Chapter 16
Sixteen
June 17
“You’re just who I need,” Jeff says, shaking my hand. “When can you start?”
My new boss is a kind, fatherly man. At least, he’s been kind so far. Other bar owners, when they saw I have no recent work experience, offered me a free beverage to thank me for coming in and excused themselves.
“I can start immediately.”
After my previous attempts at landing a local job, I’m surprised Jeff gave me the time of day, let alone hired me. I’m jumping for joy inside but trying to stay calm on the outside. I don’t want him to rescind his offer.
“Perfect!” Jeff’s eyes are sparkling, his cheeks are rosy, and together with his round belly, I’m reminded of a beardless Santa Claus. “Let me show you around.”
We walk back to the small kitchen, and Jeff introduces me to the on-duty cook, an older man named Andy.
“Nice to have you on board.” Andy flips some burgers on the griddle. “It’s nice that Jeff finally hired someone who isn’t a regular.”
“Alright, get back to work,” Jeff jokingly snarls.
Our next stop is the office to fill out paperwork. “So didja get too cold in Canada and decide to move somewhere warmer?”
“Canada?” I’m confused.
“Yeah. Up north.” He jerks his chin into the air as if to indicate the direction. “St. John, New Brunswick.”
“Oh! I forgot about that one. No, I was in St. John Virgin Islands, the Caribbean. That’s real warmth.” I sign the last piece of documentation and hand over a voided check to set up direct deposit. For the first time since I opened my checking account before I left for the island, money will be flowing into it instead of out.
“And yet you came back here. Well, their loss is my gain.” Jeff takes the stack of paperwork and puts it in a file. “Why don’t you come in at noon on Wednesday?” Standing up to walk me out, he says, “It’s slower then, and you can learn the ropes before the busy weekend.”
“Works for me.” I shake Jeff’s hand even though I want to give him a hug. “Thank you so much. Looking forward to working here.”
I have a job. I can’t wait to tell Suzanne and Sarah.
Once in the car, an older BMW sedan Suzanne said I can use until I’m back on my feet, I text them in a group chat:
I did it! I have a job!
No one responds.
I flick to my messages with Jack and type out the same message, but before I send it, I reconsider.
He would really be excited, but he would also be sad that I'm not on the island with him anymore. That I'm not with him anymore. I better not send it.
I’m so excited when I pull out of the lot that I forget where I’m headed. It’s like I’m on autopilot and instead of turning left to go to Suzanne’s carriage house, I turn right as though I’m headed to Kennebunk. I don’t even catch myself until I’m about to go through the tollbooth on the turnpike . What am I doing?
When I make it back to Suzanne’s, I knock on her door. She doesn’t answer, so I let myself in.
“Suzanne?” Where could she be?
“Hold on!” she shouts from upstairs.
“I’ll wait right here.” I make myself comfy at the kitchen table, and a few minutes later, Suzanne drags in, hair messed up and still in her pajamas.
“Suzanne? Are you alright?” My fingers find my starfish pendant and twirl it between my thumb and index finger.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” She yawns and walks over to the coffee maker and picks up the empty pot, sighs, and puts it back down.
“Are you sure? It’s three in the afternoon and you’re acting like you just woke up. Were you sleeping?”
“I didn’t get to sleep until seven this morning.”
“Why? What happened?” Now I’m getting really concerned. She isn’t her normal bouncy self with her perfect hair and perfect outfit.
“Nothing. I was up helping Henry get something done.”
“Henry’s back?”
“Oh, no, no.” Suzanne yawns again and fills the coffee maker with grounds and water, then switches it on to brew. “He’s in Italy, looking for a chef for his new restaurant on Beacon Hill.”
“Really?” I didn’t know she was involved with his business.
“Yes, Isa. I try to help out when I can.” She sounds annoyed with my questions. I definitely think something more is going on with her. She’s always in a good mood.
She picks up a large envelope from the counter and tucks it out of sight into a drawer.
“Well, I have some great news.” My eyes don’t stray from the drawer she just closed. “I got a bartending job at the Aqua Oyster over on Preble Street. You know, across from the water.”
Suzanne leans against the counter and looks exhausted. “Isn’t that a dive bar?”
“I like dive bars. We Be Jammin’ was practically my home away from home.” And I like to pay my bills. “Jeff said it will be good for business to get some new blood in there.”
“Jeff is your boss? Jeff at the Aqua Oyster?” Suzanne retrieves a mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker. “Just be careful.”
