Page 64 of Desperate Haste

All there is is silence as he slowly gets lost in his grief.

32

MALCOLM

Grief is like a dense forest you’re dropped into without a map and you can hardly see through the trees. You have no way of finding out how to escape, so instead of running until you’re too exhausted to move anymore, you simply stay put and try to survive, knowing that you’ll never be found again.

It’s been a little over a month and a half since losing Marshall and nearly three weeks since becoming the full owner of Butcher and Block. I thought I had an idea of what went into running this place but I didn’t know the half of it. There is running the place and working behind the bar, but there is also ordering that needs to be done, payroll to complete, schedules to be made, and about twenty-five employees to manage on top of that. Marshall was three times my age when he was running this place and he made it look easy and I plan to do the same.

But holy shit am I tired.

Not only am I tired, but I have the ever present pressure of what feels like two fifty-pound weights sitting on my shoulders which I’m pretty sure are the cause of my developing hunch. The weight of living up to Marshall’s legacy and everything he did here, everything this place stands for, sits on my chest so much sometimes that it makes it hard to breathe. Or sleep. Or have five minutes where I’m not thinking about everything I need to do. And it’s only been three weeks. I don’t know how he did it for as long as he did.

“Hey, Malcolm, we need more cleaning supplies on the next order. The bathrooms are starting to get rank,” one of our servers calls out to me after dropping an order off at the bar.

Cleaning supplies. Rank bathrooms. Got it.

“Uhh, did we order more champagne?” Alice asks, bending over and looking under the bar, pulling out the final bottle from where we kept it.

“Shit, no. I’m sorry, I’ll get some.”

Champagne. Cleaning supplies. Rank bathrooms. Don’t forget.

“Yo, Malcolm!” Benny shouts at me as I pass through the kitchen to grab something from the freezer. “Richie just quit so we’re gonna need another set of hands back here if we’re going to make it through the spring break rush.” I nod my head and add it to the metaphorical post-it note in my brain that has hardly any room left on it.

Hire a new Richie. Champagne. Cleaning Supplies. Rank bathrooms. Don’t let anyone down. Don’t be another major disappointment to the people in your life like you were before.

I can do this.

Maybe.

As I continue to tick through all my to-do’s in my head, I support Alice at the bar while doing what I can to float through the crowded restaurant, checking on tables and making sure the staff—my staff—have what they need. I don’t care if it kills me, I won’t let this place fail when Marshall had entrusted it to me. I have fucked things up before for the people who were counting on me, but I won’t do it again. I just wish there is a way that I can get more done and not feel so fucking tired all the time.

There is one thing, you know,I hear a voice I haven’t heard in a very long time sneer in the back of my head. I blink hard a few times and tell myself I’m imagining it, a byproduct of working sixteen hour days, seven days in a row. I’ve been at the bar every day from sun up to well past closing just to make sure everything gets done. I’m even here on Tuesday when it’s supposed to be my day off because I’m worried something will happen. Even now, I’m supposed to be leaving to let Alice close up and I’m still here, running around as if the place is actively burning to the ground.

You know there’s a solution to your problems, Malcolm. A really simple one. One you’ve used before. Remember how easy things were back then? They could be easy like that again, you know?I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head back and forth, trying to dislodge the voice from my brain permanently.

“Hey there, pretty boy, you okay?” The sound of her smooth voice gets me to open my eyes and I see her looking back from me on the opposite side of the bar. An easy smile spreads across her face as she looks at me and I find a sliver of solace as I let her energy ground me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” My answer comes out short, almost annoyed. Why would she think I’m not fine?

“You sure? You looked like a southern spirit was running around inside that head of yours.” She tries to laugh.

“I said I’m fine.” This time my words come out sharp and she flinches when the glass I’m holding comes down hard against the wooden countertop.

“Okay, you’re fine,” she mumbles defensively. “Are you ready to go soon?”

Glasses are stacked under the bar that need to be wiped down and I still need to get into the office to place an order for things. And hire a new Richie. Not to mention make sure the schedule is set for next week and we have enough coverage for the next three weeks as the city fills with tourists on vacation for spring break.

“Uhh, no, no, I’m not. I’m sorry, there’s just too much to do here for me to leave.” I can’t bring myself to look at her.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’m here, can I help with anything? Maybe something in the office or even clearing tables? I just got off from work so I’m happy to help where you need me.” She looks at me optimistically.

“What? You think I can’t do this on my own? You think I’m not cut out for it?” Again, my words come out sharp as a knife. I appreciate her coming to see me and offering to help, but I want to be able to show people that I can handle things here—because I can.

“Of course I think you can handle it. I’m just trying to be helpful…” her voice trails off and she looks at me with hurt in her eyes. I’m so fucking tired of people looking at me like that—like I’m broken or damaged because Marshall is gone when I’m not. I’m fine and I can handle this place all on my own.

She waits for me as I make some drinks for people and run to the back to check on the kitchen staff even though they tell me they’re fine every time I go back there. She’s still there, waiting for me to come back and say we can go after I serve a few tables and finally find a few minutes to place an order for the cleaning supplies we need.

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