4. Archer
Chapter 4
Archer
“Archer, please give me something to do, I’m begging you.”
“Six feet, Rhonda.”
Rhonda mumbled an apology and stepped out of the fishing cabin, still holding the door, likely waiting for Archer to step outside.
But he was determined to finish cleaning up the inside of it after a still-yet-to-be-identified resident gutted their fish and didn’t bother cleaning up yesterday, leaving the place smelling as lovely as the last four times it happened.
Joel Vanderberg was the one to find it—again—and he had no qualms about knocking on Archer’s door early in the morning, reminding him that it was his job to clean it up, and his job to catch the culprit.
It was the first topic of discussion for the owners’ meeting in three weeks.
“Archer,” Rhonda continued, still holding the door.
Still not leaving. “Can you get your head out of your ass and please put me to work?”
“My head is not in my ass,” he grumbled, scrubbing the counter raw.
The tiny shack was definitely going to need a fresh coat of seal if this kept happening.
“Oh really? A certain resident at Cabin B hasn’t made you all moody?”
“Low blow.”
“I’ll keep dishing them out until you give me a job.”
He swore under his breath, then slapped the rag on the counter and stepped out of the shack.
“Why the insistence on helping me today? You were adamant about not moving when I asked for your help cleaning the fire pit four nights ago. And we both know the real culprit behind all of those melted plastic chocolate wrappers.”
Rhonda lifted her cap and scratched her head.
“Come on, Arch. My kids insisted it wasn’t them, and if I went and cleaned them up knowing it absolutely was , it would have sent a message.”
“So you sent me to do it?”
She looked ashamed.
“Would it make you feel better if I called both of my sons little assholes?”
He forced himself not to smirk.
“Maybe.”
She sighed.
“Steph wants me to work out with her. I love my wife, Archer, I do. But I would really rather not.”
“And your solution is chores?”
“Sounds better than lifting fifteen pounders.”
Lifting weights sounded a lot more fun than trying to attack his sticky-note wall of hell, but touching a piece of gym equipment was a pipe dream for Archer at this point.
The occasional run and his nightly pushup routine was the only exercise he could manage with his chaotic schedule.
Or lack of schedule, since he was still struggling to figure out his routine beyond his morning pour-over coffee.
“Fine. I haven’t had the chance to mow the lawn yet, so you can do that.” He reached into his pocket and tossed her the keys to the mower.
She shuffled backward and saluted him.
“Brilliant, on it.”
He harrumphed as he watched her walk away, jealous that he couldn’t sit down on a mower for an hour.
It was supposed to be his easiest job of the day.
“You owe me one of your IPAs!” he shouted.
She turned back to face him and grinned.
“When Moody Archer is done making an appearance, Fun Archer can join me on my porch anytime!”
He flicked her off, which had her cackling all the way to the shed.
Archer rubbed his eyes, exhausted.
Rhonda had a point; he was acting moody.
He didn’t even act that way when Janelle broke up with him, despite how gutted he’d felt.
Bartending at Hermes Lounge was enough of a motivation to get out of bed.
Rattling off cocktail combinations at the speed of light calmed his thoughts.
Margarita. Half ounce lime juice, half ounce agave, one ounce orange liquor, one and half tequila.
Negroni. One ounce Campari, one ounce sweet vermouth, one ounce gin.
Cocktail measurements were the only numbers that made sense to him.
If only taxes and spreadsheets could be that easy.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pushing those feelings of anger down into his belly, imagining them shrinking into a ball, smaller and smaller and smaller.
When it was the size of a wild blueberry, he imagined reaching out and squishing it, then throwing the skin away.
When he blinked his eyes open, he was welcomed by a vision of Tea in the distance, wearing a blue-and-white-striped one-piece that dipped low on her back.
She was at the small strip of beach by the lake, opening up a beach chair, a faded ball cap on her head covering her face.
He grumbled as he threw open the door of the shack, storming back inside.
So much for that.
The day moved by at an excruciatingly slow pace.
Or maybe it was the sun, which now refused to set until nine- thirty p.m. More sunlight meant more opportunities to get things done, and fewer opportunities to call it a day and steal a beer from his parents’ fridge.
But his to-do list never seemed to get smaller, so he kept going.
Archer was finally weed-whacking the lawn, cutting his way around the flagpole, when the Bramble twins approached him, shaggy blond curls piled atop their heads.
