7. Seven
“Nelly.”
My dad’s voice stops me as we climb into the Avion after dinner—Finn in the driver’s seat due to Gabe’s generous portions of tequila.
“I have something I want to give you.”
He holds out a small box, and inside is a simple gold chain.
It’s dainty—pretty—but not what I expect before setting off in a camper for the summer. He grabs my hand, his thumb and index finger gently tugging at my wedding band without pulling it off.
“Travis was a good husband to you, Nelly. I don’t know if he ever told you, but I met him at the marina before you did. I had been out fishing for mahi, and we had a cooler full at the table cleaning them, drinking a couple of beers, and up walks this kid, looking like he just hopped off a damn surfboard. His parents had just moved to the area, he told us, and he’d never seen such a big fish. He ended up standing there talking to us and drinking my beer for an hour.”
My dad laughs, but the look in his eyes is far away, like he’s standing right in the marina with twenty-three-year-old Travis.
“I told him, ”I have a daughter you should meet, but only go see her if you want to fall in love.” He shook his head and said, ”I have too much to do to fall in love! I’m going to be a pilot.” He was so damn proud. I told him where to find you at the Crow’s Nest the next day if he changed his mind.”
I don’t know if a heart can stop beating while a body continues standing upright, but I’m sure mine had. I wasn’t there, had never heard this story before, but I can see it happening so vividly, like I’d always known.
“This ring, Nelly?” His eyes search mine. “It isn’t him. Sometimes I watch you, laughing with some of the customers, and then you spin your ring for some reason, and a wall goes back up like you feel guilty for living. It weighs you down like an anchor. I don’t want you to forget him—nobody could—but he wouldn’t want this either.”
There’s a pause, slight chuckle, then, “The man didn’t have a serious bone in his body. You know that as well as I do. Hell, he was probably smiling like a damn fool when that stupid plane of his went down. He’d be crushed to see you so sad.” He shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he lets go of my hand. “I got this in case you think, somewhere out on the road, you’re ready to at least take it off your finger.”
He squeezes his hand around the one I’m holding the box with. His unspoken you can do this.
“Dad…” My voice is barely above a shaky whisper.
He holds up a hand and shakes his head. He knows. He’s watched me carry all my shattered pieces in every way I stopped living since Travis left. He’s heard everything I’ve said and didn’t say in a way that only a parent can.
He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me in a tight hug. “You’re stronger than you think, Nelly. Those kids are damn lucky to have you.”
Tears drip down my cheeks as I hug him back.
“Love you, Dad.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Even though you fired me.”
His body vibrates with a laugh. “For your own good. Love you, too, Nelly.”
Necklace in hand, I wipe my cheeks, get into the Avion, and wave to everyone one last time.
***
That night, as I go through checklists of what we’ve packed and everything that needs to be taken care of for the bar, I scan through my emails and tie up every loose end I can find. I cringe when I come across the last one from the restaurant owner in Maine—Ethan Mills—I haven’t responded in months.
I rub a hand on my forehead as I re-read it.
Penelope,
I try to source as much as I can from local-to-me farmers, but that’s not always possible, especially with protein, so I get as close to Maine as I can. Yes, sometimes that’s a distributor. Produce, with the exception of lettuce, are all from local farmers, most of whom I’ve met over the years at local markets and built a relationship from there. Does that help?
I laughed at the family reference. I made that mistake one time with my brother—never again. The only new vocabulary I learned was four-letter words. Is it a whole family business? Siblings? Husband?
Ethan (please stop calling me Mr. Mills, I’m only 43, and I think I have to be at least 60 for that title)
A small laugh mixes with my exhale. I would love to see Gabe behind the bar with my dad—they’d kill each other.
The word husband stands out like a neon sign, highlighting everything that’s gone. I spin my wedding band around my finger, reading the email again, then hit reply.
Mr. Mills Ethan,
Sorry, I’m just circling back to this. Life got hectic the last few months. This is all very helpful. Farmers markets were always a big source of my cocktail creation process as well, so I can appreciate this approach. However, I’m curious, why the specific mention of lettuce? Also, I read in the article that your menu changes regularly. That sounds like a lot of work. How do you manage?
I’ve worked with my dad since he paid me under the table. Four-letter words are actually the only words I speak most days. No husband and my brother was smart enough to find a different profession.
Penelope