He paused.
“Julian, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?” There was a sober irritation in his voice, which was nothing new.
I told him. Most of it, anyway. I glossed over some parts, and embellished some others, if slightly. I told him enough to get the point across, enough to explain myself. And not much more.
“You really aren’t coming back?” he asked when I was done. He had less bite now. We were past scolding.
“Probably not.”
“What about your job?”
“Oh, they fired me. I called the Monday after I left to give my resignation, but they told me they were already actively filling my job. Mitch talked to me like I was a stranger. You’re just an asset to them, dad. Nothing more.”
He sighed, long and loud. “What’s the plan, then?”
“Still figuring that out. I will, though.”
“Okay,” he said, pausing to think. He wasn’t used to losing. “Okay. Just keep in touch, okay? And let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, dad. Will do.”
“And if you decide to come back…if you come back, let me know. We’d like to see you.”
“Of course,” I said, and we hung up the phone. He was getting old—they both were—and the guilt of a being a shitty son hit me. Even when I’d lived close by, just a three-hour drive away, I hardly saw my parents more than on select holidays. Too busy.
They’d always liked Megan. My mother was crushed, probably, by what I had done. She would have gotten on the phone normally. I could picture them standing in the kitchen, trying in vain to sort it out. What is happening to our son?
Their only kid, bailing on his wife and family to run off across the country on some damn mental breakdown. Shameful. They were getting older and Megan was alone, and I was at fault for all of it. The shame came over me now. Covered me up like a wool blanket, and for the first time in Colorado, I fought back tears.
14
I’m singing tonight. Come up.
Suzanne sent me this text on Tuesday. We hadn’t spoken since Friday.
I was driving around Boulder and dropping off resumes at any restaurants advertising help wanted. I didn’t know how far senior-level experience in the financial sector would get me in the service industry, but I had nothing else to give, other than anecdotes about my time as a server in college. I gave both, and they said they’d call me.
Where? I responded, sitting in my car.
McNeil’s, in Otter Ridge. Meet us there.
She was singing. In some public forum, I assumed, with musical accompaniment. This didn’t surprise me; after hearing her sing just a little, I knew she was good enough. She had the voice of a woman who loved to use it. Of course I went.
The drive was shorter this time. Once again I rode through the hills during sunset, and cruised past Georgetown as night fell. Then, through the tunnel and down the steep hill into Silverthorne. The moon cast a sharp glow down into the valley. It was nearly ten when I turned off the highway.
I told myself it was nothing more than looking for a good time. Exposing myself to new experiences, in a new place, with new people—strange, yes, but interesting people—was exhilarating. It was exciting. The mountains were exciting. Suzanne was exciting. I’d missed excitement. But it was something else, too. Companionship, maybe. The feeling of being desired. I knew there was no future with her, or with any of them, probably. It was a temporary fix. But she wanted me around, and for now, that was good enough.
I followed my GPS to McNeil’s. It took me through downtown Otter Ridge, the quaint little area I’d pondered on my last trip, away from the high-dollar resort lodging of some other mountain towns. There was a turn down a side street, and another five-minute drive and I was there. It was a large building, bigger than expected, tucked into the side of a hill. There were a few houses around, but nothing commercial. I parked on the street and entered.
My walk to the front door was lit dimly by the moon, and I entered into a golden glow of warmth and movement. McNeil’s was one large room—high, vaulted ceilings, large panel windows on the far side. An open seating area with tables covering the floor and a long bar on the edge. The place was packed. Across the room sat an old grand piano, and a middle-aged man behind it. And next to them stood Suzanne, adorned in a long red dress, in front of a microphone.
She sang, he played, and the people of the bar listened. Some carried on conversations, but most listened and watched. I walked to the bar and ordered a drink.
“Hello, fella,” came a voice beside me. I turned and saw it was Vince, leaning against the bar just as I was.
I was happy to see a familiar face, and greeted him in kind.
He motioned to the bartender to put my drink on his tab.
“You don’t need to do that,” I said.
“Come join us. We’re over in the corner booth there.” He motioned with his hand and started walking.
I grabbed my drink and followed him. Suzanne’s voice filled the large room, reverberating off the floor and bouncing off wood columns. They played and sang through a cheap house PA system, but she was clear over the muddy piano. She sang a jazzy song, crooning every word.
I slid into the booth after Vince, where a handful of his people sat. I recognized most of them this time; Damon was on the end, his heavy dreadlocks giving him away. Then there were Ryan and Danielle, with whom I’d discussed New York, and others I couldn’t place.
We sat and drank and listened mostly. They wandered through a few old-fashioned tunes, the piano slow and her voice low, then switched to up-tempo. Once I caught her eye and she winked. Her voice was beautiful.
“Julian,” Vince said, leaning my direction, “are you still in Boulder?”
“Right now, yeah,” I said over the piano. “Trying to find a job right now. Just bartending or something. Part time, maybe. Just a way to fill the time.”
“Having any luck?”
“I just started, so no. Not yet.”
“Well, fella, maybe you should think of browsing the job market here in the mountains.”
I paused. “Hadn’t really thought about that. Can’t imagine there are many jobs in these little mountain towns.”
“Not a lot, but enough. You could find a bartending gig if you tried. It’s practically all service industry up here.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. I know a lot of the bar owners here anyway. You’d have a pretty easy in.”
I thought about it. Bartend in the mountains. Find a little apartment in Otter Ridge, or Frisco or Dillon. Watch the leaves change in the fall, work nights. Stick around for ski season, drink coffee and watch tourists. Ski during the day, party at night. It wasn’t the worst idea.
“Of course,” he said, “if you’re looking for something more lucrative, I could probably help you out with that, too.”
More lucrative.
“Like what?” I asked.
He shrugged, and the band took a break.
Suzanne came directly to our table and slid onto my lap.
“You came,” she said, staring me down.
“I did.” We faced one another; our eyes and lips close, almost touching but not. She smelled sweet, like flowers.
“Jeez Suzy,” Vince said, “take it easy till you get a room at least.” The rest of the table laughed. They were paying attention.
“Don’t call me that,” she said sharply, and slid off my lap on to the bench beside me. “I told you not to call me that.” She fixed her gold necklace. “I’m Miss Suzanne.”
“Well I’m sorry, Miss Suzanne,” he said. “Music sounds great tonight.”
I agreed.
“Thank you,” she said, producing a wide smile. “I’m glad you’re all here.” She was bashful now, almost sheepish.