“April is going to show me a condo that overlooks the Wenatchee River near Blackbird Island and a penthouse apartment in a new development over by the high school. I asked Alex to come to help me decide and so that he can pick out his room.”
“That’s it right there.” I stopped him. “His room. We haven’t even begun to discuss arrangements for where he’s going to live once the divorce is final, and you’re already dragging him into this.”
“Why do you always think the worst of me, Sloan?” Mac sounded genuinely injured. “You’re jumping to conclusions without even giving me a chance to explain.”
I was quiet.
“I’m not going to fight you for custody, Sloan. Alex loves you more than anything in this world. I assumed that he would live with you but come stay with me a night or two a week and every other weekend, like we’ve been doing since you kicked me out.”
Technically he had left by choice when I asked him to, but I didn’t bring that up.
“I want him to come with me, so he can feel like he’s a part of the decision. I know it’s going to suck for him to go back and forth between our places. I think it already does for him. He asked me the other day about whether he could have a couple of drawers in the dresser, so he could leave some stuff at the hotel. I know that I screwed up with you and with Alex, and I’m just trying to do the best I can to make it up to him.”
Mac kicked a leaf on the rustic tiled patio floor. “Sloan, give me a little more credit, okay?”
“Okay.” I felt bad. Mac and I had struggled for years, but he was a good dad. I couldn’t take that away from him. He had been involved and active in Alex’s life since the day he was born. It wasn’t just for show. Mac and Alex were exceptionally close. They used to spend hours building elaborate LEGO cities on the living room floor, camping out in the backyard, and going for long weekend rafting trips on the Wenatchee River. Mac was a hands-on dad. He adored Alex as much as I did. Alex had been our one point of connection as things became cool between us over the last few years.
“Sloan, you can’t really think I’m going to try and pull Alex into a battle with us, can you?”
“No. I guess not. I hadn’t expected Alex to say anything about you moving into a permanent place. It took me by surprise.”
“Temporary.”
“What?”
“I never said the place I’m getting is going to be permanent. I’ve talked to my folks, and I know it might take you some time to really forgive me, but I’m not giving up on us.”
“Mac, you should.” I took another sip of beer. Nearby I saw one of the lifts raise a worker fifty feet in the air so that he could reach the top of the tree. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions and thinking the worst, but I don’t want to give you false hope. I’m proceeding with the divorce.”
He tossed the crushed hop on the ground. “That’s fine, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t keep trying to win you back.”
There was no point in responding. We were destined to continue to circle in a never-ending loop. I was glad that he was moving on—at least to the point of finding an apartment—and I was relieved to hear that he wasn’t intending to go to war over custody of Alex. That was enough for the moment.
“Hey, is your mom around?” I asked.
He nodded across the street. “She was over in the bottling plant earlier. Why?”
“I have a wallpaper question for her.”
“I’m sure she’d love to see you, if she’s still around.” Mac paused. He looked like he was going to say more, but he shook his head and stood up. “Come on, I’ll walk over with you.” He extended his hand to help me off the bench.
I took it. It was hard to remember that there had once been a time when his touch had sent shivers up my spine. Now it felt like holding the hand of an old friend. As soon as I was on my feet, I dropped his hand.
Der Keller’s brewing operation was the biggest industry in the village. We exited the patio and crossed Front Street to the bottling plant, where dozens of workers bottled, packaged, and shipped Der Keller’s award-winning German beers. Otto stood near the conveyor belt. He wore a pair of safety goggles over his reading glasses and peered at a sheet of labels.
“Ah, Mac and Sloan! I didn’t see you come in,” he said when he noticed us. He handed Mac the sheet of labels and kissed my cheek. “Look at ziz. It does not seem centered, does it?”
Mac studied the labels briefly. Then he held the sheet up to the light and tilted it about twenty degrees. “No, these are totally off.”
