When I look up, it’s to find Bobby studying me. He grunts again, whether in acknowledgment or disagreement, I’m unsure. He finally asks, “What can I get ya?”
I order a whiskey and settle in. I’ve been back a few weeks now and have spent the majority of that time reconnecting with my mom. Aidan was away on his honeymoon until last weekend, and, well, I haven’t quite worked up the nerve to approach Steph yet. It’s not just Steph, though. If I’m honest, it’s the entire town I’ve been avoiding. I’m certain tongues have been wagging nonstop since my surprise appearance at the wedding. And despite my decision to quit running, it’s still easier said than done when it comes to actually showing up and facing the inevitablequestions about what happened and where I’ve been all this time. Bobby went easy on me, but I can’t expect that same treatment from everyone, especially not the likes of Mrs. Abernathy and her gossipy crew. She was a busybody back when I was a teenager, and according to my mom, not much has changed other than the fact that she’s now running for mayor so she can have her fingers in even more town pies.
So yeah, up until today I’ve been hiding out at Mom’s, working up the nerve to show my face around here again. And while it’s been great spending so much time with her these past weeks, Ihavestarted to go a little stir-crazy holed up in my old childhood bedroom, which has remained unchanged since I left. There’s also the small issue of employment. I do have some money set aside, but sooner or later, I’m going to have to find a job. I won’t last long in that bedroom full of old trophies, with my high school captain’s jersey framed on the wall. Which brings me here, to Aroma’s. I needed a breather and some time away from my mom to think. To make a plan.
I haven’t actually taken the time to check out the help-wanted situation around here, but I’m prepared for the fact I may have to look to Cold Pine Ridge or even further for work. Much of the economy of Llyn Lakes relies on tourism and is heavily seasonal, and here I am rolling into town more than mid-way through that season. The big resorts on Gryff Lake will be paring down their staff soon enough. So too will the backpacking and eco-tour companies. Commercial fishing, while not a hugeindustry in the lakes, will continue for a while yet, but the majority of those boats are family-run, multi-generational affairs with few empty slots for outsiders. Same goes for the charters. Still, it’s worth checking out, I guess. I did a short stint on a trawler out of Stonington, Maine, so I have the experience. I make a mental note to head down to the marina early tomorrow morning to ask around.
Nursing my whiskey, I people-watch for a while. Aroma’s is a bar and grill that opened sometime in the years since I’ve been away. There’s a collection of booths and dining tables set up by the front windows and a smattering of other high-top tables around the perimeter of the space. The bar is a U-shaped affair in the center of the room, and I watch as Bobby and the other bartenders, a woman and another man who’ve shown up for the dinner rush, bounce from one side to the other in what appears to be a well-choreographed dance. They move fluidly around each other in a way that suggests they’ve worked together for a while. Having bartended in both dingy dive bars and high-end establishments, I can appreciate their skill, especially as the bar continues to fill up.
Unlike the Open Door, which is the only other bar in Llyn Lakes, this place is an eclectic mix of locals, tourists, and summer people—the wealthy part-time residents who maintain recreation properties and vacation homes along the shores of Gryff Lake. I like it, I decide. I like the vibe. I could do without the pop music, which has just risen in volume, but there’s no question the patrons are enjoying it. Much of the dinner crowd hasbegun to shift to where a small dance floor has been carved out of the space on the far side of the bar.
Bobby returns, and I make the switch to beer. He glances up and down the bar, confirming a momentary lull, then leans against the counter and tips his head in my direction.
“Soooo …” he draws out the word. “Whatcha been doin’ all these years, son? Don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts in a long, long time. Your brother comes in here once in a while, but I can’t recall him ever having much to say about ya.”
Reading between the lines, I think he actually means Aidan hasn’t had anythinggoodto say about me, not that my brother’s one to gossip or trash-talk anyone. At least, I don’t think he is … but I guess I don’t really know him anymore, now, do I?
And whose fault is that?
I snort and say to Bobby, “Not surprised.”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning a little closer to hear me over the music. “You two not on good terms?”
I shoot him a knowing look. The dude’s good, I’ll give him that. The best bartenders are blessed with the ability to draw out your troubles. If they can keep you talking, they can hopefully keep you drinking. Bobby’s likely well aware we’re estranged.
“You could say that,” I answer, deciding to indulge him and spill some of my woes. “Up until a few weeks ago, we hadn’t seen each other in more than fifteen years. Still haven’t really spoken yet.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Bobby says, tracing a finger idly on the bar. “Family’s important.”
I take a sip of my beer, then clear my throat. “It’s the reason I’m back,” I agree.
“Good for you,” he says, nodding in approval. “That mean you’re planning on stickin’ ‘round?”
“Yep. If I can manage to find some work.”
He narrows his eyes on me, then lets out another one of what I’m already coming to think of as his signature grunts. “Got any bartending experience?”
I raise my eyebrows and lean back on my stool. “A fair bit,” I say. “You the manager?”
“Owner.”
That surprises me. His gruff demeanor, worn jeans, and band t-shirt are not what I would have expected from the proprietor of Aroma’s. Not that it’s overtly fancy in here, but it’s a definite step up from The Door and clearly meant to cater to a more diverse and higher clientele.
He raps his knuckles against the bar top twice before pushing back from where he’d been leaning on his elbows. “Come see me here tomorrow at eleven an’ I’ll give ya an application to fill out, get the ball rollin’.”
My shoulders drop at his words. I’d been hoping to avoid having to fill out any applications—hoping to avoid having to make that dreaded little black checkmark—the one announcing me as an ex-con.
Probably because he’s so used to reading people, or maybe it’s that I’m so tired of always having to hide from my past that my emotions are written all over my face, but Bobby clearly must see something in my eyes. His own appear to soften with understanding.
“Look … you just come by an’ we’ll have ourselves a chat, alright?”
“That would be great,” I say slowly, trying not to get my hopes up. “Thanks, Bobby.”
“You got it.” He nods, and I extend a hand to shake. Bobby grasps it, giving me one single definitive pump, then drops it and glances around the bar. A moment later, he’s back to pulling pints. I stare at his back for a while, lost in thought.
Wouldn’t it be great if finding a job were this easy?
I continue to watch him as he approaches a couple of men across the bar from me. One of them leans in to place their order, clearly trying to be heard over the growing noise. The other glances up, making eye contact with me—and I freeze with my beer to my lips.
