by T. K. Chapin
Nodding, I replied, “I’ll bring it.”
Hanging up with Lenny, I ventured over to the boxes. My father had me take the boxes after Chris and I got into our own place. He said there wasn’t room at the inn, but I think he just wanted us to hold onto to some stuff in case of a fire. He was kind of paranoid of fires, ever since we were just kids.
Opening up one of the dusty boxes, I straightway spotted my old baseball glove. Picking it up, I blew the dust off and slid my fingers in. My mind jumped back in time to when Chris and I were younger, I was but twelve years of age. It was the one time in life that we both were able to play on the same sports team, the Chattaroy Bobcats. I played shortstop while Chris played left field. I could still smell the freshly cut grass in the football fields just west of where we practiced. Breaking through my thoughts, Chris came into the shop.
“Who was on the phone?” he asked, coming over to me as I stood over the box. “Why are you in Dad’s boxes?”
“It was Lenny; Dad wants the photo album with Mom.”
“I see,” He replied softly. “Sure would have been nice if we could have gotten to know her before she died.”
“Yeah,” I replied, looking down. “I bet she was amazing, just like Dad always describes her.”
He nodded. Spotting my glove on, Chris began to smile. “I sure miss tossing the ball around out in the back of the inn, dude.”
Smiling back at him, I nodded. “Remember when you broke Mrs. Bovey’s cabin window out?” I began laughing.
“How could I forget? Dad was so pissed he threw the baseball into the lake, losing it forever.”
I laughed again as I pulled the glove off and tossed it back into the box. “Those were the days…”
“They were great,” he replied smiling.
Noticing Chris’s name tag, I noticed ‘assistant manager’ under his name. “When did that happen?”
“What?” He asked.
“Assistant Manager? You have it on your name tag.”
“Last night,” He replied. “You had already crashed out by the time Ken dropped me off.”
“That’s great, Bro!” I said.
“Yep, and Ken has an old car he doesn’t use. He’s selling it to me for only a few hundred dollars. I’m going to get it tonight when I get off work.”
“Awesome!”
“Yeah,” He let out a relieved breath of air as he continued smiling. “No more two thirty to close shifts for me!”
“Sweet,” I replied. “I’m happy for you. You are opening today, then?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll give you a ride into work. I need to take that table I finished up in anyways.”
“Okay,” He replied.
Turning back to the box, I began digging around inside of it in search of the photo album. Bypassing all the memorabilia from our childhood, I found the pink photo album. Pulling it out, I wiped it off and cracked it open.
Seeing a young picture of my mother and father on the first page, I smiled. My memory of her is fragmented and I suspect many of the memories I have are just made up from the stories our father would tell us mingled with looking at the pictures of her so many times. Pictures often have a funny way of telling a much different story than the reality of what happened. I find that people often smile in photographs and they are usually doing something fun, like a vacation, barbeque with friends and so on. While my mother smiled in every photo we had of her, hidden behind that smile was a battle she fought every day. There were no photos of her screaming in the middle of the night because of nightmares that terrorized her or the locking of herself in the bathroom with a bottle of vodka. Those weren’t memories you’d find in a photograph; they were tucked away in the minds of those who knew her best, hidden away from the world. My father told us she fought depression up until she finally died. My father didn’t like talking about the darker days; he tried to always remind us of the good days he shared with her.
Chris joined me in my gaze at our parents together in the picture and said, “I’m glad I don’t remember her. Those last days before she died were terrible… at least according to Dad. It’d be hard to have those memories to deal with.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t imagine,” I replied with a softened tone.
Pointing to the picture we were both looking at, Chris smiled, “I’d rather have these pictures of her happy anyways.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
Chris helped me with unloading the table and chairs at the feed store right out front. Once Ken saw us from inside, he came outside to greet us.
“You’re getting better with every piece of furniture you make,” Ken said as he admired the cherry finish on the table. I had used the leftovers I had from Floyd’s table.
“Thanks,” I replied.
“How’s your Dad doing?” Ken asked.
“I haven’t seen him in a couple weeks, but he seemed fine when I saw him holding on.”
“Chris here was saying he was at that thing out at Roy’s for the New Year’s celebration, that’s good he got out and about.”
“Yeah, and he seemed coherent and whatnot… So I don’t know. Guess I’ll find out today, I’m heading out there now.”
Ken nodded as he shook my hand. “Thanks for another beautiful piece of furniture. Tell your Dad I said hello.”
“I’ll let him know,” I replied, smiling. Noticing the rocking chair that was outside on the store’s front entrance was gone, I asked, “My rocking chair sold?”
“Yep, sure did. I haven’t cut you a check for it, but you can probably pick it up this afternoon.”
Shaking my head, I replied, “Just give it to Chris and he can bring it home with him.”
Getting back into my truck, I waved to Chris and Ken and headed towards the Silverback.
The inn was located along the lake that was on the outer skirts of Chattaroy. A hidden gem tucked away in the countryside where you could hear the sound of your own footsteps on the dozens of walking paths around the lake. The Silverback Inn wasn’t your typical hotel. It consisted of multiple cabins independent from one another. Many of the cabins had balconies off the back that overlooked the lake. The Silverback Inn was an amazing place to just get away from the busyness of life and unwind.
