Page 108 of Golden Touch
It’s a late summer afternoon here in the parking lot of the family property. It was cleared of debris a month ago, and since then, earth movers have been hard at work prepping the site for the rebuild.
The four of us—Dad, Livia, the architect and I—have weekly design meetings. Today Pia is using the “walkthrough” feature of her design software to show us how the interior of the new building will look.
“I’ve filled in some of the features you asked for last week. The display case is here, behind the bar.” She points at the screen. “I need to fine tune the dimensions. What’s going in the case? Trophies?”
I speak up. “Trophies, framed awards, and hopefully some mementos from the old building. Can you use any part of this? I saved it and stashed it in Dad’s garage.” I open my phone and flip to a photo of the original door frame, which was slightly charredin the fire. “When I was a kid, we all soldered our initials into the wood.”
“Cool!” she says. “How much of the frame did you save?”
“All of it,” Dad pipes up. “We thought you could cut a piece and use it in the display case.”
“That could work,” Pia says. “But if you have the frame, I could reuse the whole thing. Doesn’t matter if it’s charred. I can still make it work.”
“Hell, yes,” my father says, staring at the screen. “Didn’t realize that was legal. I assumed it would be against code. Seems likeeverythingis against code.”
Livia and I exchange an amused glance. My father is still a grump. That will never change. But he isn’t a control freak anymore. The fire seems to have burned that right out of him.
“Maybe it was an exhausting way to live,” Livia said the other night when we were discussing him over dinner. “And he finally realized that if he didn’t want to rebuild the entire company all on his own, then he’d have to bend a little.”
She must be right, because Dad’s new attitude isn’t even an act. He seems more relaxed at the core. As if the thing he dreaded most in the world actually happened, so now he doesn’t fear it anymore.
“The bar is twenty feet long on the tasting side,” Pia says, as a computer-generated image of the room whirls across the screen. “And ten feet long on the retail side. But we’ll accommodate an extra set of taps on the retail side, for special events.”
Maybe it’s too soon to say it aloud, but rebuilding the brewery is going to improve the space by leaps and bounds. Every room will be updated, easier to use, and easier to maintain.
And don’t even get me started on the brewing equipment. We’re getting a state-of-the-art setup on our production line. The beer will still be made by hand, every step of the way, but the setup, cleanup, and canning processes will be modernized.
Dad didn’t even fight me on this stuff. All I had to do was drag him out to see another award-winning brewery in Burlington. “Idare you tell these guys that they don’t make these beers by hand, just because their new hopper lifts the grain up to the mouth of the masher.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dad had chuckled. “Go on. Get the new hopper if it means so much to you.”
It’s going to be amazing.
Pia’s virtual tour moves through the brewhouse. “You guys need to finalize the width of the aisle between the fermentation tanks,” she says. “Is five feet wide enough?”
My father frowns at the screen. “Can’t I just see it on paper?”
“Sure,” Pia says smoothly, because she’s used to this by now. “I’ll just grab the blueprints out of the car.”
My dad still loves his paper. Although Livia is forcing him to computerize their accounting now. All their old ledgers are either sooty or soggy. It’s taking Livia months to secure and transcribe all his old records and tax filings.
The architect returns with the blueprints and consults my father on his floor plan. Leaving them to it, I tug Livia a few steps away before wrapping an arm around her and kissing her on the cheek. “What do you say we have a picnic after this?”
“A picnic?” She gives me a curious look. “In the middle of the workweek? I thought you were going to take a conference call while I drive us back to Boston?”
I’m still working at BrewCo for another few months. They wanted a long transition, and I gave it to them because paychecks are nice, and the brewery construction is going to take some time.
Meanwhile, my dad is making small batches of Goldenpour at the Speakeasy brewery in town, and in another brewery’s spare tanks, in order to keep the beer alive during the interim.
Livia is still employed by Giltmaker as Dad’s assistant. But she’s been working from Boston where she’s staying with me. Every week we drive up here and spend a night or two in Poppy’s guest room, so Dad and Livia and I can work on brewery details together face to face.
It’s a little chaotic, but somehow it works. Life is good. Whichis why I have a plan to make it even better. “I’ve decided to reschedule that conference call. Let’s get some sandwiches. I have a destination in mind.”
She shrugs. “Okay. If you want to blow off work today, I’m not going to stop you.”
“Good. Now let’s have some deep discussion about the spacing between fermentation tanks, so we can get the heck out of here.”
CHAPTER 48
