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Previous Chapter: Anything That Mattered
<<We should hang out more.>> Isla bit her lip, waiting for Dave’s answer. She felt like they’d rebuilt their fledgling friendship at Christmas, but the shadow of Lacey was always between them. She wasn’t avoiding him, yet somehow, she hadn’t seen him for . . . could it really be over two months? After all, it had been busy. There was the party for Austin and the shower for Dani and meetings for work and errands for her parents. Always something.
Finally, his answer came. <<Yeah, that would be nice.>>
<<Want to get a bite after work? Maybe the tavern?>>
<<Ok. It’s my late class though—I couldn’t get there until 8:30 or so.>>
<<No problem. I’ll see you then.>>
Dave was already at the tavern when Isla showed up, seated in a booth instead of the bar and thanking the waiter for a cup of vegetarian chili.
“How was class?” Isla asked as she slid onto the bench opposite Dave, her voice elevated to be heard over the buzz of conversation, clacking pool balls, and occasional raucous laughter.
“Can’t complain.” His voice seemed a bit lacking in conviction as he absentmindedly bobbed his tea bag in a mug of hot water.
“How many came?” Isla asked as she idly scanned the familiar menu, then put it aside.
“Is this for work or as a friend?”
Isla laughed. “Friend.”
“Four. The same four that have been coming . . . the wife of one of the chiropractors. A couple of ladies who have cottages on the lake—summer people who recently retired and moved here full-time. Let’s see . . . oh, Andrea from your office.” Isla raised an eloquent eyebrow. “That’s all I remember. I guess that’s about it.”
“Ah.” Isla nodded knowingly.
“It’s up from last week.” Dave zipped his gray hoodie a little higher and fine-tuned his posture, as was his habit.
“That’s good to hear. Are you happy? And not to be crass but . . . are you solvent?” She lowered her voice at the last question.
“That sounds like a work question. Let’s just relax.” Dave smiled, but it seemed a bit forced. Isla wondered if it was work or money stressing him out or something—or someone—else.
“You ok?” Dave nodded and took his last bite of chili. “Want to play pool?”
“You haven’t even eaten.”
“Oh,” Isla shrugged. “It’s 8:30. I went home and ate with Mum and Dad. I had to make them something, anyway. So I’m ready to slaughter you at pool without further delay.”
“Sure . . . hey wait. There’s Dan Fisher.” Dave gestured towards the bar. Isla glanced quickly in that direction, then quickly away, then back at Dave, then down, then back at Dave. It flashed on Isla that Dave might be in on Kim’s matchmaking schemes. She involuntarily glanced at Danny several times, cursing under her breath and hoping Dave didn’t notice. The way he thoughtfully tipped his head to one side while looking at her didn’t bode well.
“Oh yeah,” she responded in a deliberately neutral tone.
Dave smiled and stood up with his mug in hand. “Let’s go say hi.”
“Let’s not.” Dave still stood grinning, waiting for her as she protested. “Let’s not bother him.”
“He’s alone. He won’t mind.”
“How do you know? We barely know him. Maybe he wants to be alone.”
“I’ve gotten to know him rather well.” Isla still looked doubtful, and he added, “He’s a friend of Phil’s. I really should say hello. I wouldn’t want him to feel snubbed.” Dave started walking that way before she could stop him and the motion drew Danny’s attention. Isla got to her feet.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Dave said warmly, sitting on the stool next to him. Isla nodded once to echo the question and remained standing.
“Hey, not bad, not bad. You?” Danny smiled in Isla’s direction but didn’t meet her eyes. It was silly, anyway; they’d been perfectly friendly to each other at his garage a few weeks ago. This wasn’t like her.
“Pretty good,” Dave responded. “I have four students!”
“Nice. Any more of your Marines?”
“No, they went to boot camp. I guess they might even have finished up by now.”
Danny started lifting his beer to his lips and then said, “Hey, what are you guys drinking? On me.”
Dave and Isla politely resisted his offer, and Danny, of course, wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Hmm . . . Jack?” offered Dave.
“Whiskey, Dave?” said Isla. “It’s like I don’t know you at all.”
“It’s low carb.” Dave shrugged and Isla laughed out loud, relaxing a bit more, and finally Danny chuckled along.
