17.
Wren
A food critic coming into the restaurant wasn’t what it once used to be. Sites like Yelp let everyone be a critic, qualified or not. And besides, we always strived to provide the best food and service, regardless of who it was sitting at the tables.
But there was a rumor floating around that one of the writers from the Food Network Magazine was doing an article on diners, specifically small-town diners and how we were a dying breed. Word on the street was he was in our state, stationed in Boulder but venturing out on day trips to visit these small-towns and their diners.
“I think we have just as
good a shot as any at being included,” Lena said. She fluffed her hair. “Do you
think they’ll take pictures?”
“Maybe,” I said, though I couldn’t be quite as optimistic as she was. We had a
website, which I’d kind of let go to the leeway; in fact, if you were to go on
our site, it would be difficult to ascertain whether or not the restaurant was
still open.
But maybe the writer had other ways he or she would decide on what places to visit. If it was through word-of-mouth, then we stood a pretty good chance. We also had a decent number of five-star reviews on Yelp, so maybe the writer would check that site out, too. If it didn’t happen at all, though, I wouldn’t be too upset; I didn’t particularly like the idea of someone coming in and judging us solely for the basis of an article.
I shouldn’t have worried though, because he came right up to me and introduced himself. He had curly, sandy-colored hair, a goatee, and black-rimmed glasses. “My name’s Hunter,” he said, “and I’m doing a story about diners across America. I’ve heard good things about this place. I was told you’re the owner?”
“That’s me.” I held out my hand and we shook. “Wren Davis.”
“Great to meet you Wren. So—I’m famished. What do you recommend?”
We sat at one of the empty booths and he looked over the menu, while I extolled the excellence of the blueberry buttermilk pancakes, the chef salad, and the bacon cheeseburger on the honey-wheat bun.
When he finally made his decision, Lena took his order and then he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Mind if I record our conversation?” he asked.
“Go right ahead.”
“Okay. Great.” He tapped at the screen and set the phone down, then started asking me general questions about the place: How long we’d been here, what the customers were like, what I envisioned for the restaurant’s future.
I was just about to say that I hoped the restaurant would be around for a long time, and that I’d be working here with my future grandchildren, when the door opened and Ollie walked in. I waved from across the room and he ambled over and sat down next to me.
“Hey,” he said, as I leaned over to give him a peck on the cheek. Hunter smiled; I could tell he was pleased that a real authentic cowboy had just strolled in out of nowhere and sat himself down with us.
“Hey,” I said. “Ollie, this is Hunter, from Food Network Magazine. And Hunter, this is Ollie. My boyfriend.”
I glanced over at Ollie’s face to see what his reaction would be; we hadn’t had the discussion yet as to what our official status would be, but if he wanted, I’d be more than happy to be his girlfriend.
“Hey, nice to meet you,”
Hunter said. “Glad you could join us—Wren was just filling me in about this
place. Now, Ollie—” He glanced down at one of the menus and then looked up at
me. “So, is this name a coincidence, or did you name your restaurant after your
boyfriend?”
Ollie and I exchanged looks. Hunter raised his eyebrows. “I sense an
interesting story,” he said.
“Can I tell him?” I asked.
Ollie nodded. “Go ahead.”
“Now I’m really curious.” Hunter leaned forward onto his forearms.
“Well, I did name the place after Ollie. Except . . . we didn’t really know each other back then, when we first opened,” I started. “And I should mention, that some of what I’m about to tell you isn’t common knowledge.”
“I’m all ears,” Hunter said. He really did look as though he couldn’t wait to hear what it was I had to say next.
“I named this place after Ollie because he basically saved my life one night. Well, maybe not saved my life, exactly, but definitely saved me from having to go through what probably would have turned out to be a pretty shitty situation.”
Hunter nodded. “Okay . .
. .”
“I had just moved up here and had gone out to this bar one night, met a couple
guys, went out with one of them into the parking lot. He tried to take
advantage of me, but then Ollie was leaving and he ended up intervening. I ran
off. The guy was not so lucky.”
“What happened?”
There was a pause, because I didn’t know whether or not I should answer.
“I killed him,” Ollie said. Other than a slight jump of his eyebrows, Hunter did not react. “I didn’t mean to. I should have stopped hitting him before I did, though. I ended up serving seven years in prison for it.”
“Basically, I named the place after him even though he had no idea who I was. Most people still don’t know that it was me that night.”
