Page 44 of Because of Dylan

I search for the me who holds babies for hours, who volunteers in soup kitchens, who helps strangers. I hold on to her and smile at my father.

“Ready?” His arms drop, and he steps closer to the door, pulling it open for me.

I walk through the massive glass and wood door. “Thanks.”

The loud hum of voices, laughter, and the familiar notes of a country song I can’t name greet me along with the sweet scent of waffles, sugar, cinnamon, and the sharp smoky and salty smell of bacon. My mouth waters like Pavlov’s dog. I wasn't hungry before, but I'm hungry now.

We’re greeted by a girl about my age.

“Hi.” My father steps closer to her.

“I’m Robert Anderson, and this is my daughter Becca. Our names should be on the list.”

The girl taps away on her computer screen and smiles at us. “Oh, yeah. The boss said to give you the best seat in the house.” She waves a waiter over and gives him two menus. The waiter wears a friendly smile and Harry Potter glasses. We follow him to the back and up a wide set of stairs. We sit across from each other at a booth set along a thick glass wall facing a lake.

“I’ve never been up here. I didn’t even know there was a lake. You can’t see it from the street.” The view is spectacular with the lake nested among evergreen trees like a blue gem reflecting the sky. The restaurant sits alone on a road flanked by trees and nature everywhere.

“It’s so much quieter up here.”

My gaze darts all over, taking everything in. The glass and log walls lined with booths, the many carved wooden animals propped into niches and the totem pole that stands in the open center through both. It’s just as busy up here as down below, but the conversations are more sedate. The atmosphere less chaotic. And despite the opening in the middle, the sounds from below don’t quite reach us.

“Yes, Michael added soundproofing between the floors and a white noise machine around the opening.”

“Is that your friend? The one who owns this place?”

“That’s him. Michael Bear.”

“Wait, Bear is his last name?”

He smiles. “You didn’t know that?”

“No, never really put much thought into the name.”

“We both served in the army. Together in the same unit for three years.” His smile falters a little, and shadows dim the light in his eyes.

I can’t imagine what kind of tortured memories he holds. I guess we both have some darkness to overcome.

The awkward silence stretches between us, but neither looks away. We’re saved by our waiter when he arrives with water, lemon and orange slices dancing inside the pitcher he places between my father and me.

I glance up and freeze. The waiter mistakes my reaction for interest and smiles at me. A hint of cockiness in his face. He reminds me of Theodore—a younger version of the man who still haunts me inside my mind. The way he hovers at the edge of my seat. Looming over me. I’m trapped between him and the wall. He’s too tall, too muscular, too smug. I scoot away an inch or two, drop my gaze to the general direction of his chest.

“Need a couple more minutes?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” my father answers him.

I pick up the menu and use it as a shield. Put some space in between us, hide my face behind it. Close my eyes, push away the anxiety creeping up my spine like a spider. I want to recoil from both the feeling and the man standing next to me.

He walks away, but I still hide behind the menu, hoping my father didn’t notice my reaction to the waiter. I drag a slow, silent breath expanding my lungs to the count of ten. Hold until my chest hurts with the need to release the stale air and then exhale. Do it again and again. Slowly the sounds of the restaurant come back, the tinkling of glass, snippets of conversations, laughs. The anxiety attack at bay. For now.

I lower my menu without having read a single word. When my gaze meets my father’s, he's looking at me with so many questions in his eyes.

I look back at the menu, my hunger gone now.

“You okay, Becca?”

I could ignore his question. Make believe I didn’t hear it. He would let it go, I know. But I lower the menu and let him see me. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You know that man?”

---