Arriving at the inn, I pulled in, passing the sign that my father had crafted from an old oak tree that blew over in a storm some twenty years ago. Crossing over the bridge and under the draping snow-covered willow trees that shaded the pathway up to the office, I recalled my childhood and the races my brother Chris and I would have from the bridge up to the office. He never once could beat me, and it drove him nuts, since he was the one that was in track and field in high school. I smiled as I saw my father out shoveling snow just outside the front office. I was relieved to see him outside working; it gave me hope that he still had a while to live.
Pulling right up to him, I parked and got out of my truck. Turning, he smiled at me and I was again caught off guard by his warm embrace. It just wasn’t like him. As I approached, I said, “You sure been smiling a lot lately.”
He came closer and hugged me. “There’s a lot to smile about son.” He turned back to the shovel and began pushing snow again as he continued talking, “I’ve been talking with Pastor Johnny over at the church about God…”
“Wow.” My father, the devout atheist, was in talks with the pastor? Could my ears be deceiving me or was my lifelong prayer finally being answered? I cannot recall how many nights I found myself troubled and unable to sleep while I thought of his and my brother’s eternal destinations. I broke into a large grin across my face.
“Yes. I know it’s hard to believe son, but last week, I gave my heart to Jesus.” He had a grin from ear to ear as he sighed with relief. I smiled back at him.
Elated, I asked “How did this happen?”
“Well, I’ve been meeting with the Pastor for a couple months now. Ever since I found out I wasn’t going to live much longer, I just had that question you asked me a
long time ago stuck in my head.”
“What question?” I asked curiously.
“What happens when you die, Daddy? You asked me that years and years ago.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t remember asking that, but I’m glad I did.” Giving him a hug I continued, “I’m so happy you made that commitment to Christ, Dad.”
“So am I, the baptism is the week after next.”
“How the heck are you, Dylan?” Lenny asked, coming out of the front office with a big silly grin on his face. He was a scrawny guy with straggly brown hair and a five o’clock shadow. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he didn’t look like he had aged a day.
“I’m good Lenny… How are you?”
Coming up to me, he shook my hand and replied, “I’m great, man. Don’t you just love this place?”
“Beats Wenatchee?”
“Sure does… Glad your Dad had me come down.” Glancing over at my dad, he continued, “Mind if I steal your boy for a moment to talk some business?”
My dad shook his head, “Not at all. I best get back to moving this snow.”
Lenny and I went into the office and took a seat at the desk up front, just inside the door.
As I took a seat, I asked, “How long have you been at the helm?”
Smiling, he sat down in the chair behind the desk. “It’s still your Dad’s place right now. It’s all just in a transitional period.”
“I see,” I replied.
“Your Dad’s been doing this all his life… I figured it’d take some transitioning for him to get used to not being in control.” His eyes shifted over to the window for a moment as he continued. “As you can see, he’s still trying to be actively involved.”
“I saw that,” I replied. “Dad’s being vague about his condition… do you know any of the details?” I asked as I glanced over my shoulder towards my father outside.
Shaking his head, he replied, “Nope… I tried prying it out of him, but he’s been pretty closed-lipped about it.”
“You think he’s going to be around for a while?” I asked.
He nodded. “I wouldn’t worry too much about him, Dylan. So Frank said he told you about the improvements we’re doing?”
“He did, but he didn’t go into a whole bunch of detail.”
“Basically, the way I see it.” He leaned over the desk as his tone got more serious. “The Silverback is a gold mine for tourists, but it’s so far off the beaten path that most people don’t even know about it.” His voice got a little quieter. “I took a look at the financials a while back and they are okay, but we need to bring it up and I think we can.”
“With remodeling and updating?”
“Yes, but also with some marketing. We need to get the Silverback name out there. We don’t have a website, no ads, no nothing. It’s purely word of mouth right now. I think I did catch a lone review online somewhere, but the point is we got a lot of work ahead of us.”
“I’m not big on the whole internet thing. I wouldn’t be much help on that.”
“And that’s fine. I have a guy I’m working with on that. I’ll show you what I need from you,” he replied, smiling as he stood up. He led me out to the cabins as he continued talking. “The furniture your father made in all these units was amazing… back in the eighties, but it’s outdated and breaking apart now.”
We came up to one of the cabins and he unlocked the door, letting me go inside first. He said over my shoulder, “See that bed?”
“Yeah,” I replied, looking at the sleigh bed that sat against the cabin wall.
“Gorgeous bed, but check this out,” He replied, passing me and pointing to the side of the bed. Coming over to it, I saw a big chunk missing out of the wood.
“How’s that even happen?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t really know, but there’s little issues like this all over in the units. Dressers, TV stands, tables and the bed frames. Instead of just fixing them, I would rather just update and redo everything to bring life back into this place.”
“What are you thinking on the beds? Make a bunch of new sleigh beds?”
“Well, that or save a little on cost and just make new and simple wood bed frames.”
