly.

  “Well, here I am,” I say, and then regret the awkward turn of words. Danny doesn’t seem to notice much as he pulls me into a quick, friendly hug. He smells good, like a combination of whatever he’s been cooking in the kitchen and a musky sort of smell that’s probably soap or cologne. I try to put it together in my mind, how to reconcile that this handsome man is the same Danny who once wore a constant scowl and a new girl on his arm every week. The same Danny who had always smelled of cigarettes and motorcycle exhaust fumes close up.

  “What do you think?” Danny says, letting me go and gesturing around the restaurant. “This is your first time at the Dock’s End, right?”

  “It looks incredible,” I say, “so much better than all the pictures I’ve seen. I hear your food is the real star here, though.”

  “You should try some,” Danny says, smiling at me again, looking like my comment about his food pleased him. I smile back, thinking about changes—to Danny, to this town, to my life as a whole of late—and can’t help but feel optimistic about all the good vibes in the air.

  Chapter Four - Danny

  Charlotte is beautiful. She’s absolutely stunning, and I can’t stop staring at her. She’s poised and confident, her laugh is charming, and her smile lights up all the features on her pretty face. Her sweater shows off her slender curves and makes her skin, makes all of her look so soft. Dare I say touchable?

  I know I shouldn’t be thinking about Hank’s daughter like this, but from the first moment she turns to look at me, I’m captivated.

  “Dad promised a taste of the whole menu,” Charlotte says, smiling at me.

  “He mentioned that,” I say, laughing, “but I’d recommend you spread it out a little because he won’t let me or the kitchen make you small portions.”

  “Sometimes I’m convinced he thinks I didn’t feed myself at all in Philadelphia,” Charlotte says, laughing a little.

  “Hank doesn’t like to think about anyone eating when it’s not at his restaurant. It’s not just you,” I say, making her laugh again.

  “He really doesn’t,” she says, shaking her head, “and don’t get him started on food delivery services.”

  “Did you know we have one here now?” I ask, nodding in agreement. Hank sticks to all of his convictions at all times. It goes with his big ideas and giant visions, I think.

  “A food delivery service?” Charlotte asks, raising her eyebrows like it surprises her to learn.

  “Bay Runner Delivery,” I say, “they came here and asked if we wanted to be a participating restaurant.”

  “And Dad threw them out?” Charlotte guesses. I smirk, nodding.

  “He threw them out,” I confirm, then lower my voice. “But I’ve used them every once in a while in a pinch, though. I can give you one of their magnets, but only if you promise to keep it a secret.”

  “I think I can do that,” Charlotte says, laughing again. Every time I make her laugh, I’m more pleased than I should be. I can’t believe this beautiful woman in front of me is Charlotte, who I remember as nothing more than the skinny, awkward kid who used to hum to herself while doing homework in back booths at the old pizza parlor. I can’t believe Hank’s daughter looks like the kind of woman I’d love to buy a drink for, take out to dinner, even bring back home with me if the night went well.

  “You do have to eat when you’re not here,” I say, nodding. “And I don’t know about you, but every nurse I’ve ever known is busy all the time.”

  “I was barely in my old apartment long enough in the day to sleep, let alone cook meals,” Charlotte agrees, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, “but I should have at least a little more time now.”

  “You’re working for one of the hospices, right?” I ask, remembering Hank talking excitedly about her coming home.

  “I am! I start in two days, actually,” Charlotte says.

  “Are you looking forward to it?” I ask. I want to keep Charlotte talking, want to extend this conversation as long as I can.

  “It’s a huge change for me,” Charlotte says, playing with her hair again. “I’m used to working long hours and overnights, to everything being so busy and urgent all the time. I did two years in the emergency room and three in the ICU before I settled in cardiac for a while. Hospice is like a different world.”

  “It sounds like it,” I say.

  “I mean, you went from a ship to a kitchen, right? That’s a bigger change,” Charlotte offers. I nod. I want, so badly, to ask her if she’d like to talk about it all over drinks. I want to invite her to dinner with me, to hear every detail about her life and career. If she was any other woman, I would. But I don’t. I can’t. She’s not any other woman—she’s Hank’s daughter.