“Why? Why does everyone warn me about the men I meet? First Sarah warned me about Jack, and now you’re warning me about my freaking boss. Why does no one trust me?” I throw my hands into the air with a huff.
“Everyone has a history.” Her voice carries a sharp edge of caution.
“What?” Oh, no, here it comes. The first job offer I get is from a serial killer.
“Jeff may seem like a nice guy, but he has had a lot of trouble with women,” Suzanne continues. “I know he used to hit on women at his bar. He was sued for sexual harassment. That was when his business started tanking.”
I can’t see Jeff mistreating anyone. He was really nice to me. But I’ve been wrong before. I’ve been very wrong.
I’ve ignored red flags my whole life, but Suzanne seems to see one being raised on the flagpole right in front of me, illuminating it with bright lights. Why would Jeff hire someone with no experience? Is it to prey on me? Or does he see me as a naive young woman who desperately needs a job?
“He’s my boss. I’m not a patron.” Suzanne turns away and starts filling her mug with coffee. Is she even hearing the excuses I’m making for my new employer? “I figure I can learn some of the drinks from the island. Maybe people will like the Caribbean thing?”
“Just be careful.” She adds creamer and sugar, then brings her mug over to the table and sinks into the chair across from me. “Do you even know anything about tending a bar?”
“Well, I have plenty of experience meeting the every whim of a demanding man, so I should be fine.”
When Suzanne just blinks at my joke, I roll my eyes. “I told Jeff I didn’t, and he still hired me.” I shrug. “He wants to train me. I told him I learn fast.”
“That’s great!” She toasts me with her mug, then takes a big sip. I wince. How can she drink coffee that hot? “You should let Sarah know; I bet she can help you.”
“I texted both of you.” I raise my phone to see if Sarah got back to me, and her message greets me.
Yay! And I mean Yay!
Smiling, I text her back.
I’m going to need all the help I can get!
Sarah quickly responds.
You’ll do great! But I will be on standby if you need me! YAY!
I have a job. I can’t imagine working at a bar will be as fulfilling as volunteering with the literacy program was, but the money I’ll earn will help me make a home for my boys. That’s an entirely different kind of fulfillment.
Suzanne yawns and finishes her coffee. I want to ask her about the envelope. I want to make sure she is okay. I know how lonely it feels when you face something alone, and I don’t want her to go through that. She’s here for me, and as much as I can, I’ll be here for her too.
June 19
“Twelve o’clock on the button! I can’t remember when someone showed up here on time.” Jeff’s cheeks are rosy as he welcomes me.
“Hi, Jeff.” I follow him behind the bar, where he shows me how to use the register and enter a food order so the kitchen will make it, and then he gives me a quick lesson on pulling beers. As long as I tilt the glass away from me and grasp the tap handle by the base, I should be okay.
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, because you seem to always smile, but customers like pleasant bartenders.”
Pleasant? How about ecstatic? I’ve been so happy since Jeff told me I have the job, my cheeks have been getting a workout from smiling so much.
“Alright, I’ll be out back doing paperwork if you need me. It’s all yours.”
After Jeff disappears into his office, I take a closer look at my new domain. All the different kinds of liquors and beers overwhelm me. I don’t know if I will ever manage to memorize their names. I pick up the bottle of Black Velvet and recall Ben reeking of it when he came home after being gone for three or four days. I hate this stuff! I hope no one orders it.
A familiar upbeat tune with beachy vibes suddenly comes through the speakers, and I’m swept back to St. John. The song starts in, and an ache fills my chest. “Palm Trees and Pickup Trucks.” Of course it’s one of Jack’s songs. I don’t know all of them, but the good thing is they average about two and a half minutes. The bad thing is, he has a lot of hits.
The door opens and my very first customer walks in. He’s older, maybe in his sixties, and his skin is weathered like he’s spent years on a fishing vessel. I hope he orders something easy.
“Welcome to the Aqua Oyster,” I call as he takes the seat at the end of the bar.
He grumbles something I can’t make out.
I walk over and stand in front of him, making sure to put on my best smile. “Are you here for lunch? What can I get for you?”
“Who are you?” The man’s motor oil-stained blue work shirt has the name Jerry embroidered on a patch over his left pocket.
“Isa. I just started.” I’m as hospitable as I can be. “What can I get you to drink, Jerry?”
Jerry looks down at his name on his shirt and snorts.
