Chapter 9
Ali
Flames and smoke rose from a shallow wall of rocks that created a pit in the center of flattened dirt. Mismatched chairs and benches were arranged in a circle. People huddled around a firepit outside the Tavern. Embers danced and wood crackled. The smell of the campfire was intoxicating.
A stage was set up on the back porch of the Tavern. Patio lights that always made me think of drinking Aperol spritzes on the Amalfi Coast dipped between poles around the yard.
I noticed Jake sitting across from the fire with his back to the lake. A guitar leaned against the arm of his chair. He held a beer between his hands, elbows propped on his knees. He was nodding and smiling with some of the people to his side.
Since sunset was more than an hour ago, it was dark and had gotten chilly. Once Misha and I learned that the village meeting was traditionally followed up with an open mic night in the backyard of the Tavern, we decided to pop back to the cabin for a wardrobe change.
I threw on skinny jeans, wool socks, heeled booties, and a peplum top and chunky cardigan.
I smoothed my hair down and behind my ears, added a little lip gloss, and poof, I was looking my best bonfire chic.
Meesh didn’t change too much about his wardrobe.
He opted to pull on a chunky black sweater, fingerless gloves, and a beanie on his head.
He looked like a fisherman just in from a long haul at sea.
As we neared the fire, hot air warmed my cheeks. Jake looked up and smiled. I suddenly forgot how to breathe. What was this choke hold just a look from him had over me? Whoever Jake was in conversation with noticed his distraction and looked up at me too.
“You made it,” Jake said.
“I was promised s’mores. No chance I was going to miss that,” I said.
I defaulted to a flirty, fun version of myself.
It was an easy version of me to pull off.
One I had perfected over years. The momentary breathlessness I felt under Jake’s gaze was safely hidden, I hoped.
Especially since our eyes were locked. It might as well have been a party of two at this event with how tunneled my vision became when I connected with Jake.
“Right, okay. Whatever is happening here”—Misha pointed his fingers to Jake and me—“is not for me, so I will go add our names to the song list.” He whispered only to me as he sauntered toward the deck-stage, “Enjoy that eye-banging, sis.”
The left side of Jake’s mouth arched upward. He dropped his gaze and looked down at his hands. I felt chillier all of a sudden and folded my arms around myself.
“Hiya, Ali!” a female voice called from around the fire.
I turned toward the voice. It was hard to see across the fire. Once my eyes adjusted to the contrasting light of the flame against the darkness, I realized it was the Tavern bartender, Marjorie. Misha and I met her earlier when we stopped in to grab lunch.
“Hey, Marjorie,” I said a bit tentatively.
“Come over here. Let me introduce you to some people,” she said with a smile and a wave of her hand.
I glanced toward Jake; his eyes were on me once again.
I took a step, broke eye contact, and walked over to Marjorie. Not without glancing one more time over my shoulder. Yep, he was still watching me. And the way his gaze felt? I would have to process that later.
“Do you need a chair? Tim, can you pull one of those chairs around for Ali?” she said over her shoulder to a man standing behind her.
A moment later, a stocky man swept in with a beer in one hand and a foldable lawn chair in the other. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” I said as I sat down.
“Ali, this is Maggie Jo and Stacy. Girls, this is Ali. She’s staying in Libby’s cabin next door to Jake for a bit,” she said.
“It is so nice to meet you, Ali,” Maggie Jo said, leaning toward me.
In fact, all three women were leaning in toward me.
They seemed truly excited and interested in meeting me?
A life in all-girls boarding schools and sororities made the concept of genuine and positive female meetings kind of a foreign concept to me.
I was used to being sized up, sussed out, and judged upon meeting new women.
And only after passing the test or being deemed wealthy enough/pretty enough/smart enough/extraordinary enough, while also not being a threat to whatever guy was around, would I be interesting to them.
These Lakeside women were very different.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I said as I sat down in the chair that was set up for me.
“That’s my hubby, Tim,” Marjorie said, pointing at the man who’d set down the chair.
“Hi,” I said with a smile. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been dying to meet you all week!” said the woman to Marjorie’s left, Maggie Jo I think was her name.
“Really? Me? All week?” I asked, my deflecting armor at the ready. “How did you even hear about me?”
“Oh honey, word travels faster than cheese curds at a tailgate around here,” Marjorie said. “Everyone’s heard about you, and well before you took to the mic at the meeting.”
“Do I even want to know what everyone is saying?” I asked.
