Chapter 8 Silver Springs
silver springs
DAPHNE
THE HI-DIVE
God, this place looks like shit.
I’ve had a bit of time to process my little predicament, and after mulling it over a thousand different ways, I finally mustered up the courage to email Joe’s lawyer and give him the good news.
My parents were more than happy to hand over the keys to the bar and get me prepped to take over.
So, for the past few days I’ve been following them around like a lost puppy, staring at numbers and figures I don’t really understand, and asking a shitload of questions.
Turns out, this is a lot harder than I thought.
The bar was always a dive, but on some level that was intentional.
At the very least I know Joe really cared about it.
He put real time and effort into the decor, and even built the barstools by hand.
God, I remember Frankie and I helping to upholster them; he was always giving us a few extra bucks to do some odd jobs around the bar.
Life’s about hard work, kiddos!
“It’s just so sad to see the place looking like this,” I sigh, taking everything in.
“What do you mean? It’s packed, and it looks like people are having a good time,” Huxley offers.
I glance at the ancient jukebox in the corner of the room, and then at the flickering lights above the stage.
Mom told me that as Joe got sicker, so did this place.
He was forgetting to fix things, ordering more product than he could sell, and forgetting basic stuff like payroll and scheduling.
At a certain point my parents were just doing their best to keep the lights on.
“You never saw it in its prime.” I sip my drink. “It just bums me out now. I don’t know why anyone didn’t just call me and ask for some money for repairs.”
“Maybe they were too proud. I don’t think the place is that bad, though. It’s got a certain… charm to it, you know?”
I snort into my drink.
“Yeah, like the set from a Texas Chainsaw Massacre sequel.”
Earlier this morning, the manager, Audrey, took me around and showed me the laundry list of problems: burned out lightbulbs, flickering lights from bad wiring, felt wearing off the pool tables, foggy pint glasses, holes in the walls, and the stickiest floors I’ve ever set foot on.
I still feel like I have something on the bottom of my shoe.
Huxley pats me on the shoulder, offering a sympathetic smile.
“Your grandpa and your parents? They’re oldschool, and kinda stubborn just like mine.
They want people to think they’re doing just fine, even when they’re drowning.
I remember I was twelve when Titanium Magazine went under.
Mom was crushed, and she was so depressed she didn’t write for a year.
Thing is, she never wanted to ask for help because she thought it meant she was weak.
Eventually my dad got sick of seeing her like that, so he offered to help.
Not as charity, but to work together on something new.
Not exactly sure how that spun into a record company, but… ”
“Here we are,” I laugh.
“Exactly. The point is, we’re all trying to do the best we can.”
I rest my chin on my hand, glancing around at a packed bar as David Bowie’s Heroes floats through the air. Hux and I put together a playlist of all grandpa’s favorite songs, and even snuck in a few albums he played on.
Across the bar I spot my parents slinging drinks and taking orders. They’re a bit of an odd pair: mom was a runner up in Miss Universe in 1981, and dad was an ER doctor for 35 long years.
I smile over at him.
He treated Frankie the night of the accident.
That’s the only reason I knew where to send flowers.
“You know what Hux, you might be right.”
I think I’ll book them a vacation tonight. Mom keeps talking about Costa Rica and how badly she wants to lie on the beach with nothing but a good book and a drink in her hand.
“Hey, by the way, do you know what you’re gonna sing?”
I blink. It hadn’t really crossed my mind since they first asked me.
“Maybe Landslide? Joe loved Fleetwood Mac.”
“That’s a great tune.”
“Then you could follow it up with Silver Springs!”
I raise a brow, turning to Violet who’d been conspicuously silent until now.
“What do you know about Silver Springs, young lady?”
She sets her book down, meaning this has officially become a serious discussion.
“Well, I know it’s a breakup song.” She smiles. “You could sing it for Frankie… you know, if he’s going to show up.”
Oh, sweet baby Jesus, I gave her far too much ammunition the other day.
“Who’s Frankie?” Huxley asks.
“Nobody, he’s—”
“Right over there?” Violet asks, pointing across the bar. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
I look over, my breath catching as I spot a pair of intense blue eyes and a head of golden curls shimmering in the light.
Goldilocks.
The name started as a joke, but once I noticed it made him blush, I couldn’t stop.
Frankie’s face always reminded me of a Grecian statue, with his long straight nose and strong jaw. As he slips off his jacket, I can tell he’s far from the scrawny nerd he used to be in high school. The definition in his arms is visible from across the damn room.
And was he always that tall?
“V, can you grab a napkin? I think your mom’s drooling a little.”
“Shut up,” I growl, smacking Hux in the arm. “You’re such a shithead.”
“I’ll shut up once you let me in on your little secret. Old boyfriend?”
“Bingo!” Violet chimes in, sliding her phone across the table. “Check it out, I found him on Instagram.”
My arm shoots out instinctively, but Huxley is too quick for me, and I let out a groan as he starts to scroll.
“He wasn’t a boyfriend.”
“Sure, whatever you say,” He laughs. “Okay, so it looks like he’s single, likes his cat, and he has a motorcycle. You know, we may have found the answer to your little marriage predicament, Daph.”
“Absolutely not!” I cackle. “Never gonna happen.”
There’s a reason I don’t talk about Emerald Bay much, and it’s the same reason why I won’t tell anyone who the songs on my first album are about.
I want nothing more than to make a run for it, right out of this building and back to New York.
Thankfully, I spot my dad first, heading right for the stage.
“That’s my cue. Get outta my way.”
“Nice try, Daph. You really think I’m gonna let you go without more details?”
