The Year I Almost Drowned

Chapter 17



For the first time in my life, people looked to me as a leader, as someone to guide the rest, and even though I had no idea what to do, they were still looking to me to lead the way. Lou, Hannah, Sidney and I stood in the middle of the diner. Their eyes were all on mine. I felt pressured to say something inspiring or uplifting, like in the movies when the General is trying to encourage his soldiers before the big battle. How could I inspire them when I was going into this blind?

“We’re going to have a great day today,” I said without much fanfare. It sounded so lame. The three of them looked at me peculiarly, probably because it did sound so inauthentic. “Thanks for being here, for giving this a shot,” I added.

“We want this to work as much as you do, Finn,” Hannah said. It was the first time she had really spoken to me in days, and it gave me hope that she wasn’t mad at me. I wanted things to be good between us, and I hadn’t had the time to talk to her. Really, I was avoiding it. I hated confrontation.

“It’ll be fun!” Sidney chimed in.

“Thank you,” I said to them both.

“Enough of this Kumbaya crap, let’s get this place open,” Lou said and headed toward the kitchen.

“Guess I can go unlock the door now,” I said. “Sidney, you stick to Hannah and me today.” I unlocked the door and turned the sign around so “OPEN” was seen on the front. And like that, we were open for another day under my direction, only I had no idea where we were going or how we were going to get there. I just knew what I wanted and that was for the diner to stay afloat until it was sold.

I pulled on Hannah’s arm. “Hannah,” I said.

She blinked.

“Thanks for all of your help. I really appreciate it. I know you’re mad at me. I don’t know why, but I’m glad you’re here.” I waited for her to respond.

“We’re friends, Finn,” she said and I felt reassured. “I’m not mad at you. I just don’t want you hurting Jesse. He means a lot to me, and I’d hate to see him get hurt.”

I pointed to myself in disbelief. “How can I hurt Jesse?” I didn’t get it. I didn’t think I had any effect on him anymore.

She sighed. “Finn, you really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” I asked.

A few customers came in the door before we could finish our discussion. It would have to wait until later.

***

“So Lou, do you think you’ll stay?” I asked him later that day. It was closing time. Sidney and Hannah were cleaning; Lou and I were in the kitchen. He scrubbed the grill while I wrote down a list of items that needed to be purchased. It was a never-ending task. Running the diner was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Ever.

He stopped for a brief moment. “You left me alone for the most part and I like that. Can’t stand micromanagement.” He puckered his lips. “Don’t need it at my age.” He scratched his stubbly chin and then ran his fingers across it. “You got a lot of learnin’ to do, kid. There’s so much you need to know to run a diner like this.”

I exhaled and gave an “I’m over-my-head” expression. “I know,” I replied.

“Don’t read me wrong, kid. What I’m saying is, this will be harder than you can imagine. Much harder. But I think you’ve got Charlie’s spirit in you and can do it.” He gave a quick confident nod and then began to clean the grill again.

What he said meant a lot to me–in more ways than one. It gave me hope, a little nudge of confidence that I had been lacking. It’s not like I was seeking Lou’s approval, but if a man with his experience and knowledge saw I wasn’t completely hopeless in running my grandfather’s diner, then maybe it would be all right. Maybe it was going to be all right?

***

I pulled into my grandparents’ driveway. My father was alone sitting on the front porch swing. I hadn’t seen or heard from him in almost a week–since the day he left me stranded at the diner. As I cautiously approached the steps to their porch, he stood up and got off of the swing.

“Finn, can we talk?”

“Okay,” I said. We needed to talk. We couldn’t let things continue the way they were.

“Let’s take a walk,” he offered.

I placed my purse down on the swing, following him down the steps and onto the grass.

We walked through the grassy lawn–the blades longer than usual–they touched me at my ankles. The grass had kept growing while the rest of us had allowed life to pass us by. We had all neglected to take care of the lawn just like everything else. It’s like, when my grandfather died, everything and everyone else did, too.

He headed in the direction of their pond. Water lilies in a variety of colors were in bloom –towering above the water’s surface–swallowing the pond. “I’m sorry I let you down, Finn,” he started.

I felt bad about our fight, but he really had let me down. “You did, Dad, you really did.”

“I know, and it’s bad enough that I left you when you were a little girl, but leaving you again is unforgivable,” he said.

“I’m sorry I said those things, Dad. You hurt me and I felt stranded...”I said, trailing off.

“I know, and it’s been eating me up these past several days. What you said, the way you looked at me and the hurt in your eyes. You were right–everything you said to me is true. I let everyone else take care of me, including you, too, and it’s not right. I haven’t been much of a father to you, but I really want to learn how to be one, and if that means helping you at the diner, then I’ll lay my inhibitions aside.”

I was taken aback. He had really put himself out there, and I wasn’t completely free of guilt in that situation, either. I started to soften–it’s really hard to be angry with someone who’s trying so hard to do what’s right. “I don’t know what to say,” I said.

“You don’t have to say anything, Finn. I’m the one who owes you an explanation. You don’t owe me anything. I love you and want you to be proud of me. I want you to see me as your father, not some feeble man you have to walk on egg shells around or have to take care of. I don’t want to be that man to you anymore.” His paint-stained hand touched mine. I allowed him to lace his fingers into mine, and we continued to stand in front of that pond holding hands.