  I don’t know if Hank would be too thrilled at the idea of me dating his daughter. At the idea of me even thinking about wanting to. Not just because we’ve been friends for so long, but because he’s seen relationships of mine go very wrong. He’s seen what I was like before the Navy – when I ran into a new woman each week. Has seen how, even lately, I’ve never exactly settled. Hank has teased me about my way with women in the past, good-natured ribbing, but I have a feeling it wouldn’t
be so good-natured if Charlotte was involved.

  “I’ve got Hank to thank for that,” I say, mostly to remind myself.

  “Is he here? I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed me yet,” Charlotte says, glancing around.

  “He was taking a phone call. He might still be on it. I’ll walk you back to his office,” I say like I probably should have to start with.

  “Thanks,” Charlotte says, “and then you have an entire menu to cook me, don’t you?”

  “Highlights, anyway,” I say, nodding. Charlotte laughs again as we start to walk through the Dock’s End, past the bar, and toward Hank’s office.

  “I’ll be here enough to eat the rest over time. I told Dad I’d help when I’m not working,” Charlotte says, eyes sweeping around the space, taking in details. I swallow, both delighted by and dreading the idea of her being around a lot all at once.

  “Good, we could use the extra hands,” I say, and it’s true. With the Naval Academy Ball, general holiday rush, and whatever is going on with our finances, having another trusted person around will be a huge help.

  “Whatever I can do,” Charlotte says, eyes on me again as we reach Hank’s office door. I can think of several things I could have her do, but I swallow those thoughts down. I grin at her instead and knock once on Hank’s door to let him know I’m coming in before pushing it open, a system we worked out years ago.

  “Delivery,” I say. Hank hangs up the phone on whoever he’s talking to and jumps up to hug his daughter. I step back, not wanting to intrude, and head back to the kitchen. I think about Charlotte being here all the time and I shake my head. I tell myself it’s ridiculous. Just because a beautiful, clever woman is going to be around all the time doesn’t mean I have to do anything about it. It doesn’t mean I can’t just treat her like she’s a casual friend, doesn’t mean I can’t control myself.

  And then I hear her laughter ringing from Hank’s office all the way in the kitchen, and I know I’m wrong. I’m fucked. She’s not something I’m going to be able to forget about.

  Chapter Five - Charlotte

  I can hardly believe my new job is considered work, let alone work in the same field. The tour and orientation paperwork are a blur, names and rooms and numbers of vacation days. The nursing station is bright and crisp, somehow both warmer and more modern than what I’m used to. The patient loads on each nurse are much smaller than I’ve ever seen, even in the ICU. No one is running, and even the call bells sound in a calm, low-pitched tone. An aide at the nursing station answers them from a phone and heads off to assist patients.

  The hospice has inpatient and outpatient services. Downstairs, I meet a team of people setting up services in nursing facilities and people’s homes. I’d consider working on the in-home side, traveling to work with patients all over town, but decided I’d rather not drive around all day. I’ve never been a huge fan of being in cars for extended periods of time, and I’d prefer to show up somewhere in the morning and stay until I’m done. I’m glad I’ve chosen the inpatient unit, even more now that I’m spending time in its warm atmosphere.

  A pleasant older nurse named Kristen shows me around. I’m supposed to be shadowing her for a week before I’m given my own assignment, but she promises that with all my experience, I’ll get the hang of things really fast. Kristen talks fast and she talks a lot, making my morning fly by. Everyone I meet is chatty in a way that doesn’t seem gossipy, and it makes me feel at home quickly.

  Around lunchtime, it comes up in conversation that Dad owns the Dock’s End Bistro, and several of my new coworkers excitedly start to praise Dad and Danny. Kristen’s husband had his last birthday dinner there and it was amazing. Another nurse says she went for her nursing school graduation dinner, and an aide says it’s a date night must, and a social worker chimes in that every time he goes, it feels new and fresh. Everyone has nothing but good things to say about the space and the food, and I feel warm hearing it.

  After having eaten some of Danny’s food a few days ago, and after having spent time in the restaurant, I agree with them. Danny is an amazingly talented chef, skilled and creative. His food is flavorful – both comforting and exciting at once. Everything about him is comforting and exciting all at once, really. I haven’t been able to get him or his kind, handsome face out of my head.

