“An RV?” she asked. “Why not a tiny house? You’d have your very own conversation starter everywhere you went.”
“Do I look like I want a conversation starter?” Crabby scowled.
He had her there.
“Now everybody get to work,” Crabby said.
The staff blinked as Crabby left the kitchen.
“Not even a ‘thank you’?” asked Naomi.
Although one of the old guard—she’d been waitressing at Crabby’s for ten years—Naomi was the most gregarious of Crabby’s staff. She always had a smile on her perfect face. She took Crabby’s grumpiness personally.
“When has Crabby ever said ‘thank you’?” Manny asked, shaking his head.
The group laughed. Sean, one of the younger waiters, suggested they all grab a glass of champagne from each of their trays and toast Crabby.
“Should we go get him back in here?” asked Helena, a middle-aged bartender who always had a kind word for everyone—no matter how drunk they were.
“Are you kidding? He’d just be annoyed he was out twelve glasses of champagne,” Sean said. He lifted his glass solemnly toward the door Crabby had just exited.
“To Crabby…I’ve worked in worse places,” Donna said.
“I’ll drink to that,” Manny said, clinking glasses with Helena, who never took her eyes off the door in case Crabby came back and caught them.
“What are you so worried about, Helena?” Manny asked. “What’s he going to do…fire us?”
Molly looked around—these people were her family away from Iowa. She was really going to miss them. But it was a small town. It wouldn’t be the same, but she knew she’d run into them here and there.
And it’s only seven-and-a-half months until Christmas. Maybe some of them would stop by Quinn’s farm in December.
The thought of Quinn made her hands shake. Her champagne glasses made little pinging sounds as they wobbled on the tray.
Molly gripped the tray boldly and confidently—and followed the rest of the waitstaff into the restaurant.
Crabby’s had been such a staple in the town, it was hard to believe this was the last event. As Molly approached with her tray, each little cluster of guests was reminiscing about events great and small that happened in the restaurant. Everything from christenings to bar mitzvahs to Tinder dates took place inside these walls.
Or on the deck.
Molly thought about all the ladies who came in for breakfast before heading off to Bale’s to pick up their tiny houses, excited to start their new lives. Molly had to admit, the thought of working with Quinn gave her a taste of that excitement.
Going in and out of the kitchen, Molly and the rest of the staff kept pace with the guests. Full glasses of champagne were picked off the tray and empty ones appeared in their places.
Naomi was sitting on a stool in the kitchen, compact mirror in hand, examining her teeth for lipstick, when Molly swung through the door for champagne reinforcements. Helena was refilling her own glass and chatting with Donna, who was sitting on a stool rubbing her feet.
“Maybe Crabby has the right idea,” Donna groaned. “I’m getting too old for this myself.”
“I never said I was too old for this,” Crabby’s voice came from out of nowhere.
“Hey, Crabby,” Molly said, startled. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Apparently,” he said.
“Donna didn’t mean any disrespect,” Helena, the peacekeeper, said, her cheeks burning.
“Let me just clarify something,” Crabby said. “I’m not retiring. I’m just not going to be in the restaurant business anymore.”
The women looked at the door as it swung shut behind him. Donna looked at Helena and Molly.
“Is it just me,” Naomi said, “or was that the lamest clarification of all time?”
The women laughed. They hoisted their trays into the air, preparing for another spin around the restaurant. As soon as Molly was through the door, she saw him.
Quinn was standing at the bar.
From the look of things, he’d been there awhile. He was deep in conversation with a few of his poker and drinking buddies—and he wasn’t drinking champagne. Molly knew his drink. She’d poured a few over the years. It was called a Rusty Nail, which was scotch and a lemon peel on the rocks. Most men would be hammered if they downed one, but she’d seen Quinn knock back two or three to no ill effect. The only way Molly knew he’d had a few too many is when Crabby would, without a word, take Quinn’s keys at the end of a long night.
Quinn caught her looking at him. Before she could look away, he called to her.
“Jane,” his voice rang out through the crowd. “Come say hello.”
Molly felt it was fate. Her tray was empty and it was easy to stow. She needed to talk to Quinn about when she would start and what exactly her job would be and what it would pay. And he was at a party and enjoying himself. They could have a very casual conversation.
She walked up, a bright smile hiding her nervousness.
“Hey, Quinn,” she said.
“Hey there, Molly,” he said. “I was just thinking about you.”
That’s a start!
“Any reason?” Molly asked, annoyed that she resorted to “coy”—a word she would never write on her hand.
“Not really,” Quinn said. “Just wondering what you were going to do with yourself once this place is history.”
Chapter 5
The world was spinning. Molly grabbed the table next to her to steady herself. What did he mean he was wondering what she was going to do with herself? She was going to work on the tree farm! She took a deep breath. Now was not the time to shrink from the situation. She had to face it head on.
“The last I heard,” she said, as casually as possible, “I was going to start working for you.”
“Is that right?” Quinn said.