“Six feet,” he said instinctively.
“Come on, man, we’re outside,” said Danny.
“How was going downtown this weekend? Wear masks?”
Chris’s cheeks turned pink as he looked down at his feet and took a big step back.
Danny crossed his arms.
Archer sighed.
“What’s up guys?”
Danny held his hands up in prayer.
“Arch, please can you—”
“No.”
“—convince the owners to let us have jet skis?”
The Silver Falls Lake Association was made up of five different resorts, and out of all five, Wild Pines was the only one that didn’t allow jet skis on the premises.
It was the hottest topic of contention between the younger and older generations in their seven cabins; particularly with Sandy Vanderberg, who threw around her “matriarch” status like she was the president of the United States.
Despite having the same debate every single year at the owners’ meeting, her argument was always the same, and it always won.
“They’re too loud going in and out of the docks, and they cause way too many injuries.” Then her face would soften as she eyed everyone in the circle.
“Plus, they scare our loons.”
Archer knew the last bit of her argument wasn’t based in fact, given that the jet skis zipping out of the other four resorts on the lake were likely already scaring the loons.
Yet for some reason, it was enough to swing the vote.
Loons were sacred in Minnesota, and the owners of Wild Pines had it in their heads that the birds preferred nesting on “quiet” properties.
Even though the Bramble twins and the rest of their teenage gang were up late every night screaming around the bonfire.
He sighed, frowning at Chris and Danny.
This would be his first time attending an owners’ meeting as the manager.
It also meant for the first time he would actually get a say on what they would be voting on.
He’d listened in on meetings in the past, eavesdropping through cracked bedroom doors with his teenage gang when his parents hosted the meeting in their cabin.
He remembered pressing his ear close to the door, knees knocking against Tea who sat right beside him.
His hand brushing against her thigh, and the way her breath hitched when he quickly pulled away.
The one time he sat in the circle, he was allowed to observe but not talk—part of his summer of “learning what the manager does” with Austin, even though his brother was way more interested in making out with Riley Farrington than doing what his father asked.
As a result of his protest, Archer silently followed in his father’s footsteps, deducing that the job of Wild Pines Resort Manager would fall on his shoulders.
Even though he wasn’t sure he even wanted it.
Could he really spend his summers managing the grounds?
Mowing lawns, weed wacking, fixing old fishing cabins, cleaning the docks, keeping everything up to code for the Silver Falls Lake Association?
At least the cabins were closed up during the off season, when northern Minnesota was frosted over and the lakes were frozen solid, the entire place in hibernation waiting for the spring to come.
Yet that would mean giving up his entire summer of working at the cocktail lounge—making far more of a paycheck, even before the onslaught of tips he would get on a usual night.
That’s if Hermes Lounge would even let him come back.
Danny kept his hands steepled under his chin, while Chris looked at him like he was their last hope.
And he had no one to blame for that but himself.
Last summer, when he was six beers in with Austin during their annual visit, they’d found the boys sulking by the bonfire, sad that the owners voted no on jet skis again .
Austin confessed that it was “really fucking dumb of them,” and Archer, against his better judgement, had agreed.
And now the twins thought Archer was a person on their side…
on the inside.
He let out another heavy sigh.
“Guys, this is my first year as the manager, I don’t want to rock the boat—”
Danny fell to his knees.
Chris laughed, then also held up his hands in prayer.
“ Pleaseeee , oh wise one. We need you,” Danny whined.
Archer eyed the fire pit in the distance, an idea springing to mind.
“How about this…”
Danny jumped up with bright eyes, blond curls bouncing.
The kid looked like a hopeful golden retriever ready for a treat.
He crossed his arms. “Your moms might deny who leaves the candy wrappers in the bonfire every night, but I’m not stupid.”
“Wasn’t us,” Danny denied at the same Chris said, “We’re sorry.”
Archer smirked.
“It takes me over an hour to clean that damn pit every day because of you, so if you leave the fire pit spotless every night…and I mean spotless— ”
“Done,” Danny said with a salute, in almost the same way his mother did earlier.
“We’ll clean them up,” Chris added.
“Not just the wrappers,” Archer continued.
“I want that fire pit to look as clean as when I do it, maybe even better . If you can do that…well, I can’t guarantee that we’ll have jet skis, but I’ll mention them during the meeting.”
