Page 2 of Embers Glow After the Fire

The summer tourist crowd is a wild assortment of patrons, but the restaurant’s latest rave review by a popular social media influencer has brought on a new wave of elitist snobs. Usually, Brendon isn't bothered by them but he’s had a rough morning, after a restless night.

It’s his first Sunday lunch shift at Truffle. Fellow waiter Molly wanted the day off to attend a family party. She promised him the tips would be amazing, and they have been. Sebastian, the stunning bronze sculpted bartender, adds some sort of magic to the cocktails he mixes. It woos the customer’s generosity.

Brendon is happy to pick up the extra hours. Especially with the restaurant being closed next week. Dennis gives the entire staff time off around the 4th of July and again between Christmas and New Year's. He says both weeks are slow for business, so it only makes sense. Robbie, his husband and business partner, disagrees but doesn’t put up a stink about it.

“We’re meeting at our house tomorrow morning at seven. Everyone is riding up to the cabin together. Don’t eat breakfast. There’s a fantastic little country store along the way. We can grab brunch there.” Dennis swipes a rag over the prep table. He rarely cooks anymore but old habits die hard.

“Perfect.” Brendon smiles. “I’ll be there bright and early.’’ He can’t wait to check out of the shitty motel room he’s called home for nearly seven months. It’s served him well, but he’s excited to settle into the studio apartment he’ll be coming back to. It’s the first place he’ll call his own. He shopped around for a few months, viewing places he couldn’t afford or rooms for rent with questionable hosts, before finally finding the perfect abode above an elderly woman’s garage. Beverly lost her husband a year ago and decided to rent the space out. She seemed lonely and eager to have a new friend. Brendon is happy to be that, especially in exchange for the crazy cheap fee she’s asking. It’s in a beautiful neighborhood, just across the Casco Bay Bridge in the south borough of the city, and only a two-minute walk to the beach.

He’s been collecting second-hand furniture and decor pieces from charity shops and sidewalk sales, keeping everything in a self-storage unit down on Marginal Way, that's conveniently next to the UHaul center. Molly and Sebastian have promised to help transfer everything and get him settled after this vacation.

He’s excited to put down roots and finally move on with this new life. It would be great if his phone would stop vibrating with the relentless barrage of unwanted calls and texts from a past he’d rather not sacrifice any more energy to. Changing his number three times has made no difference. Christian tracks the new one faster each time. Blocking the prick doesn’t work. The psycho has endless resources. Brendon doesn’t bother checking email anymore. It’s a bottomless pit of groveling one minute and threats the next. He hopes his ex will get bored and move on to a new obsession at some point, but Christian doesn’t give up easily. The stalker filled Brendon’s voicemail and text box with disturbing messages last night. He couldn’t shake the discomfort long enough to get some sleep. He’ll just keep evading for now.

He makes his way back to table seven and cheerfully greets the new party of pleasant young ladies. “Hi everyone. I’m Brendon, I’ll be your server today. Can I start you off with drinks?”

***

Brendon won’t miss waking to the foul stench of cigarette smoke penetrating hollow walls, or barely lukewarm water trickling from the calcium and lime corroded shower head. He purchased his own bedding the second night, after sleeping on towels he laid over stained sheets the motel provided. Maybe he’s spoiled by the designer luxuries and state of art amenities he’d left in Texas—with his credit cards—but it’s hard to imagine people paying money to stay in this dump. Then again, here he is, a transient resident in the only place that fits his budget. The cash he’d spent a year hiding away, only covered the first two months in Portland. He hadn’t dealt with finances in thirteen years and had no clue how quickly it would run out. Making it to his thirties with the privilege of no responsibilities is a bigger obstacle to overcome than he expected.

The job at Truffle came about just in time, rescuing him from having to camp out in his old Subaru. Wandering down Sheridan Street and happening upon a help-wanted sign in the restaurant window was some sort of blessing. If he believed in such things. He had no experience waiting tables, but Robbie gave him a chance anyway.

Free meals, that the staff are encouraged to take advantage of, helped him save up to afford the little apartment he’ll get all to himself, after this trip. An invitation to retreat in the northern Maine woods sounded too amazing to pass on. Keeping an entire week's worth of motel fees will be worth roughing it with a bunch of strangers. He hopes.

After his morning trickle finally rinses the shampoo out of his unruly dark waves, he wraps in a scratchy motel towel to gather the last bits of his belongings scattered around the dingy room. Dividing everything into the two suitcases that hold his entire wardrobe, he sorts the clothes and toiletries he’ll take to the cabin, from the things he’ll leave locked in the trusty old Subaru while they’re all away. Finally, he slips into khaki shorts with an inseam that hits mid-thigh and a moss green tee that matches his eyes. He spritzes his thick locks with a leave-in conditioner and combs the waves back into a sculpted coif that will expand as it dries. He wonders if there’s time to swing by a barber shop for a quick cut. They’re probably not open at this hour. It’ll have to wait.

One last scan of the room to check he’s remembered everything, and he closes the door, rolling the two cases to the car. Loading both into the trunk, he saunters and into the main office.

“Good morning,” a gritty voice greets from a distant room behind the reception desk. The short stout woman with wispy gray hair tied loosely in a knot at the nap of her neck appears through the doorway. Stubby fingers press her lips closed as she chews whatever fills her cheeks.

“Sorry to interrupt your breakfast.” Brendon smiles.

“No no, dear.” A crumb escapes, landing on the counter. She wipes it away. “Sorry,” she giggles. Swallowing, “What can I do for you?”

“I’m just checking out.” He sets his room key on the counter.

“How was your stay?” She notices the room number on the card. “Oh, number eight. You’ve been here for a while.” Her smile is missing a front tooth and an incisor. “How was your stay?”

“Great,” he politely lies.

“Brendon?” She looks up from squinting at the computer screen.

“Yes ma’am,” he nods.

“You’re all set dear.”

“Thank you.” He moves toward the exit.

“Good luck on your next journey.” She fumbles, poking at the keyboard with just two index fingers.

“Thank you.” His phone vibrates in his pocket—again. The office door wheezes shut behind him and he pulls the device out. Swiping it alive with his thumb en route back to the car. Another text message from Unknown Contact. He ignores it and hops into the driver’s seat, firing up the old jalopy and starting toward that next journey.

Chapter 2

Matthew

Matthew sleepily shuffles from the guest bed to the guest bathroom at the end of the hall, trudging barefoot along the plush taupe carpet. His flight from Atlanta had been delayed yesterday afternoon and a layover in New York City went three hours past its scheduled time. He finally got into Portland Jetport around 2 am and grabbed a rideshare to his host’s house. A groggy and disheveled Robbie greeted him and led the way to his room before staggering back to bed himself. Matthew drifted off the moment his head hit the pillows.

The sweet scent of nearby lilac bushes and the earthy odor of a muddy marsh wafts through the second-story window, carrying on the warm rays of morning sunshine. He scrubs his teeth and face with the lush products put out for company. Then, a quick hop in the shower to rinse away the grime of travel stress and ease his tense muscles before he shimmies back to his room wrapped in a waffle knit towel.

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