He didn’t seem annoyed or embarrassed. Neither was there a dramatic smacking of the forehead as if his memory had just been jogged.
“Where did you hear that?” he asked.
“From you.”
She noticed everyone around them was very quiet, silently sipping their drinks or exchanging glances with one another. But she was Clear and Bold if not Confident. She was not going to slink away.
“I promised you a job?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, I guess you have a job,” he said.
Molly could feel herself—and the tension in the room—relax.
“Did I say what it was going to be?” Quinn asked. “This job?”
She was about to remind him about planting seedlings, but suddenly remembered him talking about a task he didn’t relish—cataloguing all the old trees on the property.
“Yes,” Molly said quickly. “I’m supposed to catalogue all the old tree stumps on the property.”
“Huh,” Quinn said, looking into his drink. “That does sound familiar.”
Molly could tell everyone within earshot was waiting to hear what he said next.
“Well, if that’s what I promised you, then that’s what you’ll do.”
“Thanks, Quinn.”
“When would you be…”
“I can start tomorrow.”
“Great. See you tomorrow at…”
“Ten. We said ten.”
“Okay. See you at ten.”
“Thanks, Quinn.”
“Hey, what are friends for?” Quinn said, offering a dazzling, if a bit lopsided smile.
Molly smiled.
We’re friends!
She picked up her tray, ready to finish out her shift. Several of the locals gave speeches about how much they would miss Crabby, the man; Crabby’s, the restaurant; or both. Crabby, the man, looked as if he were suffering through the well-wishing. When he�
�d had enough, he handed Molly the keys.
“Lock the place up when everybody’s gone,” he said.
“What should I do with the keys?” Molly asked.
“Give them to Quinn,” Crabby said. “He’s going to sell the place for me.”
Without another word, Crabby slipped out the back door and was gone. Molly looked at the keys in her hand.
Sell the restaurant?
The words came as a complete shock. She wondered what she’d been expecting. She had wrapped her head around the idea that there would no longer be a Crabby’s but she hadn’t envisioned it being sold. Would someone buy it and open a new restaurant? She looked around the place as if she’d never seen it before. The building had seen better days, but the back deck with the beautiful view of the river was still enticing. Would someone bulldoze the place? Maybe build a private home here? The possibilities were endless.
Molly took comfort in the thought. The possibilities for the plot of land on the Kentucky River were endless. The possibilities for Crabby, as he drove away in his RV, were endless. The possibilities for her at Quinn’s farm were endless. She looked down and smiled at the keys in her hand. It would be no big deal to hand them over to her new boss in the morning.
Molly returned to the kitchen. Loading the tray, she felt happier than she had in a long time. She made a vow to keep up her positive thinking. She added a slick of bright red lipstick, gave herself her most dazzling smile, and returned to the patio.
“Hello, Molly.”
Molly’s dazzling smile froze.
It was Professor Cambridge.
“Heh…heh…hello, Professor,” Molly squeaked. “What are you doing here?”
The Professor cocked his head slightly to the side. His frown didn’t seem to have party mode.
“I’m here to pay homage to the end of an era,” he said. He frowned around the room. “Like everyone else here, I suspect.”
She flinched at her own obtuseness. She wondered how she could be worse at small talk than a civil engineering professor. Why did she think he was here?
She said a silent prayer.
Please don’t ask about my thesis.
“How is your little tree house project going?” he asked as he daintily took a drink from her tray.
She felt the tray shaking in her hands. She stared down at the drinks, trying to collect herself. Her father had always said, “Don’t sit on bad news.” Should she tell him it wasn’t going well and throw herself on his mercy? Ask for yet another extension? She still had seven months…. Maybe by some miracle, she could get it done on time. She could lead with that, so she didn’t seem entirely hopeless. Taking a deep breath, she looked up, ready to meet his gaze. Professor Cambridge was engrossed in conversation with another guest.
Molly felt a tingle of chagrin. She really was the worst at small talk. But she was relieved to have dodged that particular bullet.
After the party ended, Molly walked through the empty restaurant. She locked the front door and sat on the deck overlooking the river. As excited as she was to start on a whole new adventure at the tree farm, closing up Crabby’s was bittersweet. The staff, the clientele, even grumpy old Crabby himself had become her family away from home. Cobb was a small town and she knew she’d keep up with many of the people she’d met here, but change was in the air.
It was almost midnight. The river was as dark as the sky, but she could hear the current tripping over rocks. It was a sound Molly had always loved. She smiled. She would miss that sound.
Her phone buzzed. Reaching into her back pocket, Molly dug it out and checked the screen to find a new text message from Bale.
Bale: You guys still partying?
Molly responded, fingers flying over her screen: Did you ever hear of anyone partying ‘til midnight in this town?
Bale: Forgot it was midnight! On West Coast time. Sorry for the late text.
Molly: No worries. Just locking up. What’s up with you?
Bale: Defending my little place in the world at a big RV show.
Molly: Sounds very David and Goliath.
