Page 20 of Every Beautiful Mile

There’s a pause, slight chuckle, then, “The man didn’t have a serious bone in his body. You know that as well as I do. Hell, he was probably smiling like a damn fool when that stupid plane of his went down. He’d be crushed to see you so sad.” He shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he lets go of my hand. “I got this in case you think, somewhere out on the road, you’re ready to at least take it off your finger.”

He squeezes his hand around the one I’m holding the box with. His unspoken you can do this.

“Dad…” My voice is barely above a shaky whisper.

He holds up a hand and shakes his head. He knows. He’s watched me carry all my shattered pieces in every way I stopped living since Travis left. He’s heard everything I’ve said and didn’t say in a way that only a parent can.

He wraps his arms around me and squeezes me in a tight hug. “You’re stronger than you think, Nelly. Those kids are damn lucky to have you.”

Tears drip down my cheeks as I hug him back.

“Love you, Dad.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Even though you fired me.”

His body vibrates with a laugh. “For your own good. Love you, too, Nelly.”

Necklace in hand, I wipe my cheeks, get into the Avion, and wave to everyone one last time.

***

That night, as I go through checklists of what we’ve packed and everything that needs to be taken care of for the bar, I scan through my emails and tie up every loose end I can find. I cringe when I come across the last one from the restaurant owner in Maine—Ethan Mills—I haven’t responded in months.

I rub a hand on my forehead as I re-read it.

Penelope,

I try to source as much as I can from local-to-me farmers, but that’s not always possible, especially with protein, so I get as close to Maine as I can. Yes, sometimes that’s a distributor. Produce, with the exception of lettuce, are all from local farmers, most of whom I’ve met over the years at local markets and built a relationship from there. Does that help?

I laughed at the family reference. I made that mistake one time with my brother—never again. The only new vocabulary I learned was four-letter words. Is it a whole family business? Siblings? Husband?

Ethan (please stop calling me Mr. Mills, I’m only 43, and I think I have to be at least 60 for that title)

A small laugh mixes with my exhale. I would love to see Gabe behind the bar with my dad—they’d kill each other.

The word husband stands out like a neon sign, highlighting everything that’s gone. I spin my wedding band around my finger, reading the email again, then hit reply.

Mr. Mills Ethan,

Sorry, I’m just circling back to this. Life got hectic the last few months. This is all very helpful. Farmers markets were always a big source of my cocktail creation process as well, so I can appreciate this approach. However, I’m curious, why the specific mention of lettuce? Also, I read in the article that your menu changes regularly. That sounds like a lot of work. How do you manage?

I’ve worked with my dad since he paid me under the table. Four-letter words are actually the only words I speak most days. No husband and my brother was smart enough to find a different profession.

Penelope

Eight

“How are you so calm?!” Barely awake, I’m already stress sweating.

Finn strolls into the kitchen and leans on the counter coolly as Marin and I fly around the house like hummingbirds jacked up on too much caffeine.

“Mom, we’ve been planning this for three months, and I’ve watched you go through your crazy checklists five hundred times. What is there to do?”

He pours a cup of coffee, and I freeze mid-flip of the pages of my list-filled notebook.

“You drink coffee?” I ask, stunned as he grimaces with the first sip.

He shrugs.

“Yes, though typically not the kind that tastes like piss.”

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