Page 6 of When We Are Falling
“Thanks. We all did. I’ll drop the bird at the wildlife rehabilitation center on my way home. They’re going to have their hands full. There are a lot of affected seabirds out there.”
“This is just awful.” Blake stands, grabbing the bucket and bottle of Dawn, giving the bird another concerned look.
“Yeah,” I reply. “We could have a long road ahead of us getting this cleaned up.”
Silence settles over us and I glance at the bird in my hands. The oil spill is a massive blow, but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect our home and livelihood, and I know the others feel the same.
Chapter 3
Blake
It only happened this morning—greasyslicks of death coming in on the tide—but the Tidal Tavern numbers are down already. Most people wouldn’t notice a difference: laughter and voices mingle with the music and clinking of glasses as people unwind at the end of the day, just like a normal afternoon, but the locals look stressed, and there are empty chairs dotted around the place.
I’m weaving through the groups clustered around tables, round black tray balanced on one hand, offering smiles and light-hearted banter to my regulars, trying to quell my worry.
“Hey Jimmy, ready for another beer?”
Jimmy is a wizened older guy. He runs a garage in town and often pops in for a drink after work. “You know it, Blake. Need to drown my sorrows after the news today. Besides, my body is no temple.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not a temple. It’s a microbrewery with legs.”
The familiar scent of burgers and fries fills the air, and a group of pretty young women walks through the door.
Moving through the tavern, I feel the knot of worry in my stomach tighten. There are definitely fewer bodies pressing against the bar waiting to order drinks, while people are looking worried as they exchange stories about what they’ve seen. The usual bustle feels just a bit off, like a familiar song played in the wrong key.
“Blake, can we get another round here?” A guy at a corner table calls out, and I flash him a quick thumbs up.
“Coming right up!”
Behind the bar, Lucy Tanner is pouring drinks, her brown hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She hands a couple of glasses of house white to a customer and catches my eye. “You okay, Blake?”
“Yeah, just worried about the spill. Plus, numbers seem down already. I can’t believe it.”
Carlos Ramirez, our part-time waiter and bouncer, stops with a tray of burgers and fries. “People were talking about it non-stop at the hardware store today. It’s bad, Blake.”
His broad shoulders and calm demeanor usually make me feel more secure, but today, his words only add to my anxiety. The bar is my own version of controlled chaos and is pretty much the center of my world these days. This is supposed to be the busy season, and the very last thing me and Mom need is another hit.
Taking a moment, I survey the scene.
The bar is filled with people of all ages, laughing, talking, the scent of alcohol, sweat and perfume lingering in the air. The round tables are occupied by groups of friends and couples chatting and enjoying their drinks, while the small dance area is alive with bodies moving to the beat of the music, the stairs leading to the roof terrace visible behind them.
In front of me, parallel to the back wall lined with shelves holding bottles of liquor, is the long wooden bar, a handful of customers eagerly waiting for their next drink, while my uncle works in the kitchen on the food orders. John and Yu Chan, our summer glass runners, move between tables, clearing empties and delivering fresh drinks and food.
This is my place. It may not be perfect, but it’s mine to run however I want. My moms have owned it for years, but lately they’ve been leaving me to my own devices. They trust me, and the last thing I want to do is make them think I can’t handle this, especially with everything else going on between them.
Yu Chan pauses at the bar. He’s a pre med at college and full of enthusiasm and energy. “I need a round for table seven. They said to put it on their tab.”
“Thanks, Yu Chan. Let’s keep things moving, guys.” I reach for the cranberry juice, pouring it into the cocktail shaker, suddenly remembering Jimmy’s beer and the round for the guy who ordered earlier. Yu Chan and Carlos have already disappeared and I ask Lucy to make their drinks.
“Got it.” Lucy leans in, catching my eye as I finish the cocktails for table seven. She was a couple of years below me at school, and her brother Jake is a good friend of mine. “Try not to worry. I heard they’re starting the cleanup efforts soon. Things will get better.”
I pour a shot of whiskey and slide it across the bar. “Let’s hope so.”
Carlos sets down his tray and loads up an order of drinks. “People are canceling their bookings at my aunt’s bed-and-breakfast. I think tourist numbers are going to be way down for the rest of summer.”
My mom Trudy has enough on her plate without worrying about business, too. And Mama Charlotte—well, she doesn’t need another reason not to come home.