Chapter Six
Kenzie parked next to Danny’s truck and grabbed her hoodie from the passenger seat before getting out. This spot by a pond had been his choice—recommended to him by Rob and Hannah—and the higher elevation meant it was still cold.
She didn’t put the hoodie on yet, though, because the sight of Danny leaned against a tree with his hands deep in the pocket of his Birch Brook Campground sweatshirt as he looked at the water got her blood pumping enough to keep her warm.
When she closed her car door, he turned to look at her, pushing himself away from the tree. The way he always looked so happy to see her made her pulse quicken, and she took a deep breath as she pulled on her sweatshirt and zipped it halfway.
“I was about to ask if you found the place okay, but then I remembered you’re actually from here and I’m not,” he said, making her laugh.
“I haven’t been to this spot in years. We used to hang out here when we were teenagers, of course.”
“I can see why. But Hannah said it’s a pretty easy walking path, and it goes all the way around the pond if you’re up to it. I feel bad, asking you to go for a walk after you’re on your feet all day. We could actually find a place to sit, or even go find someplace to hang out if it’s better.”
“It’s a different kind of walking,” she said. “And I love being outside, so you’re not getting out of it now.”
“I had to run up to the market for more coffee pods on Saturday,” he said once they were strolling side by side along the pond’s edge. “I noticed your parking lot was pretty full.”
“Business is starting to pick up. Nothing like what it will be, of course, but people who own their camps are starting to check on them. And some of our snowbirds have come home from Florida and Arizona early.” She chuckled and nudged him with her elbow.
“But yes, I did have time to read your new chapters and I loved them. You leaning into Stephen’s playing dirty, like the rest of his family, and his conflicted emotions about it was definitely the right call. ”
She laughed when he blew out a huge breath of relief, even though she knew he probably wasn’t exaggerating it for comedic effect. “I’m not going to lie—it’s hard writing a family that’s so toxic. But once I gave in to it, it’s actually been fun.”
“And it shows.” She smiled up at him. “I’ve got a pretty great family, too, so it’s very fun reading about the not-so-great Clarks.”
“Speaking of your family, I’d love to know more about the restaurant.
Like, I know it was named after your mom and you took over after she passed, but did you work there when you were younger?
But I also understand if you’d rather not talk about it because losing a parent must be incredibly hard. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. It’s definitely hard.” She smiled. “But I like talking about her and really don’t do it a lot because my dad struggles with it. People grieve differently and all that. So yes, my mom is the Corinne of Corinne’s Kitchen, but my grandmother started the restaurant, basically out of spite.”
He cocked an eyebrow, leaning closer as if in anticipation of gossip. “I do love a juicy spite story.”
While there was definitely spite, she didn’t think the story was particularly juicy. “Okay. My grandmother hated my grandfather. Like loathed him.”
“Ah. And I gather divorce wasn’t really an option for some reason?”
“Nope. So the scuttlebutt around town is that my grandfather was a man who suffered through an unusual number of accidents and illnesses, even for a lifelong farmer.”
“Wait.” He stopped walking and put his hand on her arm. “Was she trying to murder him? That’s a lot of spite. Next-level stuff.”
“I’m glad you think so, because it’s definitely an extreme level of spite.
” She shrugged. “If my grandmother having a hand in his woes is even true. It really depends on who you ask around town. Some people think she was trying to murder him and either didn’t have the guts or the knowledge to see it through.
And some folks think they were a miserable couple who couldn’t stand each other, and that he wasn’t very nice so the universe enjoyed slapping him down whenever possible. ”
Some of the sparkle dimmed from his eyes. “How not nice was he?”
“Nobody knows, really. One of the strange things about a town this small—especially back before Facebook and the influx of tourism, when it felt even smaller—is the way everybody can know all your business while, at the same time, everybody minds their own business. It was known he was a hardcore jerk and she was deeply unhappy, but other than that, the truth died with them.”
“Okay. I just didn’t want to get wrapped up in your story and make a wisecrack comment or something if it was… Actually I guess I shouldn’t anyway because you don’t have to physically hit somebody to be abusive.”