She added a slingshot and something that looked like a monster winking.
Bale: Not sure David wins this time. J
Molly smiled. She knew Bale only had a rudimentary understanding of emoticons and emojis, so adding a J must have taken a lot of work.
Molly: Careful with your slingshot. Don’t put out a windshield.
Bale: You have a lot of faith!
Molly: I do!
Bale: Car okay?
Molly: Thanks to you, yes. BTW, I start work tomorrow for Quinn.
Molly waited for a response. She could see the tree little dots undulating, indicating that Bale was writing. But no response came. She was about to type again when his response popped up.
Bale: Sounds good. Wow. No more Crabby’s. End of an era.
He added a L and, apparently for good measure, a roller skate and a hamburger.
And the beginning of a new one, Molly thought as she returned her phone to her pocket.
Molly drove back to her apartment. It crossed her mind that Bale didn’t seem particularly excited about her new job. But then, why should he be? It wasn’t like she was doing anything as interesting as traveling the country selling tiny houses. She shook her head. Bale was always so nice to her, encouraging her to come up with more and more innovative ideas for her thesis and helping her out with her unpredictable car. She hoped by the time Bale got home—whenever that would be—she’d be on a little more solid footing than she’d been for a while. She wanted to impress him after years of floundering and leaning on his advice and car repair skills.
She was buzzing with expectations for the future. Although she’d been on her feet for hours, she was too amped to sleep. It had been a while since she’d felt any creative juices trickling, let alone flowing. Money problems, wrapping up at Crabby’s, the anticipation of her new job on the tree farm, all had shut her down.
But that was all behind her!
She flicked on the light and made eye contact with Galileo, who gave her his annoyed look—cocking his head to one side and staring at her coldly with one eye.
“Have I been ignoring you?” she purred as she looked around the living room.
“Bite me,” Galileo said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” she said as she sat at the table that held her tree house model.
She studied it. Bale had helped her design the perfect black walnut tree. She thought back to the day they sat for hours after Crabby’s had closed, sketching trees. Molly always felt she was firing on all cylinders when she was creating things that were both practical and beautiful. She could tell Bale felt the same.
Molly had drawn a soaring, slim tree with limbs branching up and then cascading down again like an umbrella.
“That’s good,” Bale said, but she could hear a reservation in his voice.
“But in real life, it wouldn’t hold the house I have in mind,” Molly sighed, tossing down her pencil.
She looked at Bale. Whether he meant to or not, he kept her honest.
“I know I need a really strong trunk,” Molly said. “But it still has to be beautiful.”
“I go through that every time I design a tiny house,” Bale said. “How do you make something safe and functional that is also aesthetically pleasing?”
Molly stared down at her designs. None seemed quite right.
“Look, you know the main thing is the trunk, right?” Bale said.
“Right.”
Bale sketched out a tree. Its trunk had a generous base that split into four sections as it soared skyward, long branches spreading like fingers flexing for a fight.
“That’s good,” Molly said approvingly. “This tree means business.”
Once she’d settled on the tree, Molly tried
several approaches for her house. Her first prototype was dubbed “Cubes and Tubes.” It was made of several different-sized wood and glass cubes linked by interconnecting tubes. The design didn’t lend itself to plumbing—and Molly was determined to create a tree house that not only had a kitchen but a bathroom. Next up, she’d created a version with a steel-frame tower. This worked with her theory of running pipes down the base of the tree and over to a septic system. But the tree and all that steel seemed at odds with each other.
She loved her new design. She thought back to a slow late-afternoon shift when Bale was sitting at the counter. They were discussing their various theories of making miniature houses. Molly confessed her design was not going well. She told Bale she was drawn to engineering because it wasn’t just about form and artistry. Civil engineering was about coming up with practical as well as aesthetic solutions. Pouring a third cup of coffee for Bale, she told him that creating plumbing for her thesis model was her biggest hurdle, but she needed to conquer it. And she was getting nowhere.
“I think you’re working too hard on this,” Bale said. “You need to step back and look for the simple solution.”
“There isn’t a simple solution!”
“Sure there is. You’ve come up with all these twists and turns trying to figure out how to outsmart gravity. How’s that working out for you?” he asked.
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, you can fight this all you want, but gravity always wins. Look, it’s not my thesis…”
“But if it were?”
“I’d start with the biggest challenge…which is the plumbing, right?”
“I think we’ve established that. Yes.”
“I’d put the bathroom on the ground.”
“On the ground? That would be cheating!”
“Says who?”
“Then it wouldn’t be a tree house!”
“It seems to me that you are trying to get a degree so you can solve problems in a new way. That’s what I’m doing too with my tiny houses. But you need to accept the laws of nature—even with a flight of fancy like a tree house model.”
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“I’ve spent the last few years testing this out. Yes, if you have all the money in the world, you can probably design a tree house with a chef’s kitchen and an en suite bathroom. But is that what you’re trying to do?”
Tiny House in the Trees Page 4