Maggie
The bartender comes out of the back room now, his sleeves rolled up, and she realizes it’s that guy Elliot. “You lasted,” he says. “I thought our Doberman would have chased you away. Guess I forgot they have a soft spot for family.”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
He scribbles down her order and sends it to the kitchen. “Ugh, I hate summer.” He looks around. “I always feel like everyone has these groovy plans, and I’m just stuck here.” His eyes are dark aqua now, and he pulls a wineglass from a shelf and pours the end of a bottle into it. “Ever tried rosé?”
“In Jersey, that’s the legal drinking age,” he says and winks. “Just try it.”
She looks at the glass, pinkish-gold. She swirls it around like she saw Carol Burnett do in a skit, and tastes it. It is cold and has a bite, and she likes it. But she pushes the glass back toward him. “It’s good, but I’ll wait for my time.”
“I’m more of a beer guy myself. Shirley Temple for you then?” He plucks an orange slice and a maraschino cherry and spears them onto a plastic sword.
“Actually, that sounds perfect.” She taps her hands on the bar and looks down at the cocktail menu. “And if you think you’re insulting me, you’re not. Shirley Temple’s the MVP of drinks.”
He dries a few glasses. “I’m not trying to insult you. So where’s a runaway like you off to next? Here for a couple months and then hopping a train?”
“I’m not a runaway.” Part of her wants to tell him her plan to just be here and soak it in and learn what Chip did while he was gone.
A man plucks darts from the dartboard and hands them to another guy, and the two women they’re with shake their heads and laugh and eat from a cheese tray.
She looks out the window, and the view reminds her of one of the last watercolors she did in her art class this past spring.
She wants to tell him that Red Maple has been on her mind all year.
After graduation, she felt she could finally leave home.
When they handed her the diploma with her name in calligraphy, she felt ready to fly away.
Breaking up with Tommy, Millman’s Market closing because Mr. Millman wanted to retire—all the signs seemed to point here.
The dim light in the lounge makes her tired. Elliot pours some grenadine over ice and then picks up the soda gun and fills it to the top. The drink fizzes, and he drops the fruit-loaded sword into it. “Your cocktail of choice.”
“Cheers,” she says.
He takes a glass half-full of beer from under the counter. “Cheers,” he says and clinks her glass.
“I can’t imagine you’re allowed to drink on duty.”
“I can’t either,” he says.
She wipes the condensation her glass leaves on the bar with a napkin that has the Red Maple logo on it. He gets her club sandwich from the kitchen and places it in front of her. “So what’s your story?” she says, taking a bite and covering her mouth while she chews. “Where were you before this?”
He shakes his head and leans against the back shelf, all the expensive liquors stacked in a pyramid in front of a mirrored wall. “Good old Uncle Sam needed me for a while.” He doesn’t smile, and he scans the other customers’ glasses to see if anyone needs a refill.
“You’re in the service?”
“Was.”
“But you’re so young.”
“I wasn’t looking for a career—I was drafted.” His face gets stony. “I gave them more than I wanted to.”
She holds her cold drink. “I can’t imagine.” For a second he looks vulnerable, almost scared. She turns to him. “Stupid war. We never should have been there.”
He looks so disgusted and angry she’s worried he’s going to hit something. But he takes a deep breath. “No kidding.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m glad it finally ended.”
He nods. “You’re not the one with the nightmares.”
A woman in a floral dress with a golden retriever by her side marches into the Wooden Duck.
For a second, Maggie has an out-of-body experience.
What is she doing in this place? Are her parents worried sick?
The woman has glasses around her neck and another pair of glasses in her pocket, which has a safety pin in place of one of the buttons.
She wears a brooch that looks old and expensive.
The dog goes right over to a table of guests, and no one seems bothered.
“I’m looking for Maggie,” she says to Elliot, and Elliot points to her, and the woman draws back as though she didn’t even see her sitting there.
“Hi,” Maggie says, and drops her napkin on top of her empty plate. She tucks her hair behind her ears.
Elliot clears her plate and takes another swig of his beer under the counter, and the woman doesn’t seem to notice. “I’m sorry, Paige had something come up. I told her I’d take good care of you.”
“This is our head honcho, Mrs. Simmons,” Elliot says. “Mrs. Simmons, this is the mysterious Maggie.”