Mention was a lot safer than a promise of any kind.
And it wasn’t like they could avoid the topic, historically speaking.
Danny thrust his hand out in front of him.
“You have a deal.”
Archer shook it, then laughed as the boys chased one another back to their cabin, howling at their success.
They ran up to the rest of their gang: Kelsey, Liam, Ashley, and Michaela.
They shared the news and they all cheered.
Archer watched closely as Chris eyed Ashley, the two of them blushing at one another as Chris bumped her shoulder with his.
His mind drifted to summers spent here, long days playing lawn games, tubing behind his father’s boat, sailing early in the morning, or swimming late at night.
Riley was always meant for Austin, despite the two of them never wanting anything “serious.” Quentin had a thing for Deanna, but she’d been clueless, and he was distraught when her parents sold Cabin G after that last summer before college.
And then there was him and Tea.
As if his wandering thoughts made her magically appear, Archer heard the screen door of Cabin B open and close.
Tea was in blue pajama pants and a soft grey sweatshirt, a frosty bottle of white wine in one hand and a glass in another.
A small book was tucked underneath her arm.
His eyes gravitated to her as she wandered over to the fire pit.
She curled up in an Adirondack chair, poured herself a glass of wine, and flipped open her book.
It was the same nightly routine he’d watched her commit to summer after summer from the windows of Cabin A.
Comfortable clothes as she waited for dinner, book by the lake, her cup of tea now replaced with a glass of wine.
He used to run outside and distract her from those moments, convince her to play another round of corn hole or go water skiing.
She never minded his distraction.
She never said no.
He didn’t take note of how long he stood there, staring at her from a distance, but at some point she finally looked up.
He couldn’t see her piercing blue eyes from this distance, but he could feel them.
Those same eyes he would catch from their cabin windows.
The eyes that’d blinked up at him the night everything went to shit.
“Archer, sweetie!”
He jumped at his mother’s voice and whipped around to face her.
“Yes?”
Larissa Vincent crossed her arms, the sleeves of her faded yellow Silver Falls hoodie bunched at her elbows.
“What, no ‘hi, Mom, how are you, Mom?’”
“Hi, Mom. How are you, Mom?”
She perked up.
“Fantastic. Even better if you’d actually join us tonight at the dinner table.”
He leaned down to pick up the power tool near his feet.
“Probably not tonight. I still have three hours of sunlight to utilize.”
Her frown was louder than any words she could have spoken in response.
Archer gestured toward the lawn.
“This place isn’t going to weed-whack itself.”
“Archer Vincent, if you don’t sit down at my table tonight and eat a slice of lasagna, I’m going to weed-whack that sorry little—”
“ Mom , Jesus.”
“You don’t need to bring the Lord into this.”
“Yeah, well, the Lord understood serving others, and that’s kind of what I’m doing here.”
“He also said to respect thine mother and father.”
“Did he? Or was that God?”
“They’re the same, smart-ass.”
“Jesus would not like that language, mother.”
She placed her hands on her hips.
“He would also hate for you not to spend time with your family.”
He hung his head.
There was no winning with Larissa Vincent.
Archer knew long ago that his mother would fight him until she got her way.
Austin had that same exact gene.
He loved them, but it also made them infuriating to deal with.
It wasn’t that Archer didn’t want a slice of his mother’s lasagna—he found himself daydreaming about it a little too regularly.
It was sitting at a table with his father and talking shop about the resort he dreaded.
So far, Archer had successfully convinced him that he had everything under control.
He didn’t want to admit the truth; that he found it all overwhelming, that he was constantly drowning in to-do’s.
He couldn’t hire their usual help to clean or maintain the facilities, given everything going on in the world.
Which meant that emptying the dumpsters and cleaning the fishing shack and weed-whacking the lawn fell on his shoulders, along with filling out tax forms and understanding insurance policies and a myriad of other tasks he fell behind on daily.
“Not tonight,” he answered softly.
“Soon, though. I promise.”
Her shoulders sagged.
Then she squared them and pointed at his nose.
“Don’t you dare sneak in for a beer later, or I’ll wrangle you into staying for dessert. You’ve been warned.”
“Noted.”
She squinted her eyes, then turned to leave.
He exhaled a long breath, then slowly turned back to that Adirondack chair in the distance. It was empty.