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CHAPTER3
~ MILLIE ~
My feet are killing me, my brain is buzzing with activity, and my ears are still thrumming from the combination of the clanging of dishes and gossip that runs thick and heavy in this place.
Another Memorial Day weekend on Tybee Island comes to a close.
This place just springs to life on this pivotal weekend. It’s like night and day.
Last week, we were just a sleepy, forgotten beach town where only locals were out and about.
But now? The ratio of tourist-to-local suddenly is skewed heavily toward tourists, and the average age around here has dropped by at least two decades.
We get so many tourists that we joke our island might sink.
I always find it odd and even discouraging that our country uses Memorial Day as an unofficial kickoff to summer. It’s a holiday meant to remember those who died protecting our country, and yet half the people we served today think it’s nothing more than a reason to get drunk on cheap beer and barbeque every kind of meat that is culturally acceptable.
But as manager of a diner, I can’t deny what it does to our bottom line. There was a line out the door this morning, waiting for a table.
Even better, all my summer hires actually showed up for work this weekend (a miracle because it’s been gorgeous out and I feared half of these kids would call in sick so they could hang out on the beach).
So I can’t complain in the slightest. Or at least, I shouldn’t.
But now, as I turn the lock on our front door for the night and the silence consumes me, I realize that this is my last Memorial Day weekend managing the diner.
I head into the kitchen to make some pie crusts with Bo for tomorrow.
“What’s wrong?” he asks in that fatherly tone I’ll admit warms my heart. “You’ve got that look again.”
My eyebrows rise in answer. “You mean outside of the fact that half the people who came in today didn’t even know what Memorial Day is all about?”
He chuckles. I’m preaching to the choir with Bo, who was an Army Ranger a couple decades ago. “Yeah. Outside of that. Because that shouldn’t shock you at this point, kiddo.”
“Well, then I guess I’ll have to blame the fact that we’re all going to be unemployed in three short months.” I cock my head. “Why aren’t you worried about this?”
He shrugs. “I’m long overdue to retire anyway. I just love to cook. I’d stick it out another decade if you took over the restaurant though. We could finally change up the menu like we’ve been talking about.”
I sigh. “Owning a restaurant…” My voice trails, my brain rattling off statistics about how many businesses go belly up each year. “…it’s just not me. I moved here to get away from the rat race. If I bought the restaurant, well, I may as well move back to Atlanta and resign myself to a life of no sleep and endless stress again.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t mention it again.”
I hate the feeling that I’ve somehow disappointed him.
He brightens. “How about you talk to the owner of Crabby’s? They had a good season last summer. I bet they’d hire you.”
“Hal’s already the manager there.”
“You have an MBA. They’d take you over Hal in an instant. Hell, any restaurant in town would bend over backwards to get you on staff for what Harriet’s paying you.”
“I’m not going to push someone else out of a job, Bo.” I angle him a look because I know darn well that he’d never do that either. This is a small island. We take care of our own.
“Okay. Well… how about bringing in a little extra income this summer? You know—so you’ll have more to fall back on later.”
I scoff. “We just had our busiest weekend in more than two years. How am I supposed to take on a side job right now?”
“Oh, no, no. I meant that guy who came in.”
I stiffen. Even though plenty of guys have walked through our diner door this past week, I know who he’s talking about instinctively.