“I love you, Dad.” I wiped a tear that trickled down my cheek and looked back at his earnest, weathered face. “I’m sorry I was so harsh with you. I didn’t mean to be. It wasn’t fair to take everything out on you.”

“It’s okay, Finn. I’m going to be a better father to you, you’ll see. I’ll be at the diner tomorrow,” he said.

I shook my head. “I already have someone. I hired Lou Schwatzentruber.”

“Lou,” Dad said in instant recognition and quietly laughed. “He’s a character.”

“I know,” I agreed and then added, “He can’t work on Saturdays, though. I could really use your help then if you’re interested.”

Lou had absolutely refused to work on the weekend. He said it was his time off, his time to play. Rumor was that he belonged to a biker group and rode his motorcycle up and down the Blue Ridge Parkway on the weekends with a bunch of old, rowdy men whose bellies were too big for their britches. I had never seen Lou in leather chaps, but I suspected he owned a pair, as well as a pair of black leather boots with silver buckles. Wasn’t that what all bikers wore?

“I’ll be there,” he said. “But this time, you don’t need to pick me up, I’ll drive there myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.” He squeezed my hand. “I have something for you. It’s in my car,” he said.

“What is it?” I asked as I followed him to his rusty, yellow Toyota Corolla.

The back door squeaked as he took out a smaller sized canvas. It was another landscape full of rich blue, green, and yellow hues. Trees that were outlined in charcoal; green mountains were in the distance and an aqua colored lake ebbed in the forefront. “It’s beautiful,” I said as I held his work of art in my hands.

“It’s Lake Kiawassee. I know how much you love it.”

“You should sell your paintings, Dad. It’s a waste to not show anyone but me and Nana.”

“I’d like to, I just don’t know who to contact,” he said, with an uncertain expression.

“There are tons of galleries in Asheville. I bet they’d love to have your art!” I said enthusiastically.

He laughed. “Well, I don’t know about that. My art is a little primitive.”

“Quit with the self deprecation. They’re beautiful. You should go to Asheville.”

“Maybe we can go together,” he offered, with hope in his eyes.

“I’d like that very much.”

He gave me a warm smile, a beautiful smile. “Good. We’ll plan on it, then, soon, right?” he said, seeking my response.

“Sooner than soon, Dad. This Sunday sounds good to me,” I said. “Get your art together and we’ll scout out the galleries.”

He placed his palm on my face. “If I had half your spirit.” He looked at me with admiration. “You’re remarkable. I’ve never told you how proud I am of you, but I am, Finn.” He wiped tears from his eyes and smiled at me again, the sun shining into his light green eyes.

***

My dad and I drove up and down the mountainous roads, crossing the border into the state of North Carolina, looping around, and around again with mountains on both sides of us, and finally finding our way to the city of Asheville.

Asheville was near the Blue Ridge Parkway and nestled in a valley of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The weather was more humid than it was in Graceville. The atmosphere was mellow and freeing. People with dread locks, tattoos and body piercings walked up and down the city streets. Street performers entertained passersby on each and every street corner. Incense shops and vegan restaurants occupied most buildings. It was the antithesis of Graceville, more urban, like San Francisco, or at least what I had read about San Francisco. It was different, but I liked it. I knew right away that Dad’s art would find a place in one of the many galleries that filled the city.

We scoured the city in a quest to find an art gallery willing to give my dad a chance. Asheville was inundated with art galleries. We traipsed through the city streets, carrying a couple of my dad’s paintings in our hands. We entered the first gallery that we found. La Rose Gallery was in an old brick building. All of the walls were painted white. Even the floor was white. Each sculpture was precariously placed on long, narrow white boxes. Modern paintings hung on the walls. My father stammered about and was nervous. He wouldn’t talk to the gallery owner, so I spoke for him. The gallery owner was receptive and complimented his art work but said it wasn’t the right fit, which was obvious by the collection of modern art that filled the room. I should’ve paid more attention but was just as anxious as my father when we had come in.

“You can’t give up, Dad,” I said as he gave me a defeated expression. “It was all modern art in there. We need to steer clear of galleries like that.” We started walking. He followed closely behind me.

We entered the next gallery. A plethora of folk art was on display. “This is the one, Dad,” I whispered to him. “You talk this time.” He gave me a frantic look. “You have to.” I knew I couldn’t keep talking for him. “I’ll be here for you. Promise.”

He approached the chic looking older woman who wore her hair super short and shaped to her small, head. She had on thick, funky eye glasses, bright colored clothes and a raspberry colored scarf wrapped around her neck. My father approached her timidly, awkwardly, and uncertain of what to say or do.

“May I help you?” she asked him politely. She had a pleasant sounding voice, the kind that could have been used for late night radio.

“I’m Peter Hemmings and these are my paintings,” he said, holding a canvas up to show her. It wasn’t eloquent or articulate, but it was a major step for him and I couldn’t have been more proud.

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” she responded. “I like the use of color and charcoal.”

And with that compliment, his stiff posture loosened and he started talking with ease. They spoke for a while and exchanged contact information. She told him that she wanted to see more of his paintings and that his art might be a good fit for her gallery.

We left feeling hopeful. It was the most excited I’d ever seen my dad.

“I really think she liked my art,” he said to me.

“I told you that you are talented,” I said.

“Thank you, Finn,”

“For what?”

“For supporting me. I could’ve never done this without you,” he said. We continued walking down the streets of Asheville different than when we had started. This time, my dad took the lead, and I happily followed.