The Year I Almost Drowned (24 page)

directly on his red hair. I flashed my car’s headlights on him. He put his hand in

front

of

his

face

and

moved

toward

the

car.

He opened the door and sat down. The thermos was in his lap. He smelled like

chicory and cloves. “It’s too early for you to be shining those things on me,” he

mumbled

in

a

low,

hoarse

voice.

I had never seen him that early in the morning and quickly realized he was not a

morning person. “Sorry,” I said and did a three-sixty turning the car completely

around.

He sipped on his coffee and as I drove on his bumpy gravel road, some of his

coffee spilled onto his lap. “Damn’t,” he muttered and wiped his pants.

Okay. So he really wasn’t a morning person; he was petulant.

“Sorry,” I said again. Was that going to be the extent of our conversation this

morning?

Me

saying

sorry?

I decided to keep quiet and just allow him to wake up. Hopefully, once he did,

he’d

be

back

to

his

normal

self.

Hopefully.

***

I turned on the lights. It was just how we left it. The smell of maple syrup and

bacon still permeated the air. It still felt like my grandfather, like he was right there

with us on our mad quest to try and step into his shoes. No one could ever fill

them.

My

dad

stood

around

helplessly.

“Dad, you can get started in the kitchen. I’ll make the coffee.”

I stared at the empty pie cases. Nana hadn’t made one in over a week. I hoped

that no one would want a slice on this day. Things couldn’t stay like that. It would

kill business. Her pies were a major reason people ate at the diner.

I put coffee grounds into the filter, added water to the coffee pot and flipped the

switch to “on.” It was dark inside the diner, even with the lights on. I opened the

blinds, turned on the juke box, and then walked back to the kitchen. He was just

standing there, looking around at everything and still doing nothing.

“Dad,” I startled him. “What are you doing? You need to prep the kitchen.” I was

being terse, but I was annoyed by the fact that he hadn’t done anything since

we’d

gotten

there.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been in this kitchen.” He touched the shiny stainless

steel

grill.

“We’ve got biscuits to make.” I grabbed the flour off of the shelf and put it on the

work

station.

“Dad,”

I

said

again,

this

time

forcefully.

“Got it,” he said, suddenly waking up from his meditative state. He rummaged

through the refrigerator and took out the eggs, milk and butter. I stared at him

doubtfully, waiting to see what his next move was. “Finn, you can go on,” he said

and started to mix the ingredients together in one large bowl. “I’m good now.”

I left the kitchen and unlocked the front door. Hannah pulled into the parking lot.

Meg had gotten a full-time job at a beauty salon and didn’t work at the diner

anymore. My grandfather had hired her replacement, an older woman named

Thelma. But when he passed away, she said it was her excuse to retire early.

That left just Hannah and me to serve, which wasn’t going to be enough people.

I hadn’t been open a day, and already I was in trouble.

“Hey, Finn,” Hannah said, as she came into the diner. She had gotten there early,

like

I

had

asked

her

to.

Hannah

was

dependable.

“Hi,

Hannah,”

I

said,

my

breath

short.

“You

okay?”

“Just

freaking

out

a

little.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.” She walked to

the

office.

Time passed, and the three of us were able to get the diner ready to open for

business. I put the open sign on the door and waited for customers to start

arriving. The first customer of the day came in, and I immediately sat him at a

table. After I took his order, I called it out to my dad, “One Adam and Eve on a

log.”

“English,

Finn,”

he

said

irritably.

“Two poached eggs on a sausage link,” I corrected myself.

He put the two eggs in a poacher and a sausage on the grill. He moved slower

than my grandfather but was doing okay despite my previous misgivings.

As the sun began to rise, more and more customers started to pile in. Almost

every table was taken. I was excited to see the place full. People wanted Lilly’s

to be open as much as I did. But as more people trickled in and more orders were

called, my dad started to panic in the kitchen. Tickets got backed up causing

customers to wait longer than usual for their breakfast. And they weren’t happy

about it, either. I was getting complaint after complaint after dreadful complaint.

I tried to remain calm. I couldn’t falter under pressure, no matter how much I

wanted to. With a pile of tickets stacked high in the kitchen and angry scowls

forming across the faces of the customers, I began to doubt why I had decided to

run

the

diner

without

my

grandfather

there

to

help.

To make matters worse, Jesse unexpectedly came into the diner. He was

dressed in black cargo pants and a navy blue City of Greenville Fire Station t-

shirt. He looked like he had just gotten off of work or was on his way to work– I

wasn’t sure and didn’t have time to think about it or to ask. He sat down on one

of

the

bar

stools.

“What

can

I

get

you?”

I

asked

in

a

hurry.

“Coffee.

But

I

can

get

if

you

want.”

“I’ll get it,” I said, as I turned around to pour the coffee into a cup, I saw flames

burst in the kitchen and my dad shouting every single curse word imaginable.

