3. Sawyer
My eyes were stuckon the front door where the scent of gardenia and citrus lingered. She had a slight skip in her step as she made her way down the porch. The copper shade of strands of hair that framed her face flew off to the side, moving with the ways of the wind.
“Wow,” I muttered so low that I thought only I could hear.
“She’s a looker, ain’t she?” Gus said as he emerged cautiously from the back office.
“Who?” I coughed out. But I knew exactly who he was talking about. I’ve never seen her in here before. Or anyone that looked like her, for that matter. The faint mole that sat above her permanent pout, her sea-glass green eyes… They were a form of art.
Gus nodded in the direction of the door, “Don’t play those games with me, boy. You know ‘who’ I’m talking about. She’s been out in Arizona for the last eight years. That would be Lucy Collins. One of the sweetest souls that has ever walked along Hummingbird Lake,” he said with a gleam in his eyes. He handed me a stack of opened envelopes. “Here are the RSVPs for this weekend’s opening. My bad, I mean the Re-Opening. You know, it’s going to get a little confusing if you keep me around here doing all of your dirty work.”
I let out the breath I seemed to be holding in since she walked in here and wiped the thin layer of sweat that formed on the palm of my hands on my jeans. Without a doubt, I blacked out the second she caught my eye.
I fanned through the pile of mail Gus passed off to me, hoping to see a certain return address, and snickered to myself when I didn’t. I knew that I wouldn’t. But that didn’t stop my heart from sinking to the furthest parts of my body, convinced that maybe, just maybe, I’d be proven wrong.
“Yup, that’s me, never letting you leave,” I said dryly. “This will always be your place to some extent, you know that,” I continued. But he shrugged nonchalantly.
Almost two years to the day, I bought the no-named restaurant from Gus and Leanne, and dove head-first into the remodeling process. Trying to keep the recognizable atmosphere was important to me, but so was creating a place where people would associate with me.
Doing that, though, and hoping that it’d take well, was tricky.
With every paint swatch, down to the crown molding and baseboards, I was thinking about whether my choices would be questioned. Whether I’d be questioned.
I spent my summer vacations in high school at the family house across the lake. When we weren’t boating around or doing flips off the dock, I was running over here to Gus’ with my friends and cousins to rummage through his ice cream freezer. A bunch of teenagers, sweaty and soaked in lake water, tumbled in here and Gus never gave us a hard time.
He sat back, laughed, and more times than not, let us go without paying. Gus was probably the only one who welcomed—at least tolerated—our out-of-town antics. While we headed back to New Haven as we turned the calendar over to September, the memories and magic that happened here planted roots.
Life was simple, it was meaningful here.
Everyone knew everyone, and everyone cared about those in their path. Not a lot of borrowing sugar and town get-togethers down in the city.
While I was off at college, they had removed the ice cream freezer and that’s when I realized it had all changed. My life, that is. Something so simple as an ice cream freezer from the seventies in a slow town held all of my innocence. Once it was gone, so was the ability to hide behind my younger years.
“Besides,” I continued, “After this weekend, I think it will be evident that you no longer run things around here.”
He rolled up a nearby newspaper and swiped it through the air as if he were going to swat it at me. We let out a hoarse laugh in unison as I grabbed it from him, throwing it on the counter in front of us. I scanned the floor, admiring the blood, sweat, and tears I put into this place.
Gus and Leanne had tried to keep up with the changing times. Updated appliances, the minimalist look, the whole nine yards. But it started to look more like an old shack in a ghost town by the end of it all.
The place I remembered was disappearing more and more, and I felt myself hurting and aching as if it were a loss.
I stripped the dingy carpet, replaced the booths, and knocked down a wall that revealed a covered-up fireplace. Why a pioneer stone fireplace was covered up was beyond me. But I promised to keep Leanne’s dessert case, which she keeps stocked with her delicious creations daily. They are a delicacy in this town and I wanted expectations to remain the same for the most part.
The joy that Gus and Leanne were able to bring into people”s lives for over forty years was admirable. And I was certain to be intentional with my updates.
I felt safe here, I felt at home here. Everyone did and they made sure of that, and the name change is an ode to just that.
The place we all went to hide and where we found shelter. It’s a place for starting over and a place of escapism. It was The Hideout long before I made the name change.
The small-town business hours were an adjustment in itself when I moved here. I had never known of a restaurant closing before ten p.m. And that’s calling it—places only stayed open that late if it was the night of a football game down at the high school or the drama department had a production running and wanted to give people a place to go afterward.
Other than that, nothing was open past eight.
We extended hours and shifted over to a bar-only atmosphere after sunset; we became the only spot in Rider to stay open late enough to see the moon at its peak. The infamous desserts go back in the walk-in and the tables are cleared of the breakfast and lunch menus. Instead, a simple, short menu of appetizers and mixed drinks was in its place.
The switch-up initially received some side-eyes from locals, but there were no bars in the heart of Rider. A nightlife was nonexistent unless you drove down to the seaport or into the city.
This gave bikers or singles on their first date a place to hang out, a place to belong. The ones that didn’t necessarily feel like they fit in anywhere else in town.