“Stain or paint?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Stain would probably keep the rustic feel of the rooms.”
“That’s true,” he replied with a nod. Looking me over, he asked, “So, you up for it?”
“For sure, whatever I can do to help,” I replied.
“You’ll be compensated for your time since you wouldn’t be able to make furniture for the feed store anymore.”
Nodding, I replied, “Okay, I’m cool with that.”
We shook on it. I felt good about Lenny taking over for my father until I proved myself worthy. He was a good man and had the Holden’s best interest in mind, and knew way more about marketing and everything else that went into running an entire business. Working on furniture for the inn was a dream I’d had in the back of my mind ever since I started woodworking. Lenny was going to make that dream a reality for me and I was going to be able to make my dad proud. This was going to be good for all of us.
CHAPTER 6
January 25, 2011
Two days ago, my father was baptized down at Chattaroy Baptist. His profession of faith before the small congregation was heartfelt and moving. I had dreamt of the day ever since I came to the saving knowledge of Christ myself as a young man. I slipped into the back of the crowd that day to catch the baptism and left before anyone in the congregation noticed I was even there. I did however make eye contact with my father and the pastor. My father beamed at me while the pastor gave me a look that felt like a fire and brimstone sermon in the mere five seconds we made eye contact. I knew it was about my lack of church attendance. I didn’t feel like I could go to church. I was extremely busy working endlessly and trying to stock up furniture at the feed store before starting in on the big Silverback Inn project. I barely had time to eat, let alone peel myself away for a few hours on Sundays.
After getting back home from the baptism of my father that Sunday, I finished up the final pieces of furniture I promised to do for the feed store. I had to make sure Ken was taken care of with enough stock while I was working for Lenny. On Monday, I dropped off the furniture to the feed store and started that evening on the Silverback’s first project task, which was an order for ten tables.
Taking a break out in the shop late Tuesday afternoon, I wiped the sweat from my brow and thought about the fact I hadn’t seen much of Chris lately. Going into the house, I found Chris napping on the couch with the TV blaring. Picking up the remote, I shut it off and it somehow startled him awake.
“I was watching that,” he said, sitting up on the couch.
“I’m sure you were, Bro. Do wanna go eat at the Wagon Wheel?” I asked as he stretched.
“Sure,” he said. Looking around as he seemed to gather his thoughts, he reached beside the couch and pulled out a bottle of whiskey.
“You been drinking all day?” I asked concerned.
“It’s my day off… just trying to relax, dude. Chill.”
Shaking my head, I said, “There’s relaxing and then there is being an alcoholic.”
“You think I’m an alcoholic because I drink a couple times a week? Come off it.”
“Come off what? I think it’s a problem when you need to drink. Or you set up specific days to be drinking…”
“Well, I don’t need it, I just want it.” He laughed, standing up. He shook my shoulder. “Don’t worry about me, Bro. I got this.”
I wanted to tell him how he was going to get left out of ownership of the inn if he didn’t stop drinking, but I didn’t want to do that to my dad; he was trusting me. My father wanted the same as I did for Chris. We wanted him to stop drinking on his own without a financial gain attached to it. We both knew if he could stop on his own without being rewarded he’d likely be able to stick with it in the long
term. “Whatever,” I replied, heading for the front door.
Coming off the steps on the way out to the truck, Chris slipped and hit his head against the porch. “Ouch!” He yelled as he grabbed his head.
Glancing back at him, I shook my head.
“Shut up, it was ice.” He stood back up and continued past me on the way to my truck. Looking back at the steps, shaking my head, I saw there was no ice. He was just drunk and missed a step. I said a prayer for his safety.
Getting over to the Wagon Wheel, we were greeted by Trisha. “How’s it going, Dylan? Haven’t seen much of you here with your brother.”
“Yeah, I don’t come down here much anymore. Been busy and whatnot,” I replied.
“He doesn’t keep his protective eye on me anymore,” Chris added. “He finally let me be a big boy all on my own.” His mocking tone was agitating me, but I pushed it aside.
“Could we just get a table, in the dining area?” I asked.
“Sure,” she replied. We followed Trisha over to a booth in the dining area and we took our seats. Chris asked her, “We still on for later tonight?”
“Yeah,” she replied, smiling before she left our table back to the front.
Confused, I asked, “What’s going on with you and her tonight?”
“We’re meeting a few over at Copper’s Cove to toss a couple back.”
“How’s Elly feel about that?” I asked.
“She and I are done, dude.” Chris folded his hands. “She broke up with me a week ago.”
“What? Why didn’t you say anything?”
He shrugged. “Didn’t see it as a big deal.” He was lying. I knew Chris better than I knew anyone else on this planet and he was upset. He was just hiding it behind his macho persona.
“You’re my brother and Elly’s my friend, it’s a big deal.”
“Well, it’s been a week and you didn’t know about it… so I guess you aren’t that great of friends with her.”
Chris’s attitude was wearing thin on my nerves. I was working endlessly trying to help Dad with the inn and help kindle the relationship I missed with him growing up and Chris still hadn’t even been to visit him once. My resentment towards my brother was building, but I prayed for God to help me and He did.