I glance down at his bulging arms and grin, resting my elbow on the table.
“Arm wrestle me. If you win, I’ll tell you everything.”
He rolls his eyes, sliding out of the booth and helping me to my feet instead.
“I think I’ll spare you the humiliation, just this once.”
“That’s what I figured.”
Dad’s setting up equipment, struggling with a mic stand as I make my way onto the stage.
“Aww, you never said I’d get my own roadie!” I tease. “I could have done this all myself, you know.”
“Figured I’d make things easy for you.” He lets out a sigh, staring out at the packed bar. “Haven’t seen it this full in a long time. Your grandpa would be thrilled.”
I rub his back gently. My dad’s a pretty stoic guy. Being an ER doctor will do that for you. But he’s been pushed to his breaking point before.
Back during COVID he was constantly overwhelmed, working excruciatingly long shifts because so many people were sick or dying.
My mom found him with a gun in his mouth; he said he couldn’t take it anymore.
The misinformation, the abuse he and the other doctors received, the people who kept getting sicker and sicker no matter what the doctors tried.
He watched so many people slip away that the idea of living himself seemed…
Pointless.
He retired after my mom talked him down.
We never really talk about it.
“So, you’re taking that deal in Joe’s will?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “I guess I am— You think it’s a mistake?”
“I did at first, but then I thought wow, she’s just as stubborn and proud as her old man. Now I’m just happy you’re taking over. I’m too old and tired for this stuff.”
“Yeah, you look like you need a vacation.”
“Tell me about it.”
I grin.
“Why don’t you let me know your availability, and I’ll set something up for you and mom—”
“Daphne Sinead—”
“Kenneth William— See, I can use middle names too. I’m sending you two on vacation and that’s final. Think of it as payback for not calling me when you realized this place needed help.”
“I’ll talk to your mother, but I think maybe you should get to it. People are starting to stare.”
I glance out at the crowd and find quite a few heads turned in our direction.
I pick up my guitar and sling it over my shoulder.
It’s my big blue acoustic Gibson that Damien and Phoebe got me for my very first world tour.
I write every album on this thing, and even played it for Violet when I was pregnant with her.
My goal was to soothe her little spirit, especially when she kicked me incessantly.
Dad kisses me on the cheek, and I watch him as he hops offstage and weaves his way through the crowd towards my mom. My heart aches a little seeing all these faces who came to say goodbye. Grandpa touched the lives of so many people just by being here, and now he’s gone.
“Thank you all for coming. We, uh…” I tap the mic, adjusting for the slight reverb as I swallow the lump in my throat. “It means a lot to us.”
My eyes land on Frankie standing near the pool tables with a glass of whiskey clutched tight, and I quickly look away. I can feel my heart starting to race. I wish I’d put some rum in that Diet Coke, but I wanted to pace myself.
“My grandpa loved this town, and he loved this bar. He wanted The Hi-Dive to be a place where everyone was welcome, where you could watch the game, or get advice about your shitty relationship from someone who, let’s be honest, probably also needs advice about their shitty relationship.”
Laughter fills the bar and I smile. I didn’t write a eulogy, mostly because I didn’t know what to say, I’d rather just speak from the heart.
“A little more selfishly, this bar was my safe place growing up. I stood on this very stage every Friday night singing my heart out. This is a place where dreams are— no, you know what? I’ll spare you the clichés.”
Another chuckle ripples through the crowd, and through a sea of faces I barely recognize, I find Frankie again. But this isn’t the time. Today’s about Joe, not the pieces of my life I left behind.
“So, since this place meant so much to me, I’ve decided I’m going to be the one to keep his legacy alive. I’ll be taking over as the new owner, and I’ll be sending my parents to Costa Rica for some much needed relaxation!”
Dad scowls at me but I just grin right back at him. He’ll forgive me once he gets a really good tan.
“But I’m not here to talk about that, I’m here to play one of grandpa’s favorite songs.”
I start to softly pluck my guitar strings, my fingers floating up and down the fret board like I’ve been doing this since birth. It sounds esoteric, but whenever I play guitar like this, I feel so connected to everything around me.
When I start to sing, it’s like a release.
Old memories come creeping back; I’m sitting with grandpa in his apartment upstairs, going over chord progressions until my fingers hurt.
I’m listening to him talk to me about the technicalities of songwriting, and how every piece has to come together at just the right time to create a hit.
It’s funny how music transports you right back to the places you used to linger, how songs bring forth memories we thought we’d buried.
I close my eyes, feeling tears slide down my cheeks, my voice ragged as the very last note rings out on the guitar.
Applause ripples through the bar and I take a step back.
When I held grandpa’s hand during his last breaths, I shut down.
I felt like I was floating out of my body, just like I do right now.
I need some air.
I head straight for the back door.
People offer their condolences as I pass.
The man who helped me build the foundations of my career is gone.
I thought that I saw the end coming, thought I was prepared.
But you’re never prepared for grief, or what it brings you.
Over the past few days, mine has felt soft, weighing on me like only the lightest blanket.
But today, it’s an avalanche bearing down on me.
I push past the door, a sob escaping my throat.
I still can’t believe I’ll never hear his voice again, or see him smiling behind that bar.
I’ve been holding it together for the last week, but I knew this was coming.
I don’t hold anything back, slumping against the building and collapsing into tears. My shoulders shake, and my legs feel like jelly as the grief pulses through me.
Suddenly, I hear the door squeak and I straighten up instantly, sucking in a breath.
Frankie’s staring at me in the doorway, like a deer caught in the headlights.
And my heart starts to thunder.