Page 5 of Only Some Stars Fall

Sometimes, at night, when it’s deathly quiet, the nights when the lake is still and even the peepers don’t make a sound, I swear I can still hear the noise of New York City. No one here thought I would last one week in the city with no local fishing hole. No dirt roads. Storm thought I was out of my mind for wanting to leave home, but I felt truly alive the moment I stepped foot on those concrete sidewalks.

That familiar ache in my chest that I’m constantly trying to outrun returns with a vengeance. The kind of ache that remindsme no matter how hard I try, my heart isn’t really beating anymore. I have learned to just not think about New York or the life I left there. My reality is now Anderson’s, and with that comes the never-ending to-do list that awaits to drain what’s left of me each and every day.

On paper, I’m the restaurant and bar manager. This should mean my workday starts in the afternoon, especially since I’m almost always there until after closing. In reality, anyone who has ever been in a family business knows that is far from the truth. By seven in the morning, I’ll be down on the dock helping the early morning sport fishers come back and get their gear put away; then, I’ll prep all the boats that have been reserved by guests for today. Usually, Tony is around to help, but today, he has to take his wife to an ultrasound over an hour away and won’t be back until a little before lunch. The rest of the day will consist of giving back-to-back fishing lessons, then a shower, and heading into the bar to work my “real” job until after midnight.

This also means, I won’t have time to get to any of the repairs desperately needed on multiple cabins, including cabin number seven, which I’ve been dreading. The ache in my chest intensifies at the thought.

Luckily, starting Monday, we have some summer help, it’s limited but better than nothing. We had to cut down on payroll to help with expenses, which means we’ll all be busting our asses this summer. I’m hopeful we should be able to make it work without looking like complete ass-hats, because the faster we can get this place back on its feet, the better the chance I might be able to get the fuck out of here.

The water is a welcome relief.I stand under the cool stream, letting it wash over my sore muscles. The daystayed pretty chilly, but that didn’t stop me from working up quite a sweat. Like most days at the resort, this one turned into a full-on shit show. Three of the boat motors had issues, and Tony didn’t get back from Bangor until early afternoon, which meant I had to push all of my fishing guide appointments back, which left guests less than thrilled. That hour off I was hoping to have before spending the night behind the bar while also managing the restaurant turned into fifteen minutes.

I throw on a black T-shirt with our logo across the back and my cleanest-looking jeans and run my hands through my damp hair that is in need of a haircut. I head down the wooded path from my cabin that leads to the main lodge.

“About time,” my dad calls out as I walk through the screen door.

“Funny, I’m friggin’ exhausted. It’s like the guests this year have never seen a fishing rod.”

“Tell me about it. Thanks for taking them out today. I really didn’t have another choice. Roger should be able to start next week once his hip is cleared.” Roger is a grumpy old army veteran who can fish like nothing I’ve ever seen. He is one of the reasons people travel here from all over the country.

“It’s fine, Pop, we will get through it. Now, what’s going on here tonight?”

“Full house, the restaurant is sold out for both dinner seatings, so I would assume the bar will be busy as well.” Since the start of the resort, Anderson’s has always served dinner at two scheduled times, one at five o’clock and one at seven o’clock. Guests are guaranteed a table, but locals have to call ahead to see if any tables are still available. Dinner consists of a three-course meal; guests are given two choices, which change nightly. Though the practice is outdated now, it’s a tradition we’ve held on to.

“Also, Mr. Calloway and family arrive tomorrow, so we need to bring up a case of wine to have on hand for the bartenders.” He pauses with a knowing grin plastered across his face. “But I have a feeling you already knew the Calloway’s were on their way.” He smiles, but I can tell he is as tired as I am.

“I may have heard something.” Discussing my situation with Ashlee, our wealthiest guest’s daughter, with my dad is something I actively avoid. “I’ll head down and get a case now before it gets too nuts up here.”

As I emerge from the downstairs wine cellar, the lobby has started to fill with guests checking in for dinner. Tonight’s main options are either a roasted dill and lemon trout with baby potatoes or sundried tomato and mozzarella stuffed chicken breast; it’s one of our most popular nights.

I’m focused on a group of men looking impatient at the bar when a slender but forceful figure abruptly smashes into the case of wine I’m carrying. Caught off guard, the case slips from my hands and smashes all over the lobby floor.You have got to be fucking kidding me.I curse loudly and yell to Claire to grab some towels as guests try to navigate the broken glass because,of course, the bell signaling the five o’clock dinner rings in unison with the shattered pieces falling like glittering fireworks on the wide plank wooden floor.

Crouching on the floor, picking up shards of glass, I can see the havoc-causing woman’s silver sandals. They make a tacky sound as she nervously shuffles her feet back and forth and obsessively apologizes. I’m not in the mood for this crap today. Looking up, I’m momentarily struck by her big brown eyes and pouty lips that are lightly glossed bubblegum pink. She tucks her light brown hair behind her ears and begins to open her mouth when I hold up my hand and bark a snide comment about her room number so I can charge the damages. From theway she’s dressed, it’s clear she is not from here. I’m sure her parent’s AMEX card has no limit.

Tommy, our barback, arrives, and I leave him and the clumsy girl in the lobby to get back to the bar. I know I am being a complete asshole, and honestly, I don’t give a damn. All I know is, Ashlee better get here soon, I need something to release some of this built-up tension.

“Hux, son, come over here for a minute.” From the far end of the bar, Mr. Croft, a local and my dad’s best friend, beckons me over. I instantly relax; Bill has always treated me like I’m one of his own kids. He left the Boston corporate world behind to move up here and cut down trees for a living. As someone who misses the hustle of city life, I’ve never been able to fully understand why he would choose little old Silsby to call home, but he seems happy.

“Mr. Croft, how are you this evening?”

“Hux, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Bill?” He’s been correcting me since I was a kid. “I’m great, actually. Look who finally returned!” he says, pointing to the beautiful caramel-skinned young woman sitting next to him. I could never forget those brilliant green eyes, but the last time I saw them, they were on an inquisitive and sometimes annoying young girl a few years younger than me who summered up here.

“Shit, Alex? Woah, I haven’t seen you in what? Ten years?”And damn, I wish it hadn’t been so long, I think as I scan her body a little longer than I should with her father in such close proximity.

“Hey, loser, actually, it’s only been eight years, but who’s counting,” she says, flashing the same carefree smile she had as a kid.

“I heard you left the East Coast to become some big movie star in Los Angeles. How’s that going?”

“Well, that’s only half true, but I love LA. Unfortunately,my internship fell through, so I decided it was a good chance to spend some time with this guy,” she says, patting her father on the shoulder. I can see the slight hesitation in her before she makes contact. From what I heard, her parents’ divorce was ugly, and she went a long time without any contact with Bill.

“So, what are you going to do with all your free time up here in God’s country?” I ask.

“Oh, you haven’t heard? I’m your new waitress!” She smirks. “My best friend from high school and I are officially employed at Anderson’s Lodge and Cabins.”

I give Mr. Croft a hard stare. How and why did both my dad and he keep this little fact from me? Assholes. Just as Mr. Croft opens his mouth to explain, the same clumsy, ditsy brunette I’ crashed into nudges her way through the small crowd and plops down on the bar stool next to Alex.

No, please, no.

“Evie, baby! Where have you been?” Alex asks, draping herself over what has now become apparent is her best friend.

---