“And now you two are together,” Hunter said slowly. “Wow. That is quite a story. Tell me more.”
We spent the next two hours talking, both of us filling in Hunter with details about what our lives had been like over the years, what they were like now. It felt good to talk about it, to get it all out of there.
Hunter stayed for about an hour and a half, and then he had to go because there were other diners to visit.
“I’ve got your contact info, so I will most definitely be in touch,” he said. “Thanks so much for everything.”
After he left, Ollie and I stayed in the booth and he ate a turkey club. Lena sat down across from us.
“So, how’d it go?” she asked. “I think he seemed impressed with the place! He looked like he was enjoying himself.”
“I think it went pretty well,” I said.
Ollie nodded. “Yeah. He obviously liked the food—he ate everything on the plate.”
“Well that’s good.” Lena nodded. “I was surprised he was here for so long! I figured it would be a quick sort of thing.”
“We ended up talking for a little while,” I said.
“That’s good too. You’re establishing rapport. So, how’d you leave it?”
“He said he’d be in touch.”
“That sounds promising.” Lena got up from the booth. “I’m sure he’s going around to tons of different places, but I think it would just be the neatest thing if we were in a magazine!”
And, I had to agree, especially a big magazine like that.
“Did we just tell that guy everything about ourselves?” Ollie asked after Lena had got up from the booth.
“I think we did. That
wasn’t my plan—it just sort of happened.”
“And did you refer to me as your boyfriend?”
“Errrr, yeah. That just sort of happened, too.”
“I’ll say.” He nodded slowly, but he had a smile on his face. “Can’t say I mind that too much at all.”
After the breakfast rush was over the next day, I made myself an iced coffee and was eyeing the last blueberry muffin left in the case when I heard my phone ringing and vibrating from inside my purse. I took a big swig of coffee and retrieved it, just missing the call. There were several missed calls from that same number, one which I didn’t recognize. I called the number back, and a familiar-sounding voice answered.
“Hi Wren!”
“Hi! Um, who is this?”
“It’s Hunter.”
“Oh!” I said. “Hi! How’s
it going?”
“Good. So, there’s something I wanted to run by you. My ex-girlfriend, Sarah,
is an editor at Woman’s Day and the
feature article she was planning to run next issue fell through. The writer had
a family emergency and isn’t going to be able to turn the article in on time.
So . . . I went ahead and pitched Sarah this idea I had, and she loved it.”
“That’s great,” I said, even though I wasn’t quite sure why he had called me up to tell me this.
“The idea I pitched was about you. Well—a feature article about you and Ollie. Not just about your restaurant, but about the two of you, and how this all came to be. Because I’ve been thinking about all the stuff you guys told me and it’s got a lot of appeal, and when I told Sarah, she thinks it’d be the perfect human interest story for the magazine. People want to read something like that, something where someone made a mistake but was able to find redemption. What do you think of that?”
“Wow,” I said. “Really? I think that sounds pretty cool, actually! Totally not what I was expecting to hear you say. I’ll have to ask Ollie, though.”
“Of course. Why don’t you do that and get back to me as soon as you can—if he’s cool with it, I’d like to get started writing this up.”
“Will you need to interview us anymore?”
“You know, I recorded
everything that we talked about yesterday, so I think that’s probably more than
enough material to go off of. I would like to come back out there with Jill, my
photographer, and have her take some pictures of the two of you at the
restaurant, maybe at the ranch where Ollie works. That’s not too far, is it?”
“No, it’s not far at all.”
“Great. Run it by him and then get back to me, okay?”
“Sure! I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”
I knew Ollie would be working, so instead of calling, I hopped into the Jeep and drove over to the ranch. I had an appointment with Dr. Mike in a little while, but I figured I could swing by here first and run the idea by Ollie. I didn’t want to keep Hunter waiting.
I found Ollie in the corral with Ditto, and while the horse wasn’t within arm’s reach, he was closer than I’d ever seen.
Ollie turned slowly away and came over to the fence. “Hey,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” He smiled and leaned over the top of the fence and gave me a kiss.
“I won’t stay long,” I said, “I know you’re busy. But there’s something exciting that I wanted to run by you. So, Hunter called me and said that he’d like to write a feature article about us.”
“Oh, yeah? What about the other diners he’s gone to? Or was he that impressed with your place that he thinks it’s just going to eclipse anywhere else? True statement, by the way.”
