Chapter Eight Dr. Napkin
Chapter Eight
Dr. Napkin
Griffin
It turns out that Ava doesn’t like mountain drives.
Maybe it’s the twisting roads or the new rental car, or maybe her ears popped like mine did on that last steep incline.
She’s been crying for the last five minutes.
I tried singing to her from the front seat, but she wasn’t having any of it.
Halfway up the mountain, it hit me what I’d done to us.
I moved myself and my daughter to a random town to follow a random woman to chase my random inspiration to write.
What in the hell was I thinking?
Jimmy wasn’t happy when I said I’d be moving for a couple of months. He insisted I bring at least one assistant or some sort of security team, but I told him I could take care of us just fine. The town was closed for the winter. It’s secluded on a mountain. No big deal.
Except Ava hasn’t left California in a year. She probably doesn’t remember her life with Robin before that, in their little house on the ranch. Was it irresponsible to take her from the only place she’s known?
I drive over roads that curl like knobby fingers, with telephone wires crossing overhead and guardrails serving as the only barrier between me and my daughter and the plunging drop to the valley below. I clutch my wheel tighter. I hate heights.
I was raised in a small town, too, but it was out west with flat land. Not here, where each winding curve could be your last.
Where the hell am I even going?
The SUV jolts when we jump onto a creaky bridge over a babbling creek. Ava sniffles. I glance at her through the rearview mirror as my tense hands squeak across the wheel.
“We’re almost there, munchkin.”
Finally, after peering through the windshield, hoping for any sign of civilization, we round the corner to a small trio of brick buildings, nestled together like crowded teeth smiling at the lookout across the road.
I rumble past them toward an elevated spit of land where a yellow-and-cream building perches on top.
Cars line up along the craggy street, nestled into makeshift ditch parking spots, likely from years of use.
Dirt kicks up behind us as I pull into the only remaining space.
I tense at the movement in the diner.
I thought Beverly said this place was empty in January?
Ava whimpers. I almost want to as well.
I shut off the engine, take a deep inhalation, then climb out of the car.
I adjust my hat and pop open the back door.
Ava moves her arms to allow me to unbuckle the car seat.
I gently tuck the straps over her shoulders and gather her in my arms. She gets hoisted onto my hip, and for a moment I think, We’ve made it.
But my accomplishment lasts for two seconds before her mouth yawns open to the skies in a vicious war cry.
It’s a million things at once: a difficult time change. A high mountain. The cold. I don’t blame her at all. But my heart still aches the same.
The diner door swings outward. It’s Beverly, pacing over to my car in yellow bell-bottoms and a striped top, looking straight out of a ’70s fever dream.
Her blond hair is pulled up in a ponytail, bouncing behind her like a Barbie on a mission.
It’s weird seeing her in this wintery context, with pink cheeks and shivering arms from the cold. It doesn’t suit her sunshine.
Ava curls closer, shoving her nose into my neck and gripping a fistful of my shirt.
“Funny seeing you here,” Beverly says, trying to lighten the situation. She looks toward Ava. “Is she okay?”
I give a grim smile. “She’s adjusting.”
Watching Ava, Beverly raises her shoulders up to her ears in a gesture of innocence. “Well, hi there.” She holds out a hand toward Ava. “I’m Beverly. What’s your name?”
Ava peeks out from her hiding place, then buries her face in my neck once more. Little bubbles of snot pop onto my jacket.
“This change has been a little much for her,” I say. I gently nudge Ava’s cheek with my shoulder. “This is Ava. Ava, want to say hi to Miss Beverly?”
Ava shakes her head, tugging my jacket close to her cheeks.
“That’s all right,” Beverly says. “You take your time.”
Behind Beverly, everyone in the diner seems focused on a smaller old woman at a booth.
She’s talking to them with big hand gestures and a stern glare.
Part of me wonders if she’s ever been a stage manager before.
Robin was a stage manager. They’re brutal but efficient.
Never met one I wouldn’t follow to the ends of the earth.
A man in a fishing vest and a long-sleeve shirt flicks his eyes over to us. A woman does the same, and I find myself gripping Ava closer to me. Beverly turns around, and as if she were the guardian between that world and mine, she stares, and their eyes avert back to the old woman preaching.
“Sorry,” Beverly says, wincing. “This is…um.” She sucks in a breath and laughs. “Not a great time.”
Finally, I notice the A-frame signage outside. My jaw tightens.
“Town hall?” I read.
“Yeah…would you believe me if I said I had no idea?”
