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Mendo shows up with two plastic cups of conch stew. His mother knows I love her version.
“You catch the conch?” I ask, pulling off the rubber band that holds the plastic wrap over it.
“Nah, she had Violetta do it.”
“Hard to believe she’s old enough to find conch.” Mendo’s baby sister is ten years younger than him. I search around a drawer and locate a couple of plastic spoons.
“Growing like a weed.”
I dig into the stew. It’s filled with peppers and perfectly cooked bits of pastry. “So good.”
Mendo grins. “I know, right?”
We eat for a moment, savoring the classic La Jarra dish. Mom isn’t much of a cook, and her conservation career was sometimes intense. I grew up on takeout and box meals. It was fine. Besides, I met Mendo when I was six, so I didn’t have to wait long for all the best local food.
“She still helping out at Carrianne’s?”
“Yeah, she’s doing all the do-ahead dishes.” Mendo holds up the cup. “That’s why we have this stew. She served us some before taking the batch to the restaurant.”
He stares out at the ocean. He’s younger than me and feels stuck on La Jarra. He’d like to travel, maybe work somewhere else for a while, but he has boat payments, and his family is firm about him staying on the island. He feels obligated to provide a job for his brother.
Three youngish men wander up and plunk onto stools to order a round of beer. They were here yesterday. I set down the stew and wash my hands. “Same brew?” I ask.
“You remember!” one says.
“I do.” I’m about to pull the pint glasses down when one points to the new chalkboard.“What’s a La Jarra boilermaker?”
“La Jarra Stout and Macallan.”It was Tillie’s brainchild. Pair a beer with premium whisky to do a high-end beer drink.
The men confer.
“Is Macallan the best?” one asks.
“Right up there.”
They order three.
Look at that.
By the time I’ve served them, Mendo has taken off for a night tour he booked. I lean on the bar, wondering if I’ll see Tillie tonight, when I spot her walking down the path from the condos.
And she’s with the whole crew.
I recognize her light-haired sister, Lila, holding Rosie. I didn’t get a good look at the bride and groom from the crab wedding, but I see theresemblance in the woman. She has the same dark hair as Tillie, only hers is shorter. The man with them must be Drew, her new husband.
Here we go.
Tillie slides onto a stool. “Hey, Gabe.”
Lila sits beside her, and Ensley next to Lila. Drew remains standing behind the women even though there’s another stool.
I decide the baby is the best tactic and lean over the counter to touch her tiny hand. “Welcome, Rosie.” Only when she grins at me do I straighten and greet the others. “Hey, everybody. Can I get anyone a drink?”
“No,” Ensley says on top of Tillie’s “Definitely.”
I hesitate, not sure who to obey.
Tillie waves off Ensley’s refusal. “Get Ensley a blue Hawaiian, extra rum, less vodka, heavy on the pineapple juice. It’s her favorite.”