“Ja. Ziz is what I tink.” Otto scratched his head. “I do not know how dis happened. We have been using the same printer for years.” He motioned to a crew member to shut off the system. Once the conveyor belt had stopped, he picked up a bottle and showed it to us. The crooked label was immediately evident.
“We’re going to have to sell these at a discounted rate in dock sales,” Mac said to his father. “Good thing you caught it now.”
“Ja. We will have to see how many bottles are in ziz batch.”
Dock sales were a way for larger breweries like Der Keller to offload extra products or flops, like a beer with a wonky label. Twice a week, Der Keller opened its loading dock to the public where they could purchase cases of beer at a discounted rate.
“Did you need something, Sloan?” Otto asked, after explaining to the waiting staff that they would need to check every bottle that had gone down the line in the past hour.
“Is Ursula here?” I asked.
Otto took off his safety glasses. “Ja, she is maybe in with delivery?”
“I’ll check.” I left him and Mac trying to figure out if any of the mislabeled bottles could be salvaged and went to see if Ursula was in the back. In addition to bottling, Der Keller had a fleet of delivery vans that distributed their beer throughout the Pacific Northwest. I found her double checking the drivers’ delivery schedules. Ursula walked with the support of a cane due to her recent surgery, but aside from that, there was nothing slight or meek about her stature. She commanded a serene, yet forceful presence.
“Sloan!” Her face lit up when she saw me. She shuffled toward me.
“Ursula, how are you?” I greeted her with a long hug.
“I am vonderful. Ziz cane, it is making me angry, but otherwise I am good. How are you, my dear?”
“Good.” It was a half-truth. “I was hoping that you might be able to give me some suggestions on taking down wallpaper.”
Ursula made a gagging face. “Oh, ziz is the vorst project. Do you remember when we took down the old wallpaper here?”
“Yeah. Didn’t you use some kind of a steam machine?”
“Ja. It was no fun, but ze steamer, it was better.”
“Where did you get one?”
“I still have it. It is in ze closet at home. Would you like to borrow it?”
“You still have it? Yes, I’d love to borrow it.”
“I hope zat it still works. It has been many, many years of sitting in ze closet, but you are velcome to use it.”
“That would be great. I can swing by after work and pick it up, if that’s okay.”
“Ja. Sure. I made ze bee sting cake last night. You and Alex should come to dinner. We can catch up and zen I will give you ze steamer.”
I hesitated. As much as I wanted to have dinner with Otto and Ursula, it felt weird to invade their family time, especially given the awkward state of things between me and Mac.
“Sloan, you come. It will be just us and you and Alex, ja?” Ursula must have sensed my resistance.
“If you’re sure?”
“Ja, I am sure. We would love to see you, and I made your favorite cake. Do you remember ze first time you tasted it?”
I thought back to the memory of Ursula’s delicious cake. She called it a bee sting cake for me, but the traditional German name was a Bienenstich. A yeast cake, almost like a sweet bread with pastry cream and almonds toasted in honey, butter, and heavy cream. Ursula had made th
e cake on one of my first family dinners. I’m not much of a fan of sugary cakes, but the Bienenstich was beautifully balanced, and Ursula’s homemade pastry cream was a thing of legend. I had eaten two generous slices and would have gone back for thirds if I hadn’t been worried that my stomach might revolt.
Ursula remembered that I enjoyed the cake and had made it for my birthday every year since.
“Yes, it’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten. You made one last night? It’s not even my birthday.”
“Ja. I know, but I had a feeling zat maybe you might be coming to dinner.” Ursula gave me a knowing grin. “Come by anytime. I will cook some stew.”
My mouth watered at the thought of an Ursula meal. I knew that Alex wouldn’t turn down his grandmother’s cooking either. We agreed upon a time. Before I left Der Keller, I shot Alex a text, asking him to come by Nitro after practice and informing him of our dinner plans.