“Rhonda, please.” She smiles and jerks her thumb toward Elliot. “Isn’t he a character?” Then the woman surprises Maggie by pulling her into a hug. “I heard about your family connection.” She stands back and shakes her head.
Something stops Maggie for a second. The look on the woman’s face.
She reminds her of her parents. That exhausted expression, as though life has disappointed her in some way.
But Rhonda smiles sadly and keeps looking at her.
“I’m so very sorry. What a tragedy.” Elliot looks strange for a second, and he walks away to refill water glasses.
The dog comes over to Maggie and sniffs her leg. Maggie swallows. “Yeah, I hope it doesn’t seem crazy that I just showed up here. I think this place meant a lot to him, and I’m trying to find out why.”
Rhonda puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes lightly. She takes a deep breath. “Poor girl. Well, we’re glad to have you. Any friend of Chip’s, right?” She smiles.
“Now if you’re finished eating, let’s get you over to Human Resources.
” She reaches across the bar counter and there is a little cut-crystal glass of brown liquid—maybe scotch or whiskey.
She takes a quick sip and sighs as she savors it.
“Elliot keeps a bit there for me in case I’m having A Day,” she says.
Maggie smiles and before she follows her out, she pulls a couple dollars out of her pocket and leaves them for Elliot.
Rhonda knocks on the office door and introduces Maggie to Alfred in Human Resources. “Alfred,” Rhonda says, “do you mind if Maggie comes by first thing in the morning to fill out all her paperwork? I want to give her a tour now.”
He smiles. “Tomorrow’s perfect.”
Maggie nods, and Rhonda motions her along. As they walk by a big painting in one of the upstairs hallways that’s labeled THE RALEIGH FAMILY, Maggie stops and looks at all the different people. “That’s you, right?” she says.
Rhonda stands beside her. “Yes. Me, my two sisters, my brother Leo.” She turns to Maggie.
“Leo died in Pearl Harbor.” She clicks her tongue.
“I was barely twenty. That day, my boyfriend and I were going to elope in New York City. Silly me, I was so excited to drop out of Vassar and just marry this guy who drove a Pontiac. We were so ready for a wild life. I left a note for my parents, and we were having lunch before going to city hall when we heard the news about the attack.” She touches the painting and stands back and looks serious.
“My goodness, until that second, I had no idea life could ever be that hard.”
Maggie looks at this woman with her expensive brooch and silver charms on the bracelet she wears.
“I’m so sorry about your brother.” Is that why she looks this way?
Is that what has wounded her? Maggie wonders if she will carry Chip’s death forever like this, if it will never get better, even thirty years from now.
Rhonda nods and looks at her. “I guess we have that in common, unfortunately.” She takes a breath.
“Leo was a good boy.” She shakes her head again.
“When he left for Hawaii, he told me when he came back, when Europe had settled, we would go to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower and watch the children sail boats at Luxembourg Gardens. When we got the news, I just couldn’t accept that our trip wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t be true.
“Finally, a few years later, I flew to Paris myself and looked out at those lovely boats, and I felt so alone, but also that the world was still beautiful.” Her eyes lose their sparkle.
“I found myself going back to that same spot years later when I really needed that reminder. You should see those boats—they’re something, honey.
” Rhonda turns to her. “I’d ask you how you’re managing with what happened, but I know the answer. It’s still too soon, right?”
Maggie nods. “Could I ask… Is that when you did accept it? When you saw the boats, you accepted it about your brother?”
“In a way. It takes a long, long time to… what’s the word? To fully know it, I guess. I mean, you know it right away, don’t you? But to know it with your head and heart…” She strokes her chin. “It takes time, honey.” She exhales, and she looks like she has more to say.
Maggie pauses and tries to clear the air. “So your parents started this business?”
Rhonda nods. “Yes, ma’am. Nineteen fifty-five. Running a resort was always my dad’s dream; my mom went along with it as long as he let her decorate it like the Columbia Inn in White Christmas.”
“I love that movie. I guess I’m a sucker for a happy ending.”
“Me too,” Rhonda says. They walk down the stairs and Rhonda stops for a second and glances over at her. “You know what? I’m really glad you’re here, Maggie. You remind me of him. Has anyone ever told you that?”
The crew lodge is in a nondescript brown building down a long path behind the recreation center. The sun is still bright, and Maggie sees guests strolling the grounds with cocktails, Rhonda stopping to make conversation with each one, Taffy following them.