“That’s the stupidest reason for drinking whiskey that I’ve ever heard, and there are a lot of stupid ones,” Isla said bluntly but good-naturedly.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” Dave offered in explanation to Danny.
“Ah. Of course not. Maybe a vitamin water?”
“No, no, a kombucha,” Isla suggested. “At least that’s fermented.”
“Do they have that?” Dave said hopefully as the other two laughed and shook their heads. Dave sighed.
“You?” Danny turned his attention fully to Isla.
“Ahhh . . . I could choke down a Woodchuck, I guess. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Hey, make yourself comfortable.” Danny gestured at the empty stool beside him, so Isla clambered onto it. She was too short for it and her toes just touched the rail, making her feel even less in control of the situation, which always put her on edge. “So why hang out at a tavern if you don’t drink?” Danny asked, after their drinks came
“I drink,” Isla said, too defensively, “I just ordered cider.”
Danny chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “You don’t know your way around a bar.”
“I like to brush shoulders with the common folk,” Isla said, attempting humor. Danny shifted uncomfortably.
“Well,” he said, finally grasping at some lighthearted deflection, “what do you think of us?”
“Oh, I, no, I didn’t mean . . . I was just joking. I’m common as shit.” Isla’s face was pained.
“I wouldn’t say that.” Danny’s response left Isla even more flustered. Was it a compliment?
“Hey, nobody’s really ‘common.’ Here’s to the people of the world, unique every one,” Dave proposed, raising the whiskey that Isla was pretty sure he hadn’t touched.
She clinked her bottle with them, but couldn’t let it go. “I guess maybe I get enough of the polished public image variety at work. It feels fake. I kind of like seeing work boots for a change.” Isla glanced at the dusty steel-toed logger heels tucked up on bar stools and under tables.
“You like to see them . . . would you want to do the work?” Danny was inscrutable. He could be joking, he could be accusing, he could be genuinely curious. Maybe all three. These were tricky conversational waters to navigate.
“Actually, I do sometimes wish I had a job in some warehouse somewhere, or an orchard. Get paid to work on my biceps.” She flexed.
“You wish you had a job like that, but you don’t get one.” Danny continued gazing into his beer, holding it as though carefully reading the label.
“I’ve done it.” Danny looked at her expectantly, so she added, “I worked stacking hay in high school. I liked going to bed knowing I had earned my rest. I liked that good ache. I feel like I haven’t really been able to relax since those days, and that’s the truth.” Isla shook her head ruefully.
Danny nodded, the air beginning to clear, but added, “That good ache isn’t as good 20 years later, though. It’s not quite as enjoyable getting under cars all day, every day, I’ll tell you that. And no end in sight. But why do you work a desk job if it’s not what you want?” Isla felt challenged, but then, it was her nature to take things as a challenge, to grab them in her teeth and pull.
“I want to help people. I’m not always sure it’s working. The decision-makers in town have a different . . . well . . . economic reality than a lot of the people that live here. I’m kind of a go-between.”
“Let me see if I understand you,” Danny said. “The people at Town Hall are rich and the townies aren’t and you’re protecting the townies’ best interest? What qualifies you as a go-between?” Danny asked the exact question that Isla didn’t know how to answer and didn’t really want to answer.
“It’s probably only a matter of time before they decide I’m not right for the job, but if a few families eat better or do what they need to do to survive without being harassed, then it’s worth it, right?”
“Do what they need to do to survive . . . what do you mean? Sell drugs?” Danny asked, getting bolder. He stopped peeling the label for a moment to meet her eyes as she glanced anxiously at Dave.
“Of course not, no. But real life is messy, and some of my co-workers don’t exactly understand that. Sometimes someone needs to live in a camper in the yard or . . . or keep a lot of old farm machinery or . . . well, live in a house that might not strictly speaking be 100% up to code.”
“So, you what . . . cover up for lawbreakers?”
“No comment, except . . . let’s say I do what I can to make things less burdensome for people. Sometimes that means pushing for fewer laws or more leniency, or . . . look, too many council meetings involve fixing problems that aren’t problems and spending money that the town doesn’t have. It doesn’t matter what your politics are and what you think the role of government should be . . . the money isn’t there.”