“Just that you’re new in town. Moved into Libby’s cabin. Jake helped you out with moving in. And you’re a light packer,” Marjorie said adding a wink.
“A light packer?” I laughed.
“Well. Maybe not that part. She’s just trying to be polite,” said the third woman, Stacy.
“Word is you practically dragged a moving truck’s worth of luggage from the bus depot to the Corner Market all while wearing four-inch heels.
And Eric had to use a forklift fit for pallet delivery to haul it all out to Jake’s truck. ”
I sighed. “It was not that much, I swear. My booties are practically kitten heels. And it was a hand truck not a forklift—I looked up the difference.” Now I was really embarrassed.
“Oh girl, we get it. Don’t you worry. This town is always going to find something to exaggerate and chat about. Take it as a compliment that your luggage was the worst they could come up with,” Stacy said, her tone warm.
“Truth is, we could use your kind of energy around here,” Marjorie added.
“You mean the kind that’s ‘extra’?” I asked.
“Absolutely!” Maggie Jo said.
“And the detail about the heels . . .” Marjorie laughed. “Well, sister, that was a compliment. What took two men and a hand truck to manage, you did solo in heels. That’s the kind of grit we welcome round here.”
The energy settled, and a pause hung among the women.
“This is honestly the best way to unwind after a long day.” Marjorie sighed. “The damn sink in the back clogged three times today. It was a nightmare.”
“Oh my God! Today? What did you do?” I asked.
“I plunged that bitch into submission every time. By the third go, I was straddled over the sink to get the leverage I needed to suction the drain.” All the ladies were laughing at the image Marjorie described.
I was horrified for her and my mouth dropped open.
I learned she had two kids with her husband.
They were, as she called them, a typical Midwest couple: “Married young and started a family immediately.” I think we were around the same age, but Marjorie seemed so much older than me.
She had to deal with real-world things every minute of every day.
“Oh, you think that’s funny? It was gross and utterly exhausting,” Marjorie said toward Maggie Jo and Stacy.
I nodded as if I could relate. I could not relate.
“I’ll come by tomorrow and take a look,” Stacy said.
“Wait, isn’t there a plumber in town who can handle it? I’m no drain expert, and no offense, but it sounds like you might need a professional,” I said.
“I completely agree,” Stacy said with a knowing smile on her face.
“Ali, Stacy is a plumber. One of the best in town,” Marjorie said.
“Oh . . . Sorry, Stacy. I didn’t realize. That was so rude of me. You do not look like a plumber,” I said. Stacy was tall and slender. Her dark, curly, chin-length hair was thick and soft. Her fingers were long and her nails were well-manicured and painted red.
Stacy laughed. “God, I hope I don’t fit the mold of a stereotypical plumber.
You’ll never see a plumber’s crack on me!
I come from a long line of plumbers, and none of us fits that stereotype.
We’re a bunch of tall, skinny black folks who know how to manage the pipes and drains of Lakeside.
But we do it with style,” she said with a playful tone.
“I guess my perception of what a plumber looks like is really silly,” I said. “I don’t know the first thing about the trade. I’ve never even unclogged a drain. Marjorie, you sound like Superwoman.”
“Nah. Not Superwoman. Just life,” Marjorie said warmly.
“If you ever have a plumbing issue, just call me. There is absolutely no need to straddle a sink! This one should have called me instead of dealing with the clogs on her own,” Stacy said as she pointed toward Marjorie.
“I handled it!” Marjorie said. “It was handled.”
“Mm-hmm . . .” Stacy sounded unconvinced.
“Ugh . . . It’s probably not handled. Can you come by tomorrow? I don’t think my back can do a repeat of a straddle plunging session. I’m helping Tara in the morning. And tomorrow is Friday—we’ll be slammed for Friday Fish Fry,” Marjorie said. “Come by in the morning?”
“You got it, sis. I’ll be there around nine.” They clinked the mouths of their beer bottles.
“Ali, what do you do for work?” Maggie Jo asked.
“Oh, um, I’m in sort of a career transition at the moment. I’d love to find a position locally, actually. Although probably not in plumbing. Maybe something in marketing,” I said.
“Hmm . . . Betsy’s been looking for someone to help at the Corner Market for forever. It’s not marketing, but maybe you could start there?” Maggie Jo offered.
“I saw the sign and inquired, but Betsy doesn’t think I’m a good fit,” I said, recalling the earlier interaction.
“Really?” Maggie Jo asked, giving her friends a bewildered look.