I should have felt relieved as I returned to Nitro, but instead I felt nostalgic. Otto and Ursula had done everything they possibly could to make me feel like I was still a member of the Krause family, and yet I knew in my heart that as soon as the divorce was final, I was technically on my own again.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
AS PLANNED, GARRETT, KAT, AND I regrouped after lunch. Kat had opened the bar and was filling small wooden bowls with peanuts. Garrett was testing the taps.
“I vote that we give that a try tomorrow morning,” he said. He had swapped his wallpaper-scraping attire for a pair of jeans and a gray Nitro hoodie with our atomic logo of the beer elements. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m happy to spend the rest of the afternoon pouring pints and chatting with customers.”
“Alex agreed to stop by after school. Maybe we can start brainstorming some ideas for the posters with him,” I said to Kat.
“Oh yeah, totally. I’ve been pinning stuff like crazy on my Pinterest boards. He’s going to think I’m nuts.”
“He’s fifteen. I think he’ll be thrilled to be part of this.”
Garrett went to check on the gravity of our holiday beers. Brewers use different techniques when it comes to checking the gravity. Some check two or three times near the end of the fermentation process but otherwise leave their beer alone to do its thing. Garrett was slightly more obsessive. He measured the decline of sugar every day (or even multiple times a day) to get a sense of how the beer was progressing.
I went to help Kat in the tasting room, which had a decent post-lunch crowd, including a table of retirees who had decided to take the train from Seattle for a quick midweek getaway. I spent a good thirty minutes chatting with them and giving them a rundown of our beer selection. One woman asked if it would be possible to see our brewing operations, and I happily obliged. Beer education was one of my favorite parts of the job. I loved getting to share my knowledge. It never failed that tour groups would leave slightly awestruck about the many steps and variables involved in brewing. I hoped that they also left with a new appreciation of beer’s many nuanced flavors and with some tips on how to expand their tasting repertoire.
After the tour, I poured the group a tasting tray and had them put their newfound beer education to the test. I smiled as they took turns holding each tasting glass to their nose before sipping. They were quick studies. I was impressed with how easily they identified the citrus tones in our Pucker Up IPA and the earthy chocolate notes in our stout.
I left them to their expert tasting and went outside to check on the patio tables. Nitro’s small patio didn’t rival Der Keller’s, but we had created an intimate, cozy outside seating area in the enclosed space with a collection of small wrought-iron bistro tables and potted plants. Once the snow began to fall, we’d have to bring everything inside, but for the moment, locals were soaking up the lingering late-afternoon sun.
A group of city light installers took up one of the tables and a small crowd wearing Valerie Hedy T-shirts had pushed together a collection of two-person tables. I took their orders and when I returned with a tray of drinks, Valerie Hedy had joined her campaign team. I delivered the contractors’ drinks and took a minute to think about how I might approach Valerie. As it turned out, I didn’t need a reason. She gave me a friendly wave.
“Sloan, good to see you,” she said as I passed around drinks to her campaign volunteers. “Did you get a sign for the window? We’d absolutely love to have your support.” She pointed to the young man sitting next to her, who produced a poster from his saddlebags. “Please take a couple. As you know, the election is next week, and we’re counting on your support.”
I took two of the posters with Valerie’s face plastered on them along with the slogan LET THE BEER FLOW. VOTE FOR VALERIE HEDY, PROUD CITIZEN OF BEERVARIA.
“Is it even an issue now that you’re the only one running?” I asked.
Valerie glanced at her team. “It’s even more important now than ever before. Who knows what Kristopher’s campaign might have up their sleeve? I wouldn’t put it past them to try something sneaky.”
“Like what?”
“A special election, asking the council to appoint someone rather than have the election go on as planned. There are several possibilities, and my team and I are reviewing every single one of them. Isn’t that right?” She waited for her volunteer crew to nod in agreement. “Do you happen to have a minute to chat in private?”