“Vodka soda, no fruit,” he grumbles. “Short glass.”
I grab a short glass, fill it with ice and pour the well vodka in as I count to five like Jeff told me. Then I top it off with soda water from the soda gun. “Would you like to see a menu?” I set his drink down on a napkin in front of him.
“No,” Jerry growls, then adds “thank you” in a softer tone.
Two more men come in—they’re about my age, maybe a little older—and sit down at the bar. I greet them and ask what they want to drink.
“Jeff just hire you?” one asks. “I’ll take a rum and Coke.”
“Where’re you from?” the younger-looking of the two asks as he gives me a once-over. I cringe inside but keep my smile. “Great tan.”
“Yes, and I’m from Kennebunk originally, but I was living down in the Caribbean for a little bit.”
“Really?” the second says. “Make me a Caribbean drink.”
I’m unsure what to do. “Alright.”
I stall for time, looking around the backbar and paying closer attention to the names on the bottles. On the shelf two levels above the Black Velvet, a swashbuckling face leers out at me. Captain Morgan! He’s Caribbean, right? Grabbing that bottle, I pour a five-count into a fancy glass, then replace it on the shelf. What’s next? Something fruity?
I poke around, finally finding a dusty bottle of banana liqueur. Banana and rum? There are worse combinations. And I bet these men have never spent a day in their lives away from South Portland, let alone visited a Caribbean island. How will they know any different?
I add a two-count of the liqueur and am about to serve the drink when I remember how much I enjoyed the fresh fruit garnishes on my drinks in St. John. I look at the options in the well, but lemon, maraschino cherries, and olives don’t sounds appetizing with banana. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.
The glass slides across the bar when I give it a gentle shove, and the customer catches it. Lifting the glass to eye level, he gives it a close look before taking a sip. “This isn’t bad!”
I breathe out, relieved he likes my concoction. I might be able to do this job after all.
“Suzanne! That’s too much!” I can’t believe she’s offering me her carriage house to live in.
“Isa, there are hardly any apartments for rent, and the ones that are available are way out of your budget. Especially two- and three-bedroom apartments.” She shows me her phone where a browser window is open to the Rentals section of the online Forecaster . The list of available units is short, and the prices make me sick to my stomach. She’s right. There’s no way a bartender with two children can afford these. “And you would need to sign a year’s lease. Who knows where you’ll end up in a year.”
“True. I don’t know where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing.”
“Besides, I talked to Henry about it. We didn’t want to rent out the carriage house because he didn’t want me to have to deal with tenants while he’s not here. But he doesn’t want me to be by myself either.” She walks toward the front door, and I trail after her. “If you stayed in the carriage house, I won’t be alone when he isn’t here and I won’t have to deal with strangers renting from us.” She opens the door, and we step out into the humid summer. “Come on, let me show it to you before you say no again.”
Following Suzanne across the drive to the carriage house, I look over to the studio across the street. Too bad I don’t know how to paint. I could channel my inner Homer if I were to live here.
The carriage house is closer to the water than the main house. The first floor is a three-car garage with an extra bay for storage. Suzanne and I climb the stairs to the apartment.
“It’s only a two-bedroom, but it’s partially furnished. The electric isn’t separated from ours, so you don’t have to worry about setting up an account. Oh, and we can extend the wifi to reach out here too.”
“That’s so generous, Suzanne. You really don’t mind me staying here?”
“I want you to stay here,” she insists. “We can have coffee together in the morning and dinner together at night.” I didn’t realize how starved for company she really is. “When you have your baby, I can help you. We can set up a nursery in here.” We walk into the smaller bedroom. “Henry will feel much better about not being around if you’re right next door.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “And just think about it: This way, you’ll have your own apartment. To a judge, you’ll look better than Ben, who lives with his parents. Besides, it gets lonely here, and it’s a great way to keep my best friend nearby.”
I look around. She’s right. This would be the perfect situation for everyone, my baby included. The boys can have the larger room, and their new sibling and I’ll take the smaller one.
“Oh, friend, thank you. Thank you for everything!” I can’t believe how much she’s doing for me. Tears overflow my eyelids and roll down my cheeks.
“Does that mean you’ll move in?”
“We’ll be neighbors!” I embrace my friend. “Thank you!”
I can’t believe she’s moving me into her carriage house. Suzanne is very generous. And she’s right. Having my own place will look good in the state’s eyes when it comes to custody of the boys. It will also give me a nice place to bring my baby home to.