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About a week after I arrived, I could no longer stand to be in the lodge with Mr. Delaney. Since we all needed a day to calm down after yet another argument over the menu, I’d added a simple Caeser salad and some chicken strips to the evening menu. You would’ve thought I’d literally tried to poison the guests based on Mr. Delaney’s reaction.
First of all, who doesn’t love chicken strips?
Second, I’m glad I didn’t mention the lasagna that’s already in the fridge for tomorrow.
I figured I could blow off some steam by exploring Waterfront on my own. Thankfully, the shuttle ran consistently in the evenings. It shut down around midnight to make sure that everything could get oiled down or repaired, if need be, but most shops also shut around eleven-thirty in this town.
It was a stark contrast from Chicago, where the subways ran until two in the morning and most things were open twenty-four hours a day. They simply found the people who couldn’t sleep to run the night shifts, and those people were easily found as they often wanted to be on the night shift. I couldn’t fathom it, but then again, I was glad to know that most restaurants shut down before one A.M. unless it was a fast-food place in Chicago.
Once I arrived downtown, I tried to clear my head. This was a ‘Mr. Delaney free zone,’ as far as I was concerned.
The only thing of interest still open this late, however, was a small, local bar. All the clothing shops that I wanted to visit and check out were closed for the night. Considering they were all owned by families who lived here, I wasn’t too surprised. Whoever owned the bar either had a family who understood that they’d be running some late nights or hadn’t yet married. Given the culture in Idaho, I was more shocked that there was a bar in the downtown area than that it was open late at night.
I walked in to find the mood lively and welcoming. There was some music playing, but it looked like they were setting up for a small live show.
I sat down at one of the small tables for people who had come alone. A waitress came over to see what I was all about tonight.
“I’d recommend getting something to eat with your drink if you’re going to be here a while,” the waitress said. “The chips and queso are great, or if you’re looking for something a little calmer, you could get some mozzarella sticks.”
“I think the chips and queso sounds great, as well as whatever beer the kitchen thinks pairs the best with it,” I replied. “I’m in more of a mood to forget some things that have happened for a few hours. But not like… get black-out drunk.”
The waitress nodded.
“I’ll make sure the kitchen gets the note,” she said. “Anything else I can do for you right now?”
“No, I think I’m good. Actually, can you make sure they send out a water with the food and beer?.”
I settled into the chair at the table and took a book out of my bag. Before I opened it, I scanned the bar. There appeared to be many people of all walks of life here. A table of older men sat on the other side of the bar from me, loud and rowdy. A family of five sat near me, all happily drinking what looked like Dr. Pepper with plastic straws.
The beer, water, and food arrived a few minutes later. I must have arrived just as everything settled down for the night, because that was fast service.
“If you need anything later tonight, don’t hesitate to flag me down,” the waitress said. “It’s going to get rather loud in here, so you may have to try and get my attention a couple of times before I notice that you need me. That’s just what happens when we have a live band in here.”
“Do they perform often here?” I couldn’t help but find myself curious.
In Chicago, this was normal. Most bars had a live band they paid regularly to come entertain their patrons on certain nights. I hadn’t expected to find a local band in Waterfront that also had a consistent gig at a local bar.
“Yeah. The members all live here in Waterfront and do it more for the fun than the money,” the waitress said before leaving.
That meant that everyone had other jobs. I supposed Waterfront was a lot more accepting of hobbies than Chicago was. Then again, it was a smaller town. It was supposed to be more welcoming in every aspect of the word.
I took my first sip of beer as a manager announced that the entertainment for the night had arrived. It was a band called Rocky Times. It was an odd name for a band, but I supposed if they never aimed to make it big in Nashville or the music scene outside of Waterfront in general, it wasn’t so bad.
As the band walked up to the stage, I could have sworn that my brain was already playing tricks on me. Luke Delaney stood there with a guitar in his hands. He put some papers on a music stand in the middle of the stage as other musicians shuffled around him.
I took a deep breath. Just because I had come here to unwind didn’t mean that Mr. Delaney couldn’t come to the same place to unwind, too. Perhaps he had been meaning to come here all day long and now had the chance to finally blow off some steam.
Considering I never heard a guitar while I was in the lodge, I wondered just how soundproof his room was. Or if I had intentionally been placed as far from his room as he could get me, with where I needed to be situated in case I wanted a quick walk to the kitchen so that I wouldn’t hear his guitar.
“Good evening, Waterfront!” The lead singer – a man I hadn’t been introduced to, and at this point had no desire to be introduced to – said in greeting. “Thank you all for coming out tonight. I see a few new faces in the crowd. We are Rocky Times!”
The crowd cheered.
“And we’re just here to have a little fun,” the man continued. “I hope you all enjoy the music we have tonight, featuring songs written by our very own Luke Delaney .”
There was another round of applause. I added some light applause as my brain struggled to comprehend what had just been spoken. Even more surprising was the fact that Mr. Delaney looked relaxed up on stage.
Last time I’d seen him, he was shaking with fury over a plate of chicken strips, barely able to carry a decent conversation.