“I have to step out and call Beau, gotta make sure he has the influx of alcohol added to our usual order. Can’t have a charcuterie and cocktail night without cocktails.”
“How involved is this going to be that you need to call an alcohol distributor for an extra order?” Gus cocked an eyebrow.
“Nothing major, and nothing extra. It’s what I usually order, except maybe a couple more cases. I just want it to be a great turnout. Mel has put in a lot of work.”
“She sure has. She’s taken over the kitchen counters and dining table. But she likes this sort of thing.”
Gus’s granddaughter moved in with him once she graduated from college, right around the time that I made the move to Rider permanently. She started working at The Hideout and is now the best manager and friend I have ever known. I owed her my life… and my sanity.
“Let’s go, Billy,” I patted the side of my leg, motioning for the pup asleep at my feet to follow. His whole body started to wag before he galloped out the front door.
He chased after a flock of ducks waddling around the lake while I made the call. Just as I was walking down the front steps, a cherry red k10 rolled into the driveway blaring pop punk music—mycherry red k10.
“You need gas,” Mel hollered out the window.
Killing the ignition, the music cut out, and she climbed out of the truck. She traveled around to the other side to retrieve many flower bouquets from Bird’s Nest, the farmers market down the street. She tossed the keys towards me at the speed of light, I barely caught them in the webs of my fingers.
She approached me, adjusting the box in her hand. “Who ya calling?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I paused for a beat while she glared up at me through her blunt bangs. I let out a sigh, I could never actually lie to Mel. I finally said, “I’m calling Beau.”
“Oh, no need. I talked to him this morning. We’re all set. I even ordered an extra case of bourbon just for you, big guy.” She patted the center of my chest.
I hung up before the call connected.
“Need help with that?”
“It’s the twenty-first century, I got it,” she said with a wink as she walked up onto the porch.
Instead of placing my phone back in my pocket, I dialed up another number in my contacts. One… Two… Three rings… Annnd, straight to voicemail. Just as I figured.
“Hey, it’s me. Uh, I mean, it’s Sawyer. Look, there’s this small event I have going on this weekend at the lake. I’d love for you guys to stop by even if it’s a short trip to check out the place. I know it’s been a while since you’ve been up here.” I paused. I didn’t want to hang up, but there wasn’t much left to say. It’s been some time since I last spoke with my grandfather. “Anyway, call me back when you get the chance.”
I didn’t expect him to answer, and maybe I didn’t even want him to, but part of me still hoped that he would have.
When I graduated from college, it was straight to the lion’s den with my grandfather and his mayoral staff. From dusk to dawn, my tie was taut against my neck. Suffocating me, restraining me from using my voice. I did all the usual intern and assistant work. I thrived in it. And I did it all while wearing a smile. Never once complaining.
At the time, I didn’t think there was anything to complain about.
I had helped him prepare for retirement and even assisted my dad in getting ready to campaign for a term of his own. But before the night we were going to announce my father’s run, my parents booked a one-way ticket to Europe and gave my grandfather a big fuck you, leaving him high and dry.
Instead of passing the baton to someone outside of the Banks family name, my grandfather decided to re-campaign for mayor. He said he didn’t trust anyone else to run things.
I felt bad considering the circumstances, so I stepped in and was willing to step up. I opened my big mouth and said I would campaign for the next term. The color had returned to my grandfather’s face and all was right in the world again—until it wasn’t.
I had a front-row seat to seeing just how corrupt and vindictive he truly was, and how much it tore up genuine relationships. On the day I turned thirty, I had an existential crisis. It meant I was of legal age to actually run. It was all words before. Promising to become the next elected mayor of New Haven was something that seemed so far off. Until it wasn’t.
Now, it could become a reality. And I didn’t know if I wanted it to be my realityanymore. The pressure was on more than it ever was before. Heck, I didn’t even know if the city wanted me. They worship the ground my grandfather walks on, believing he can do no wrong. But I have never been the type to fall in line with the other sheep.
For the last six years, I have made what was only once a summer house a home. A life around Hummingbird Lake was it for me. There was no question about it.
I shuffled my feet through the dirt, making my way up the porch as Mel slapped down one of the remaining boxes on the patio seating.
“Do you plan on leaving anything for me to do?”
“Hmm,” she taps the tip of her chin, “Probably not. Just show up and look pretty.”
I grumbled and rolled my eyes. “Fine. So, what do I owe you for all of this?”
She waved me off.
“Get over yourself. Seriously, give me a number.”
She cocked her hand on her hip. “You’re not the only one excited to make something new out of this place, ya know. I told him he should have sold, remodeled, something, back when I was sixteen. That was like…,” she started counting out on her fingers, “twelve years ago. And nothing. Not until you marched in here, that is. Then all of a sudden he was signing away his most prized possession.”
“I did not march. These boots are heavy. I walk heavy, that’s all.” I reached behind myself and pulled out my wallet. “Now give me the invoice or something.”
A smirk scribbled across her face as she, too, pulled out her wallet. She waved my business credit card in front of my face. “No need,” she said with a devilish grin before slithering inside.
“First my truck, then my card. I’m taking all of the keys away from you!” I shouted out after her.