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Fox was unmoved by my statement, taking in the weathered facade of Lily’s Diner. “That’syourancient history, Dad. It’s not mine.”
“It could be yours too,” I murmured, more to myself than to Fox. Memories of Aunt Lily’s warm laugh, the scents of her baking, and the summers I’d spent here until I was eleven… those short weeks each year were some of the happiest times of my life. Until, just like that, they were gone. My parents divorced, my dad heading off to find himself and never coming back. Then, Mom remarried and moved herself and me to France, and an entire ocean between me and this tiny town had severed any connection I had to Whisper Ridge.
I placed a hand on Fox’s shoulder, feeling the tension in him.
“I know this is hard on both of us, but how about we give it a chance, Fox, see how it goes, and if in six months you want to go back…”
He turned a hopeful gaze to me. “For real?”
What did I do? We couldn’t go back to Columbus, back to the media gaze, and Briggs, and the River Kings fans who didn’t believe their beloved pitcher had done anything wrong at all.
“Give me six months, to the end of the summer, yeah?”
He narrowed his gaze. “August is eight months, not six.”
“Eight months then.”
He grimaced, frowned, then faced the diner again, his shoulders tight. That was all I was going to get—an agreement to try at least for a few months, albeit a frustrated, angry silent one. I knew that was as much as I could ask for the time being.
I could only hope this chance I’d taken would be enough for us, that we’d open the old diner, make a go of it, find our place in this town, and then stay. I felt for a moment things could get better for us both. I had to believe that for Fox and for me. This diner wasn’t only a building; it was a link to my past, and maybe it was a foundation for a new beginning if I could manage it. Everything might go wrong. I might fuck everything up, and Fox might end up hating me, but I had to try.
“Okay, you want to go inside and check it out?”
He shot me his patented do-I-have-to stare, but then he nodded.
“Okay, then coats on, gloves, hat, scarf; it’s cold out there.”
Fox muttered something about knowing how to dress in the cold, and we bundled up to brave the bitter iciness of this mid-January day in the Wyoming mountains. As we stepped out of the car, the crisp, cold air hit me, sending a shiver down my spine, and freezing my breath. I pulled my scarf up to cover my face, and saw Fox had done the same, his eyes wide at the shock of ice. Whisper Ridge was a stunning white canvas, the peaks of the Wind River Range barely visible, shrouded by heavy, dark clouds. Snow blanketed everything, smoothing out the rough edges of the landscape and draping the trees lining Main. The streets were deserted, but then, it was three in the afternoon on a Saturday, and I thought maybe I’d seen one or two people, but I imagined the whole town had decided to huddle indoors, away from the biting cold. The buzz I remembered of everyone going about their business was absent, replaced by a hushed stillness only a heavy snowfall could bring. With each faint crunch of my shoes against the snow-packed ground, I left a crisp imprint behind.
I paused for a moment, taking in the serene beauty of it all. The way the snowflakes danced in the air before settling, the soft outline of the stores under their snowy roofs, the quiet—it was all breathtaking. The harshness of the cold was undeniable, but so was the beauty it brought.
“It’s a winter wonderland,” I mumbled into my scarf, but a gust of icy wind stole my words, and Fox didn’t hear my fanciful nonsense. We headed for the door.
“Aunt Lily’s legacy to us,” I said a little louder.
“She’s notmyAunt Lily,” Fox muttered, his voice muffled by his River Kings scarf. He was right—she was my mom’s aunt, no blood relation to Fox, a bit like me, but the link through me was unshakeable.
He was a step in front of me, his reluctance showing in trudging through the banked snow, scuffing his boots as he stuck in his ear buds, but at least he’d headed out.
The key turned, and as I went inside, I waited for the jingle of the bell sounding like a welcome home, but there was nothing, the metal kick plate bent back to stop the noise. The inside was a stark contrast to the warm, buttery smells that had greeted me each morning on of those summers long ago, in the original diner. The life in this new place had surely faded since Lily’s passing, and it felt like a photograph from an old album—frozen in time, colors dull—and the sound of our footsteps was the only noise as we closed the door behind us. Despite shutting out the snow, it was as icy cold inside as it was out.
There were still scuff marks on the worn linoleum floor, and we followed them in. By the glow of my phone, I located and tried the lights, but there was no electricity, which was another thing on my to-do list. Instead, I eased out the loose hooks and took down the cardboard blocking the window on that side of the restaurant. The sudden appearance of the pale sun bounced off the snow filtering inside to give us enough light to find our way.
I inhaled sharply as old memories flooded my thoughts and left me feeling something between the grief of never having come back to Whisper Ridge and a manic happiness at being here now. It was the oddest sensation, and I wondered how much of it was bound up in leaving Briggs and feeling free for the first time in eight years.
“Look!” Fox exclaimed.
I followed his finger, which was pointed toward the back wall, where, in bright neon orange, there was a crudely drawn cock and balls. Vandals had been inside, and I glanced around, searching for more damage, but couldn’t see any. Stools were pushed haphazardly under the counter. The red vinyl seats had small cracks and creases and were more of a sad looking thing than a reminder of the people who’d sat there. On one of them, the stuffing peeked through the cover, and I poked at it with a finger.
“This is so sad,” Fox said with a sigh, pushing open the door to the kitchen. Above the counter, a menu board hung without the descriptions of daily specials, and every corner of the place sat empty of life.
“What am I doing?” I asked the empty space, given Fox had vanished. I was worried for a moment. Then, recalling the layout of the place, knew there wasn’t much space for him to get lost in. There again, were there knives in the kitchen? “Don’t touch anything sharp!” I called out.
“Doh,” Fox replied, his voice dulled by the closed serving pass.
Dohwas another word that Fox used a lot, specifically when I asked him to watch out for something, as if I hadn’t had to take him to the emergency room when he’d climbed the tree in the yard.
The teenager handbook, page 5,doh. Page 6,whatever. I had an entire list of things I could add to the book. Talking of lists, I took off one of my gloves and pulled out my phone. Top of the to-do list was to enroll Fox into the local middle/high school in nearby Collier Springs. Next was visiting the bank, third was a lawyer. I scrolled down and added a new line,electric to the diner, then pushed the glove back on before my fingers froze.