“What the...?” I dashed to the kitchen. I didn’t realize Jesse was right behind me

until I got there and watched him calmly pour baking soda on the stove to put the

fire

out.

“I

quit!”

my

dad

shouted.

“You

can’t

quit,”

I

said.

“I’m not cut out for this, Finn. Sorry,” he said and threw his apron down on the

counter

and

stormed

out.

I didn’t move. I was in shock and too stunned to say anything. I had depended on

him,

and

he

had

let

me

down.

Again.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jesse grabbed the apron, put it on and said to

me,

“Call

out

the

next

order,

Finn,

I’ll

get

it.”

“No, Jesse. You don’t have to do this.” And he didn’t. We were through, weren’t

we?

He

didn’t

owe

me

anything.

“Just

call

it

out.”

I

pulled

the

ticket.

“One

flop

two

over

a

raft.”

He nodded and put the egg on the grill. I put the rest of the tickets up on the

window,

so

he

could

see

them.

“Have

you

got

this?”

I

asked.

“Go

find

your

dad.”

“I’ll

be

right

back,”

I

said

to

Hannah.

“Hurry,”

she

said

as

I

jetted

out

the

door.

I ran outside searching for my dad. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. I knew he

couldn’t have gone far. Downtown Graceville was essentially a square

surrounded by brick store fronts with a park (really more of a field of Bermuda

grass with a few old benches and a white gazebo) in the middle, and that’s it. I

placed my hand up above my eyes, to block the sun’s rays from blinding me, and

there he was, sitting on one of the park benches, sulking. I marched over to that

bench,

my

feet

stomping

on

the

ground.

I glowered at him. “Dad!” I shouted. “What are you doing?” I stood in front of him.

I clenched my teeth. My arms were tightly folded against my chest.

He shook his head and quietly sighed. “Finn, I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. It’s not

who I am anymore.” He peered down at the ground. A tiny part of me felt remorse

for being so abrasive with him. The other part of me was seething with anger.

“Mom is picking me up. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Worry about you?” I scoffed. “Dad, there’s a bunch of people in there hoping to

get

fed

and

if

they

don’t,

they

won’t

come

back.”

He looked back up at me helplessly. “I haven’t done this in a long time. It was just

too

much,

Finn,”

he

said

with

a

distraught

expression.

“You didn’t even try. You just gave up–like that.” I snapped my fingers. “How long

are you going to live your life this way? I know you were sick, Dad. But you’re

managing now. You can’t keep using it as an excuse. There are lots of people

who have bipolar disorder and have full-time jobs, and they’re doing fine.” I had

done my research the moment I discovered he was alive and learned he had

bipolar disorder. He put his head down again and didn’t look at me. He was

ashamed.

“I’m

sorry,”

he

responded.

“So this is the way it’s going to be? You’re going to walk through your life allowing

everyone else to take care of you. Well, I can’t, Dad. What are you going to do

when

Nana

dies?”

“Finn,”

he

said

quietly,

desperately.

“It’s true. When she dies, you’ll be on your own because I won’t take care of you

like she has. I need you to be my dad. I’ve tried to form a father-daughter

relationship with you. It’s what I needed, what I wanted. But it’s been me taking

care of you, like I’m your parent. I won’t do that anymore.” I paused for a moment.

“Grandpa was more of a father to me than you are. I wish he were still alive,” I

spit out. Instantly, I felt a pang of guilt, but I was so angry and so hurt. He was

leaving me again, like it was no big deal, like I didn’t matter, just like before.

He gave a pained expression and stayed silent. How could he respond to that?

There was an underlying meaning–I wished Grandpa was alive instead of him.

He knew what I was saying without saying it. I felt terrible for having that feeling,

but I needed a father and Grandpa was all that I had ever had.

“You let me down, Dad,” I said, trying to hold back the tears, to not taste the bitter

disappointment. “I have to go. I have work to do. You can sit here all day for all I

care.”

I

stormed

off

back

toward

the

diner.

I wiped my eyes before I opened the door. I needed to get myself together for the

rest of the day. I tried to find some normalcy, some equal footing, after that chaotic

episode. I called out the rest of the orders to Jesse, to help him get caught up.

Plate by plate was delivered to each and every customer. Not one customer was

without food. And that was how things went from breakfast to lunch. Jesse stayed

in the kitchen taking each ticket, cooking each meal, and making sure every

customer

was

fully

satisfied.

It was finally closing time. I had never been so happy to put that closed sign on

the door. Hannah refilled ketchup bottles; I counted out the cash register; Jesse

was cleaning up in the kitchen; a soft, old melody played on the juke box. The

last of the customers had trailed out of the diner, leaving just the three of us to

finish

things

up

for

the

day.

Hannah finished with the ketchup bottles and started to mop the dirty, scuffed

floor. After I placed the cash and credit card receipts in the safe, I went into the

kitchen to talk to Jesse. My heart beat frantically. I don’t know why I was so

nervous,

but

I

was.

“Thank

you,”

I

said

to