“I think he’s still going to do that article. No, this is for a different magazine, Woman’s Day.”
“Never heard of it.”
“I’ve seen it in line at the supermarket checkout. I’ve never actually read it, but it’s pretty popular. It’s a national magazine.”
He cracked a dry smile.
“So, we’d be famous?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. I don’t know. But he said our story has real appeal.
How did he put it? That it was a real
human interest story.”
“I think I know what you’d like to do.”
“I told him I wouldn’t
say yes or no until I talked to you first. How do you feel about it?”
He turned and leaned his back against the fence. I slipped my arm under the
railing and slid it around his waist.
“I guess I feel a couple
ways about it,” he said finally, his eyes on Ditto, who had gone back to eating
his hay. “I don’t want it to turn into some big thing. I also don’t know if I
feel like dredging up the past again.” He turned his head toward me, so I could
see his profile. “And what about you? You want it to be known that you were the
girl that night? You don’t care if that comes out and is public knowledge?”
I considered this. “Part of me wouldn’t mind just never bringing it up again,”
I said. “It’s something that happened, and we’ve both moved on. But I guess I
realized yesterday, after talking to Hunter, that it is a pretty amazing story. I’d never thought about it that way
before, but it really is. And I do like the idea of someone from, say, I don’t
know, Maine or Georgia or somewhere, getting to read about it and maybe finding
it inspiring.”
“So, you want to do it for other people?”
“Not just for other people. But this is the first time that someone’s wanted to write an article about me.”
He folded his arms across his chest and turned his head so he was looking back out to the middle of the corral. “Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about myself.”
I knew he was talking about the articles that came out after the incident with Isaac. There had been a number of articles—though all mostly confined to the regional newspapers—that talked about Ollie, though none were that in-depth, and certainly not interested in portraying him in a flattering light.
“This would be different, though,” I said. “This wouldn’t just be about what you did. Yes, that will be mentioned, but it’s not going to be the focal point. It might be . . . it might be kind of cathartic.”
“Cathartic?”
“Yeah. I mean, I’m not ashamed about what happened, and you shouldn’t be either. It was a shitty situation, but something good has come out of it. I think that’s the angle that he’s going for.”
Ollie’s brow furrowed. “When you put it that way, it doesn’t sound that bad.”
“Hunter thinks that people will be really interested in hearing about it. But I didn’t say yes or no yet—I wanted to talk with you first. And if you’re not okay with it, then we don’t have to do it. I’ll just call him back and tell him as much.”
“Do you want to do it?”
I could see, in my mind, the article, the pictures that would be included, the words that Hunter would write. I didn’t know exactly what words, of course, but I imagined them to be uplifting and inspiring. Maybe hearing our story would help someone else, would make other people realize that just because something shitty had happened to them, didn’t mean that the rest of their life was going to turn out that way, too. I’d certainly felt that way for a little while after the whole thing, until I opened Ollie’s, and I was pretty sure that Ollie had felt something similar.
“I do,” I said. “We really do have a good story to tell.”
“Then let’s do it.”
He smiled and leaned down and kissed me. It was a quick kiss, because there were guests milling about, but just the feel of his lips against mine sent a warm shock up my spine. I wanted to tear his clothes off right then and there, but I had to get going.
“I’ll see you this
afternoon,” he said. “You be good.”
I gave him one more kiss before I left. “I’ll try.”
I called Hunter on my way to Dr. Mike’s and told him that Ollie was on board.
“Psyched to hear it!” he said. “It really is an incredible story. I’ll be in touch if I have questions or need more information, but, like I said, you were very thorough yesterday, so I don’t think I’ll need much more.”
My head felt like it was spinning when I finally found myself on Dr. Mike’s couch, but in a good way.
“It feels like all these good things are happening,” I said. “All at the same time. I guess I’m just not used to that. But even better than this whole thing with the magazine is . . . I’m in love!” I wasn’t facing Dr. Mike so I couldn’t see his reaction when I made this proclamation, but I bet he was raising his eyebrows and scribbling something on his notepad. “It’s an incredible feeling.”
“New love usually is.”
“Aren’t you happy for me?”
“I am Wren, yes. But love can be hard, too, especially when the newness of it wears off.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever been in love, actually.” And it was. Not that I hadn’t gone out with a few guys in the past that I might’ve been able to fall in love with, but I simply hadn’t allowed it to happen. But with Ollie, it was really like I didn’t have a choice, it was going to happen regardless of how I felt about it. I said this to Dr. Mike. “Does that make it true love?” I asked.
