Page 19 of The Grumpy Side of Paradise

Evie’s eyes are on me. I feel them as acutely as I feel the first whisperings of winter. So I put in my best effort, focusing on my form, pumping my arms, lengthening my...Something darts by, startling me. For half a second, I think it’s a deer. Then I realize it’s Evie, breezing past me with such speed and grace that she might as well be a deer. Or a gazelle. I slow for a few strides, once again admiring the view in front of me. Then I try to catch her. Because I’m not letting a woman out run me.

Turns out, I don’t have much of a choice. Evie is too fast for me to catch. And I can’t decide if that fact is humiliating or tantalizing. I think this over until I catch up with her, which only happens because she veers off the path to stop at Grandma Rose’s. I shouldn’t follow her, but I do, because for some reason I’m determined to punish myself. As soon as I see her, I’m reminded again why she’s here and why I don’t want her to be.

She stands in the shell of the tiny house. The Little Copenhagen sits on the best acres of lake-front property on the Smuk, and Grandma Rose’s has the best spot. Now that the resort is closed, Georgia can sell this land for millions of dollars. She’s already hinted she will. And my brother will help her.

The Little Copenhagen symbolizes everything I love about Paradise: community, family, and connection. Once it’s gone, everything about Paradise will change. There’s already so much development in other areas of the town that it’s getting harder and harder to forage for the huckleberries we’re famous for. This past summer, we had to ship some in from Northern Idaho and Oregon.

I slow to a stop, and Evie glances over her shoulder, then her eyes return to the house. Mine follow.

Of course, there’s nothing there. I’m the one who tore it all out.

It felt good. Looking at it now, though, all I see is a house that’s a shell of what it used to be. There’s a sadness to it. A literal emptiness. Nothing is left that I recognize.

Once the lumber arrives, I’ll start framing. Zach gave me the plans Georgia’s made. The house will look totally different with a second level and a new first floor layout. Maybe it will be easier to forget the past when there’s something almost completely new in this spot.

Evie’s eyes meet mine with a question. I’m tempted to stay, ask her what she has planned for the house. I almost do, but the words get stuck in my throat.

Georgia’s not here. Dakota’s not coming back. But I feel like my insides have been torn out, too. Everything is changing too fast, and it’s hard to see the shiny future everyone keeps promising.

What is it the poet said?Nothing gold can stay.

I leave my questions unasked, turn around and run back the way I’ve come. Back to the things I know won’t change on me. My dad’s store. The restaurant. The life I’ve been carefully cultivating since coming back to Paradise last April.

Running should cool some of the anger that creeps up every time I think about the past year. Mom got her dementia diagnosis. Dakota left me. The Little Copenhagen Resort closed. The cottage in the resort my family had lived in every summer is closed up, along with all the others. No one can afford the inflated price of a new lease. The things I love best are slipping away, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I pick up speed, still trying to outrun my anger, but like Evie, it’s too fast. The more I think about how things are going to change with the house and the resort, the angrier I become. Georgia is supposed to be on my side, not Zach’s. She’s not supposed to betray me the way he and Dakota did.

But she’s going to. She’ll sell the land, new people will move in, and she won’t come back. That’s the hardest part—her not coming back. We’ve always just been friends—it’s Zach she has a thing for, even if she’s too stubborn to admit it, and he’s too stupid to see it—but I miss her. I miss our friendship, and I hate that I’ve blown it up because I can’t get over being mad at her.

By the time I reach home, I’m still burning with an anger that is only cooled by a cold shower and some love from Rosie. She shares my sausage and egg breakfast sandwich, then nuzzles me for some good ear scratching. When I leave for the store, I don’t feel mad anymore.

Just resigned.

Dad’s at the store when I get there. Thomsen’s Grocery has been in the family since the first Thomsen’s settled in Paradise. Over the years, my grandparents and parents started or bought other businesses until now you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting some business we’re trying to keep afloat.

Like right now, Dad’s unloading the hardware orders that have come in. He bought out the Beck’s hardware store when Georgia’s parents moved away and combined it with our store to become Thomsen and Sons Grocery and Hardware. Our slogan is,you can get anything at Thomsen’s.Which is a bit of a stretch, but it is Paradise’s one stop shop for all its hardware and grocery needs.

Our whole family takes turns helping out at Dad’s store and Britta and my restaurants, even my construction business. I just make sure I’m not working at the same place Zach is on any given day.

“Hey, Dad.” I grab a work apron from the wooden post where they hang and slip it over my head. “I can take over if you want to go home to Mom.”

“Morning, Za… Adam.” He still can’t say just one of our names. “She’s doing okay today and Bear’s with her, so I can stay for a bit.”

Dad goes back to whistling as he shelves boxes of nails. He’s always cheerful, even more so since Mom’s early onset dementia was diagnosed. Not that he’s happy about it, but after a few years of trying to figure out what, or if, something was wrong with her, an official diagnosis is a relief. And smiling is just how he deals with things.

I did not inherit that gene.

“You sure you don’t want to go fishing while you’ve got the chance?” I walk further down the aisle and cut open another box. This one has the mouse traps we’ve been waiting for. We sell out fast in fall and winter when mice want to hunker down indoors.

“Nah. I enjoy being here, especially when you’re here. We don’t get to talk enough.” He slides a box across the cement floor to me.

“Can’t argue with that.” I almost smile. Spending time with Dad does that to me.

“How are you anyway?” He pauses, and I know what’s coming next. “We missed you last night at dinner.”

“Yeah, sorry,” I mumble. I don’t bother making excuses. He knows the reason I wasn’t there.

“It’d be nice to have a dinner all together again. I know your mom would like it.”Light reflects off his bald head, creating a sort of halo effect that makes him look almost angelic. As if I didn’t already feel guilty enough about the way things are with my brother. Dad asking about it while shining like Jesus in Sunday School pictures does not help.

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