She liked that he recognized that, but she didn’t want to drag the mood down as they started walking again.
“I know, but the lore within my own family is that they were both just miserable, hateful people who deserved each other. They died before I was born, but my mother was raised by them, obviously. And she never said anything that led me to believe there was more than that.”
“Okay. That’s good. I mean, not that they were miserable, but… .never mind.”
“Danny, this story is supposed to be about my family’s restaurant.”
“Right. Carry on.”
“My grandmother didn’t want my mom to ever be stuck with a life she didn’t want.”
“I have to stop you again.”
“Writers,” she muttered.
“It’s just that this story sounds like it takes place in the nineteenth century, but they’re your grandparents. My grandfather can still kick my ass in volleyball. Which I will deny I ever said if you repeat it, by the way.”
“My grandparents were probably quite a bit older than yours because they had my uncle and my mom later in life.”
“You have an uncle?”
She laughed. “Yes. Uncle Jim, who is married to Aunt Karen. And their three kids are my cousins, including Rhylee, who is like a sister to me. I have a whole life outside of that restaurant, you know.”
“And I want to know all about it.”
“No, you want me to keep talking all the time so you have an excuse to not be working on your book.” When he scowled at that undoubtedly correct observation, she laughed. “Anyway, I also think being really toxic and miserable your entire life shortens it drastically.”
“I don’t doubt it. I’m a little surprised they had kids later in life. It seems like they wouldn’t have liked each other well enough to…have children together.”
“That’s probably why they didn’t have them until later.
I’m not sure how early in their marriage they realized they didn’t like each other, but I’m sure they reached a certain age and realized they didn’t have kids to do things like mowing the lawn and carrying laundry baskets out to the clothesline. ”
“That’s valid. My mother hasn’t touched a snow shovel since Joey and I were tall enough to hold the handle.”
“According to a good friend of my grandmother—whose granddaughter is our town librarian—she’d been hiding money since before they even got married.
She was gifted at not returning a person’s change, or finding cash under cushions and in coat pockets.
She always needed a little more for groceries and gas and bills than what they actually cost.”
“Okay, theft and embezzlement and possibly multiple attempts at murder. I don’t care if she was cranky. I love this woman.”
“I feel like that’s a big difference between writers and non-writers. Most people would probably be horrified by that.”
“You can’t make a compelling story out of good people doing exactly what’s expected of them and being good until they die of old age.”
“What about Forrest Gump?” she challenged.
“That’s a very compelling story, but how much of that comes from the flawed people in his life? Imagine if everybody in that book—”
“Or movie.”
“—or movie had been as good and decent as Forrest.” When she conceded the point with a dip of her head, he grinned. “Back to the restaurant.”
“For the umpteenth time. This is why your book isn’t finished.”
“Your grandmother opened the restaurant with her somewhat ill-gotten gains and named it after her daughter?”
“Yup. I guess about the time my mom was sixteen, my grandfather started talking about how there weren’t really many good jobs for women in these parts, so she should start finding herself a husband.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly. My grandmother went into partnership with a man they went to church with, who loved to cook, but they named it after Corinne—my mother—because it would be her business someday and she’d never have to take a husband she didn’t want or stay with one she chose but shouldn’t have.”
“And what happened to the partner?”
“An actual restaurant was still a bit of a novelty in this part of the state back then, and the snowmobilers came. Not as many as we have now, and they didn’t have the ATVers for summer business as much.
But they kept at least five different flavors of ice cream stocked.
It started doing well, and then my grandfather died.
My grandmother sold the farm and bought a cute little house in town with some of the money and bought out her partner with the rest.”
“So your mother worked there with your grandmother until your grandmother passed away, and then she ran it until she passed, and now you run it.”
“Right.”
The question burned unasked in his eyes.
Hadn’t her grandmother’s gambit to provide her mother with freedom actually backfired, and on the next generation, too?
He clearly wanted to point out she’d actually been trapped by her grandmother’s choices, and he wasn’t wrong, exactly.
It was complicated and hard to answer, though, so she was glad he didn’t vocalize the thought.
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but what did your grandfather die from?” he asked instead.
“Again, it depends on who you ask.”