My head tells me I shouldn’t. That this was a bad idea and I’m dragging Ava into it with me. But then I see Beverly with her tilted-in eyebrows, flooded with worry and guilt, and my gut says I should believe her.
I nod. “Okay.”
I believe you.
She winces. “Okay?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Someone else exits the diner. He’s a heftier man who’s almost as tall as his stomach is wide. He’s bald, with a thick graying beard. He wipes his palm over his white apron, smeared and stained with the workings of a diner kitchen.
Beverly folds her arms across her chest and knocks her shoulder toward me. “Dad, this is Griffin.”
Beverly’s dad shoots his palm out. “Hi, Griffin. I’m Glenn Lark.”
I nod stiffly, shifting my weight to the side to take his palm while angling Ava away.
“And is this the sister we’ve all heard about?” Glenn asks with a beaming smile.
Sister?
I swallow, darting my eyes to Beverly. She nods with wide eyes, scratching bashfully behind her head.
“Yes,” I lie.
Sister. Got it.
“Well, you, miss, are gonna love it here,” Glenn says, poking a finger at Ava. Her face screws up again. She’s not amused by this new man, even though he radiates as much sunshine as his daughter. Maybe Ava isn’t a sunshine kinda girl, just like her dad. I’d hate that for her, though.
“You hungry?” Beverly asks Ava. Her shoulders shiver. “Want some pancakes? We can toss in some chocolate chips too.”
“Here, take my jacket,” I say, shifting to remove it, but Beverly shakes her head with a scoffing laugh.
“I’m fine. Does she like pancakes?” My offer is so easily dismissed, like even considering the idea of taking from someone else is silly.
“She’s never had pancakes,” I answer.
“For shame,” Beverly adds with an exaggerated gasp. She glances at Ava, as if expecting a giggle. She doesn’t receive one.
“Let’s get y’all inside,” Glenn says. “Come on in. It’s freezing out here.”
The moment the diner bell dings above our head, what looks like a heated conversation comes to a close. The old woman in the booth isn’t as fired up as she was through the window.
Beverly leads me past the onlookers. I hear an errant whisper, something like “Is that him?” Beverly ignores it, focusing instead on the booth with the old woman. I keep my baseball cap down, but I don’t think it matters much.
Close up, the older woman is shakier. Tinier. Like a raging Chihuahua with a shock of red hair. Beverly slides into the booth seat next to her. I set down Ava on the opposite side and let her toddle in before I scoot in after.
Beverly winds her hands together.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers.
Ava grabs a syrup bottle near the napkin holder, almost toppling it over. I take it and place it just out of reach.
“I’ve already had a talk with them,” the older woman says. “We won’t be saying a peep to anyone that you’re here.”
“Griffin? Griffin Harvey?” I look over, and the man in the fishing vest holds out his palm. “Name’s Eddie. Welcome to Elk Grove.”
The woman sighs. “Eddie, what did we just talk about?”
Ava reaches for the syrup again. I nudge it away for a second time. Bad call. Her face starts to scrunch. She’s gonna lose it. I stroke the tears from the last breakdown off her face and tuck hair behind her ear. “Hey, let’s get you some food, huh?”
Glenn strides over with a platter and a coffeepot.
“Did I hear food? Coffee number two for Bev,” he says, topping off her mug.
“And I brought a small stack for the girl.” He grins down at Ava.
She’s starting to exhale quicker, holding tightly onto my jacket, squishing herself against the vinyl seat.
The platter is loaded with silver dollar pancakes. The steam smells like powdered sugar as it rises off the top.
“You want to try some pancakes?” I ask Ava. But that seems to be the world’s worst question because her hyperventilating turns to panic; then…the wails start. I hold her closer and stroke her back. “Hey, hey, hey. They’re a lot like biscuits. You love biscuits.”
Beverly leans across the table. “Hey, Ava. He’s right. They’re very fluffy and good, y’know. Tons of people love them.”
Ava isn’t having it.
Beverly sits straighter and sets her coffee to the side. “Hang on, I think I have a friend here who can help…Give me a second…” She looks around the table, like a mechanic searching for parts. Finally, she snags a set of wrapped utensils, shakes them out, and drapes the napkin over her hand.
What the…
I can see the gears in her head churning for half a second before—ah!—she removes her hair tie.
My gaze snags on her hair cascading down in a wispy mess. I thought I liked it when she put it up, but it’s almost better when she lets it down.
“Listen, I know I need to brush my hair, okay?” Beverly teases.
I blink, remembering where the hell I am and who I’m gawking at.