Danny looked interested. “So, what sort of problems?”
Isla immediately thought, Like cleaning up garages that are fully functioning businesses because they aren’t pretty enough, but had the wherewithal to steer the conversation somewhere else.
“Ahhhh . . . beautification projects that are expensive to create and maintain and do . . . what? Or festivals attended by about 5% of the population, if that. They’re not bad things in themselves; they just don’t get at the heart of the matter. They can’t change anything. And, I think, they’re founded on a fantasy of what the past was like, recreated by means and for reasons completely unlike whatever was originally there.” Danny looked overwhelmed and Dave was thoughtful. “They’re all about ‘community.’ As if community was a government program. Community is people coming together with a common interest or interacting because they actually know and care about each other. It isn’t created by strangers crossing paths at a two-day festival twice a year. The city Facebook page has thousands of people who apparently all hate each other and have nothing to do but create division or pat their cronies on the back. But a parade’s gonna fix all that.” Then she sighed and added, “Sorry. I got on a roll. Mostly hot air, probably.”
Dave said slowly, “I think people are lonely, Isla. A park or a party doesn’t fix it, but it might feel like a connection for a little bit.”
“Nothing can fix it,” Danny said ruefully.
“Well. That’s a sad thing to say.” Isla looked at him with concern and perhaps disapproval.
“You’re lucky, Isla. You have a strong network. It’s hard for some people to make meaningful connections,” Dave interjected as Danny peered into his drink.
“I disagree that loneliness can’t be fixed. This town could be a real community. I just don’t think it’s in expensive festivals. It can be fixed one friendship at a time. It’s hard to dislike someone you really know—would people be so hateful on social media if they knew those people face to face? Of course, it took me 30 years or more to get it,” Isla laughed faintly.
“But you get it now?” Dave’s eyes met hers, suddenly sad and even a little bit angry.
She squirmed on her seat a little. “Well, I’m not perfect. It takes time to get over natural dislike.”
Danny hesitated, then said slowly, maybe a bit nervously, “Isla, I get the impression you don’t much like me.” Her eyes widened and she started to protest, but he went on, “How about going to Portland with me Saturday? Invest some time in community building.” His eyes met hers one more time for a split second. It felt like a dare, not a date, and Isla couldn’t turn down a dare. It wasn’t in her nature. Dave was smirking now, of course, because Dave was always amused when someone got the better of her. She scrunched her face up at him, turning away from Danny, before answering.
“How about it?”
“Pick you up at nine.”
“Ok.”
Isla was momentarily confused into silence and Danny was looking a bit sheepishly into his drink again. Dave was grinning broadly as he stood, putting on his jacket. “I gotta get home. Big day tomorrow.”
Isla shot him a look that said, Oh no you don’t and rose a little too abruptly. “I’ll drive you.”
“I can walk.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s cold out there.”
“It’s refreshing.”
“I’ll drive you.” She grabbed her coat and keys. “Thanks for the drink,” she said to Danny. “See you Saturday. For the record, I do NOT dislike you.” Her words tumbled over each other in their haste.
Danny shrugged, disbelievingly. “Bye. See you Saturday.”
As Isla put the key into her ignition, she saw Danny through the window, still sitting at the bar, head hanging over his drink. She didn’t know that she was taking a mental picture to examine later, but she was. Long after she’d dropped Dave off and gone home, she was looking at that picture, while she watched Antiques Roadshow with Mum and Dad, and while she climbed the steep, creaky, narrow staircase to her chilly bedroom. Her body slipped between the cold sheets and began to create a warm nest against the cold night wafting through the rattly old window frames, and she still saw that picture of him sitting there. Dusty brown boots spotted with old black spots of oil. Jeans, a little baggy. A Patriots hoodie, somewhat worn. Thick fingers wrapped around his bottle. At ease, yet tense at the same time, as if he never quite let his guard down, never quite relaxed, always maintained a conscious control of his image but wasn’t quite sure what his image should be. He was looking down and smiling ever so slightly into the bar. Against her will, Isla felt a touch of vague anxiety deep inside. Other people might call it butterflies, but Isla wasn’t sentimental like that. Saturday, huh? She’d show him a Saturday.
Next Chapter: Too Much to Hope
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