Chapter 9 #2
By the time the distributor leaves and the inventory is sorted, it’s late afternoon, and the bar is preparing for the evening crowd. I’m about to go back to my office when Dolly corners me by the ice machine.
“Sugar, can we talk for a minute?”
Her tone is gentle but serious. This isn’t just a casual chat.
“Of course.”
She glances around to make sure we’re alone, then leans against the counter with her arms crossed. She’s still wearing her signature rhinestone-studded denim vest, but her sparkle seems dimmed.
“I don’t mean to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong,” she starts, which is usually how people begin talking right before they stick their nose exactly where it doesn’t belong. “But I’ve been working here for a long time, and I care about this place. I care about the people who count on it.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?” She’s not being confrontational, just honest. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got one foot in Atlanta and one foot here, and eventually you’re gonna have to choose which way you’re gonna fall.”
I want to defend myself, to explain that it’s not that simple, but she’s not wrong.
“Archie called me,” I say quietly. “I didn’t reach out to him. He heard about my inheritance and called with his opinions about what I should do.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him I needed to figure it out on my own.”
She studies me for a long moment. “Eleanor, I like you. You’re trying real hard, and you’re a lot tougher than you look.
But this town, these people… well, we’ve been burned by folks who treated us like a cute little experiment.
People who showed up, bought properties, made promises, and then disappeared when things got hard or when something better came along. ”
“I’m not—”
“Let me finish.” Her voice is kind but firm. “Five years ago, a development company bought up half of Main Street. Promised they were gonna bring in boutique shops and upscale restaurants. Said it would be a boon to the local economy. And you know what happened?”
I shake my head.
“They gutted the buildings, made them too expensive for any local businesses to afford. And then the whole project fell apart when the investors pulled out. Now we’ve got three empty storefronts on Main Street that used to be a bakery, a bookstore, and a hardware store that had been family-owned for sixty years.
Those families who ran those businesses…
well, most of them moved away because they couldn’t afford to start over here. ”
The story settles over me like a weight. I think about Archie’s confident assertions that I could sell the property for a profit and how easy he made it sound.
“I’m not a developer,” I say. “I’m just somebody who inherited a bar I didn’t even know existed a few weeks ago.”
“I know that. But the question is, are you somebody who’s gonna stay and make a go of it, or are you somebody who’s just gonna cash out when it gets tough?”
“I don’t know yet, Dolly. I truly don’t know. This was all supposed to be temporary, just six months to fulfill the conditions of a will, and then I could go back to my life. But now it’s starting to feel…” I’m not sure how to finish the sentence.
“Like home?” Dolly supplies gently.
“I don’t know. Maybe. Is that crazy? I’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“Well, sometimes you know faster than that.” She reaches out and pats my arm. “I’m not trying to pressure you, honey. I just want you to understand what’s at stake. This isn’t just about business. It’s about people’s livelihoods, their gathering place, and the heart of the community.”
“I understand.”
“And Wyatt?” She chooses her words carefully. “Wyatt’s been through a lot, and he came back here to heal. This place helped him do that. He’s very protective of it—and of all of us.”
“Someone left him before, didn’t they?”
Dolly nods. “That’s his story to tell, not mine. But yes. And it just about broke him. So when he hears somebody talking about selling this place or about leaving it, it hits him in a vulnerable spot. Not that he’d ever admit it.”
“I wasn’t planning to sell,” I say. “Archie was just offering his opinion.”
“Well, Archie sounds like a piece of work.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “He is. But he’s not a bad person. He just lives in a very different world.”
“And honey,” Dolly says softly, “which world do you want to live in?”
That’s the question I’ve been avoiding since I got here. The question I’m still not ready to answer.
“I should get back to work,” I say instead.
Dolly lets me off the hook with a nod, but her words follow me all the way back to the office.
* * *
That evening, the bar is packed. There’s a group celebrating a birthday, a few couples on dates, and the regulars who treat this place like their second living room.
I’m starting to recognize faces, remember names, and understand the rhythms of the space.
Presley’s working the floor with me, teaching me her system for remembering orders without writing them down.
I’m terrible at it, but she’s patient with me.
“Table six wants another round,” she tells me. “Two Bud Lights, one Michelob Ultra, and a Coke. Table eight needs fresh napkins. Boone just came in. He always sits at the end of the bar and drinks Yuengling before his shift.”
I glance over, and sure enough, Boone is settling onto his usual stool. Wyatt is already putting his beer in front of him before he even asks for it.
“How does everyone know what everyone drinks?” I ask, feeling overwhelmed.
“You just pay attention,” Presley says, smiling. “Give it time. You’ll get there.”
I’m not sure I will get there, but I appreciate that she has confidence in me.
I deliver the round to table six, only messing up once and having to come back for the Coke I forgot. I bring napkins to table eight, then drift toward the bar, where Boone and Wyatt are talking.
“Eleanor,” Boone greets me warmly. “Heard you held your own with the beer distributor today. Dolly said you asked some good questions.”
“Yeah, I asked a lot of questions because I’m lost. I’m not sure how good they were.”
“Well, questions are how you learn.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Settling in okay?”
“I think so. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Well, Mavis would be glad to see you here. She always said the place needed some fresh eyes.”
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of drink orders, small talk, and learning how to run the credit card machine without Dolly helping me. By the time we close at midnight, my feet are aching, and I smell like a combination of beer and barbecue sauce, but I feel good. Tired, but good.
Dolly leaves with a wave and says, “See you tomorrow, sugar.”
Presley leaves with a group of friends who are going to the Waffle House.
And then it’s just me and Wyatt, closing up the bar like we’ve done every night this week.
There’s a routine to it now that feels comfortable. He counts the register, and I wipe down the tables. I sweep while he locks up the cooler. We move around each other in an easy rhythm that shouldn’t feel as natural as it does.
“Eleanor,” he says as I’m putting away the broom.
I turn to find him standing by the back door, keys in his hand. “Yeah?”
He seems to be struggling with something, like he’s choosing his words carefully.
“Earlier, when I heard that phone call, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I heard just enough to know that someone was trying to convince you to leave and sell this place.”
“Archie doesn’t understand what this place means to people.”
“Do you?”
The question isn’t accusatory. It seems genuine.
“I think I’m starting to,” I say. “I mean, I’m starting to understand a lot of things.”
He nods slowly. “The people here, we’re protective of what’s ours.
Maybe we’re too protective sometimes. We’ve been let down by outsiders who didn’t get it, who saw dollar signs instead of people.
” He pauses. “I guess what I’m trying to say is if you’re not planning to stay, if you’re just gonna go through the motions to fulfill the will and then you’re gonna cash out, it would really be easier for everyone if you just said so now. So people can make plans.”
His words sting, even though I understand where they’re coming from.
“And what if I don’t know what I’m going to do yet?”
“Well, then I guess we’re all gonna have to trust you’ll figure it out and do the right thing.”
“The right thing for whom?”
“For yourself,” he says quietly. “Because if you stay for the wrong reasons, you’ll just end up resenting this place and all of us. And that won’t do any good for anyone.”
“Wyatt, I’m not Archie. I’m not my mother. I’m just somebody trying to figure out where I belong.”
Something flickers across his face. Understanding, maybe, or empathy.
“Fair enough. Good night, Eleanor.”
“Good night.”
He leaves through the back door, and I hear his truck start up a minute later.
I stand in the empty bar, surrounded by the smell of beer and floor cleaner, and wonder what in the heck I’m doing.