“True love is what happens after the warm fuzzy feelings disappear, after the newness of someone has vanished.”
“You make it sound so unromantic.”
“People quite often mistake the exhilaration of a crush for true love.”
“This is not just a crush.”
“I’m not saying that it is. But like I said, love is hard. True love is when you can still love the person, despite all the hard stuff. Which often doesn’t appear right away. Or, if it does, people are more willing to overlook it. It’s only once you’ve gotten used to each other that the things you were once able to overlook suddenly seem unbearable.”
I shook my head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were trying to discourage me from this.”
“I’m not trying to discourage you, but I do think it would behoove you to take things slowly. Not just for you, but for him, too. You’ve got to remember that he was in prison for the past seven years. Regardless of how he might seem to you, he’s still adjusting to life on the outside. That alone takes time, never mind adding a new relationship to the mix.”
I sighed. I would not let
Dr. Mike deflate me like this. I’d never felt this way about anyone before, and
I wanted to enjoy these feelings. “I do appreciate your honesty with me,” I
said, “but I think, at least in this case, that you’re wrong. The other thing—I
was thinking that I might stop coming in for now.”
“Oh?” He stopped writing whatever he’d been writing on that legal pad. “What
brought you to that decision?”
“Things have just been very busy, and I feel like I’m at a good place in my life, where I probably don’t need to continue with this right now. Not that you haven’t been a huge help to me. Because you have.”
“This decision seems to coincide with your new relationship.”
“That might have something to do with it. I mean, the real reason I started coming to see you in the first place was because I was sleeping around. But I’m not doing that anymore. I can honestly say that I have zero desire to sleep with anyone besides Ollie.”
Dr. Mike nodded. “Well, if you feel that you don’t want to continue our sessions anymore, you are free to make that decision.”
“Thank you.” I had
originally been thinking of asking him what he thought about it, whether or not
we should stop, but now that I was here, I realized it didn’t matter to me what
he said. He could say that he thought it was the worst idea in the world and
that under no circumstances should we stop our sessions yet; I was confident
now that I was making the right decision. I had not felt this good about my
life maybe ever, and it seemed wrong to continue to see a therapist when things
were going so well. “I really do appreciate everything that you’ve done for
me,” I said. “You’ve helped a lot.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And while I don’t necessarily think this is the best idea
right now, I want you to know that you can always come back, should you ever
decide that you need to.”
“I will,” I said, though if things continued on this track, I had doubts that I’d ever need to come talk to him again.
Later that afternoon, after the restaurant had closed for the day, I drove back over to the ranch. We went and lay in one of the hammocks together, a warm breeze coming through every so often, ruffling my hair.
“I don’t know if I ever told you this,” I said, “but I used to see a therapist.”
Ollie shook his head. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“I’m not crazy or anything, but it helped to have someone to talk to.” I was about to leave it at that and not mention the real reason why I’d started seeing Dr. Mike, but then I decided to be honest. “I was seeing a lot of different guys and I wasn’t even really sure why. So, I thought that it might help if I had someone to talk to about it.”
“Really?” He looked
confused. “Does that help? Talking about it with a complete stranger?”
“I know it sounds kind of strange. I was a little put off by the idea at first,
too, but it really did help.”
“Some of the guys in prison would talk to the counselors they had there. I never really did, because it felt weird to talk to a stranger about my feelings like that. Plus, I figured they probably already heard so much shit that my story was just one more thing they had to listen to.”
“I don’t think it’s like
that,” I said. “I mean, maybe with some people it is, but Dr. Mike was mostly
very helpful. So much so that I’ve decided to stop seeing him, because I feel
like I’m at a good point in my life. In large part, thanks to you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say.”
“The other thing that really helped was cooking. I started doing that after . . . after that whole thing with Isaac happened. I just found it to be very soothing, and a good way to have something else for my mind to focus on. Hence, why the restaurant exists in the first place.”
“That’s good you found something like that. I feel the same when I’m out riding.”
“Do you still want to learn to cook? I think I told you I’d teach you, if you wanted.”
He smiled. “I’d like that. Though I have to warn you, I’m pretty much a disaster in the kitchen.”
“Well, you can’t be any worse than I was at riding. Let’s plan on some afternoon, you come by the restaurant after we close. I’ll teach you how to make something.”