I couldn’t believe the stars had aligned. I wanted nothing more than a chance to speak to Valerie alone and see if there was any merit to what Ross had told me. “Sure, would you like to come inside?”
Valerie stood. She advised the volunteers not to imbibe too much. “Remember we still have dozens of doors to knock upon this afternoon.”
I took her inside and back to the office. “Have a seat,” I said, gathering up some of our notes and sketches for the upstairs remodel.
“What’s all this?” Valerie asked. “It looks like fun.”
I explained our plans to open up the inn to beer tourism.
“Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant idea. Yet another reason to hang those in the front window,” she said, pointing to her campaign posters, which I had set on the desk. “We absolutely cannot run the risk of Kristopher getting elected postmortem.”
“Are you sure that can happen? I heard part of your speech at Kuchen last night, and it sounded like the city council was going to make a decision about how the election would proceed.”
Valerie took one of the posters and rolled it up into a tube. “Unfortunately, I’m sure. More than sure. I confirmed everything with the mayor this morning. I make it my job to be sure of everything. You can’t be too careful in politics, especially in small-town politics, you know?”
I nodded. Although I wasn’t entirely certain I did know. Valerie was obsessed with the idea of losing to a dead man.
“The numbers looked good on paper, but believe it or not, Kristopher has a rabid following. I wouldn’t put it past them to try something underhanded next week.”
“Like what?”
Valerie shrugged. “I don’t have any solid details, but there are some rumors swirling that are pretty nasty and not in line with Leavenworth’s family values.”
“I don’t understand.”
She glanced at the door. “Do you mind if we close that?”
“Sure.” I got up and shut the door.
“Sloan, I know that we don’t know each other very well, but I have respected and admired your work for many years. You’re a pillar of this community, and I feel like I can trust you to be discreet. If I share something with you, can I count on you to keep this between us?” She unrolled her campaign poster and then scrunched it up into a tube again.
A pillar of the community? That was an exaggeration, to say the very least.
“Of course.” I was surprised that Valerie wanted to share a secret with me. We had known each other as acquaintances since I’d first moved to Leavenworth. With only two thousand people in town, it was impossible not to know ev
eryone, but Valerie and I had never spent time alone together or connected socially. I knew her from community meetings and town events, and had served her a number of times at Der Keller.
She let out a long sigh. “I’m telling you this because I know that you’ve recently been through a bit of drama with Mac, and you handled it so well—so professionally. You never seemed to let the gossip mill here in the village rattle you. I’d really appreciate your input on a touchy issue.”
“Okay.” I had no idea where Valerie was going with this.
“Many, many years ago in college, I made a stupid mistake.” She stabbed the top of her thigh with the tubular poster.
“You’re not alone in that.”
She tried to smile. “Yes, but when you run for public office, your past mistakes have a way of haunting you.”
I waited for her to continue.
“You know what Oktoberfest is like for college students, right?” She squeezed the poster so tight that the tube folded in half.
“Yeah. Having lived here for decades, I think I’ve seen it all.” I chuckled.
Valerie frowned. “I came to Leavenworth for the first time with a group of my sorority sisters my junior year of college. I fell in love with the town and surrounding mountains immediately. In fact, as soon as I graduated, I moved here.”
“That’s a recurring theme in the village.”
“Yes, but let’s just say that I wasn’t on my best behavior while I was here for Oktoberfest that first year. I drank way too much, as college students tend to do.”
I nodded.
“I got really plastered, and I made a stupid, stupid mistake.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t imagine what Valerie was referencing. Most college students who came to Leavenworth for Oktoberfest came to imbibe.
“My sorority sisters and I rented a guesthouse at the end of town, and one night after we were kicked out of the tents, we stumbled home and decided that it would be fun to give everyone on the sidewalk below us a show.” She laid the poster on the desk and tried to smooth it out. The attempt was futile. The poster was wrinkled and crumpled. There was no chance of rescuing it.
Beyond a Reasonable Stout Page 12
