Page 10 of Another Last Call
Main Street was as kitschy as ever, full of little souvenir shops all overstocked with crafts from local artisans. But the ice cream place I remembered was gone, replaced with a fast-food chain. And the mom-and-pop-style diner on Main Street had been turned into a liquor store, while what used to be the bike shop now appeared to be a Denny’s. And I was certain the Starbucks hadn’t existed at all the last time I’d been there.
As I turned off Main towards the beach, I worried a bit that the place I was looking for would be gone. The Sea Glass was where the locals went for a drink and a decent burger. Or at least, it had been when I was a kid. The occasional tourist would pop in, but it was far enough off Main Street that it was considered the locals’ bar. And yeah, it was across the street from a beach, but it was the beach in town, not the one that most of the tourists went to for swimming or boat launching or whatever—that was on the other side of the town, where there was far more parking and much nicer sand.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that The Sea Glass was still there, even though it too differed from what I remembered, though not quite in the same way. The two-storey wooden building that housed the bar and grill was rundown, the painted sign faded and peeling. For a moment, I wondered if it was closed, but there was a neon sign in the front window and people going in. I parked my truck and hopped out.
As soon as I opened the door, it felt like home.
It didn’t make sense. Marble Beach wasn’t home and The Sea Glass wasn’t anything like any home I’d ever lived in. But the dim, warm light and the sweet, maudlin sound of live guitar music made something welcoming wash over me. The restaurant itself was on the edge of busy, with most of the occupied tables being the high-top ones surrounding the back corner where the music was coming from.
It felt like home, but maybe notmyhome.
Because I was clearly an outsider. A few people glanced at me as I walked past the “Seat Yourself” sign and sat at an empty table near the entrance. At first, I thought I was imagining it, but after the third time I caught someone staring, I knew I wasn’t. Awkwardly, I looked down at the drink menu in front of me.
“Whatcha having, hon?”
I didn’t need to look up to know who spoke.
It had been ten years, but Josie Myers, the owner of The Sea Glass, looked exactly as she had the last time I’d seen her, save for a line or two in the corner of her eyes and a few streaks of grey in her reddish-brown hair. Her smile was warm, a hint of cheekiness showing off slightly crooked teeth, and I was almost certain I’d seen her wearing that exact outfit countless times before. Long, flowy sleeves dangled around her wrists, juxtaposed by a leather vest, and her hair was pulled back by a silk scarf with aviator sunglasses perched on top of it.
Unlike the last time I’d seen her, there wasn’t even a hint of recognition in her eyes.
“A beer, please,” I said. “Whatever lager you’ve got on tap.”
“Sure thing. Any food?”
“Bacon burger would be great. With fries and gravy.”
She nodded and walked away. I didn’t blame her for not recognizing me. She might not have changed much, but ten years is a big difference when you’re going from a baby-faced teenager to an adult. My hair was still the same sandy brown it had always been, but I used to cut it a lot shorter. And as a teen, I’d shaved religiously, not because I preferred being clean-shaven but because my beard was so patchy and wispy, I looked like I had tried to shave blindfolded while hanging upside down. It wasn’t until I’d graduated from university that it started growing in nicely.
Now, I had longish hair that curled at the end and a beard I kept neatly trimmed. Instead of the ruddy white acne-dotted skin I would have after spending summers outdoors, I was a bit more tanned. And I wasn’t as scrawny as I’d been back then; working as a contractor had kept me in decent shape.
So it wasn’t Josie’s fault that she had no idea who I was.
The wait for my beer and burger wasn’t long, but it was uncomfortable. At the surrounding tables, people seemed to perpetually whisper about my presence. Some were more obvious than others, and I began to regret going to The Sea Glass at all. I tried to focus on the girl playing the guitar in the corner.
I couldn’t see her from where I was sitting, but her voice was beautiful. She sang with the kind of heartfelt sorrow that runs through small towns like Marble Beach, bringing up feelings of longing and loss. I closed my eyes as I listened, trying to imagine what it would have been like to live in Marble Beach my entire life. Most of the friends I’d had over the summers as a kid lived here year-round, and I remembered being jealous of them. It was only when I got older that I realized summers in Marble Beach weren’t the same as winters there. Winter was cold and dreary. The lake froze over and businesses in town nearly shut down for lack of customers.
My reverie was broken by Josie placing the beer and burger in front of me. “Here ya go,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Anything else while I’m here, hon?”
“No, thank you.”
Hunger had set in, and I ate the burger quickly. It was as delicious as I remembered, a blend of salt and cheese and juiciness that threatened to drip onto my shirt. I washed it down with a few swigs of beer. Almost as soon as I was done, Josie came back for my plate.
“Dessert?” she asked.
“Just the bill, please.”
She brought the credit card machine over and handed it to me, then hovered by the side of the table.
“What brings you to town this late in the season?” she asked as I punched in my PIN.
I smiled. “That obvious, hey?”
She winked. “It’s a small town. Locals know when someone’s new. Most of the tourists are long gone by this time of year. It starts getting too cold at night.”
