Page 7 of Unearthed Dreams
“How ya doin’, son?”
Thissonhit different.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, uncomfortable with this moment of vulnerability while simultaneously being grateful as fuck for it.
“I’m doin’ good, Billy.” There was no point in asking him how he was doing. He probably didn’t have a clue.
“How long…”Have I been here?The question didn’t need to be voiced.
“Eighteen months.”
He nodded. His face had shifted—more serious now, more focused than it had been during the game.
And I knew exactly what he was thinking.
I’d first come to Sable Point two years ago to tell him his daughter was dead. Almost instantly, I’d noticed a decline in his memory. It was a simple thing here and there, at first—forgetting to lock up at closing time, leaving the place wide open overnight;leaving the cash register open and walking away.
Nothing startling, until he started forgetting his regular customers’ names. Folks in a small town like Sable Point began to notice, too. Hell, Rosie Kramer, the local diner owner and alifelong Sable Point resident, had cornered me one night to share her neighborly concerns.
I’d stuck around town, living out of a motel one town over, mostly ’cause I didn’t have anywhere else I needed to be. But when I confronted Billy about it, his decision was simple, and it’s changed my reasons for being there a helluva lot.“There’s a facility down near Petoskey. The bar’s yours—do what you want with it. Run it, sell it, burn it down. But I won’t be your burden, Kai.”
I’d fought him on it for weeks, but he went around me, getting himself a spot at Pineview Cottage and signing the bar over to me.
“The bar?”
“Still standing.”
“Haven’t burned it down yet?”
“Nah, I kinda like it. Smells great.”
Billy chuckled, and a little bit of weight lifted.
“Can’t thank you enough, son.”
“Nothing to thank.”
“Sit down for a bit? Catch me up on your life? The town?”
We talked for two hours before the man I’d known for years—but hardly knew at all—faded away again.
I madeit back to Sable Point by late afternoon, passing thePopulation: 514sign with a grunt. I felt scuzzy as fuck from the drive, so I took another shower and brushed my teeth, making sure no poppy seeds lingered.
Normally, the bar’d be open by now, but the whole damn town had plans. If I didn’t show up, it wouldn’t go unnoticed.Small towns were funny like that—and by funny, I meant annoying and invasive.
I grew up in the city. Even though it’d been two years since I set foot in Grand Rapids, I still wasn’t used to this small-town shit. Only upside was the peace and quiet—something I was about to walk straight out of and into the chaos of a community gathering.
It wasn’t actually a town function—but the Evertons were practically town royalty, so when they did… well, anything, it was cause for celebration.
Today, they were opening EdenTree cidery. Now, instead of two places to sit down for a drink in this town, there’d be three. No skin off my back. The more places for townies to get a drink, the fewer made their way into my bar and the quieter it would be. Though I guess I needed the money.Quite the pickle.
My truck was parked behind the bar, and when I climbed in, the black leather seats were scorching fucking hot after sitting in the sun for only an hour. Mid-June sun would do that to ya.
Luckily, the drive was short—just a quick jaunt down main, then up Orchard Road to a turnoff where a long, winding drive had been recently laid.
I pulled in slow, tires crunching over the gravel. The place looked good—clean lines, dark wood, modern but still had that rustic charm. “EDENTREE CIDERY” stood out in big white letters across the front of the building, confident as hell. The wraparound porch was strung with lights, blue chairs scattered across the deck like they were waiting for someone to sit down and stay a while.
People were already out there, laughing, drinks in hand. I glanced away, focused on the apple trees standing tall behindthe place, the scent of fresh-cut grass drifting in through the window. It had that solid, well-built feel—like it belonged here.