  In the early afternoon, Kristen introduces me to an elderly woman who’d been asleep earlier. She’s tiny and bright-eyed, sitting up in bed and smiling despite her condition.

  “Charlotte, this is Catherine. She’s a real veteran around here,” Kristen says, smiling warmly at the frail women, who laughs.

  “I’ve been dying for a long time now,” she says, laughing a thin, raspy sort of laugh at her own joke. I laugh too. Over the years, I’ve heard patients deal with illness in all sorts of ways. Humor, even if it’s dark, always seems like it’s helping a lot more than lashing out in anger or withdrawing in depression.

  “You can really help me get to know things here, then,” I say, smiling and extending a hand to shake Catherine’s.

  “Sweetheart, I can tell you every secret this place has,” Catherine says with a wink and another raspy laugh.

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I say, instantly liking Catherine immensely.

  “I’ve been told I’m a great storyteller,” Catherine says.

  “That you are,” Kristen says. “I keep saying we should hold a story hour, starring you.”

  “I like that sound of that,” Catherine says, coughing into her hands, eyes still sparkling even as she does.

  “I’m going to let you two get to know each other. I’ll be right back,” Kristen says, excusing herself with a quick nod to me. I nod back. I’ve trained people and had them shadow me for weeks on end at the hospital, and I know how sometimes it makes it feel impossible to get daily tasks done. I don’t mind being left on my own for a bit.

  “Before I tell you anything, I want to know about you,” Catherine says, smiling broadly at me and pointing to a chair by her bedside. “How long have you been a nurse?”

  “Almost ten years,” I say, sitting and shaking my head. “I went to nursing school in Philadelphia right after high school, and I worked in a hospital there until last week.”

  “One of those giant city hospitals?” Catherine asks me, looking curious. “I had surgery in one of those a few years back. I felt lost the whole time.”

  “It was giant, but I got pretty used to it,” I say, “and they were good to me. They paid for school and for me to advance my degree a few years ago. I gained so much experience.”

  “A woman with ambition,” Catherine says, nodding, “You know what I wanted to be when I was a teenager?”

  “What’s that?” I ask, smiling back, thoroughly enjoying the conversation. I’ve always enjoyed talking with older patients, hearing about what the world was like long before I was born.

  “A lawyer. I was dead set on it, too.” Catherine says.

  “So did you do it?” I ask, fascinated.

  “I’m a retired florist,” Catherine says, laughing a little. I shake my head.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “Had a baby,” Catherine says, “when I was seventeen.”

  “Oh,” I say, nodding, thinking how hard it must have been. I know many women who had babies young, and several of them are really happy, but I can’t imagine it. I want a family and children very much, but it’s only in the past couple of years I’ve really felt like I was ready to be someone’s mother. The idea of having done it at seventeen seems like a much greater task than I would have been up to at that age.

  “But you know, my baby daughter grew up to be a business owner. Her daughter, my granddaughter, she’s a college junior, and she’s thinking she wants to go to law school, so I can’t really be disappointed, can I?” Catherine asks.

  “That’s wonderful,” I say genuinely. I can tell Catherine was the sort of woman who was an amazing, encouraging her daughter and granddaughter.

  “I
t was no picnic, I’ll tell you that, a teenager having a baby back then. I felt like every eye in town was on me, judging me, and for years I never knew where the next speck of food or bit of money to pay bills would come from, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world,” Catherine says, smiling in a far-off way like she’s thinking.

  “That must have been a challenge,” I say, shaking my head, thinking of it – of being so young and it being all those years ago.

  “I always find it’s amazing what a person can accomplish when they find that they have to,” Catherine says. “You can do things you once would have thought impossible when life calls for it.”

  “That sounds like good advice,” I say, turning it over in my mind. Often, I’ve thought I should write these things down, these things I hear from elderly patients that are the result of the lessons of so many years of life. Maybe one day I will.

  “That’s because it is,” Catherine says, laughing. “Now tell me more about you.”

  I spend the next several minutes telling her all about my move, my parents, Dad’s restaurant, and my new apartment. By the time Kristen comes back, I feel like Catherine and I have become fast friends.

  “Isn’t she great?” Kristen asks as we walk back down the hall. “Her hospice order has been renewed five times. She just keeps hanging on.”

  “I believe it,” I say. “She seems really strong.”