Page 44 of Grumpy Bear

The rest was keeping everybody out of Jim’s hair for the afternoon. He was the den mother of this motley crew, and they were used to going to him for marching orders. But nobody could get all the guests where they needed to go faster, while running credit cards, than Jim. He had it down.

At every big weekend or holiday, I might as well have parked my ass at the ice machines because the number one priority of the arriving guests—assuming they weren’t setting up tents—was losing their pants on the floors of their cabins and getting their Yeti coolers stocked. In that order. Immediately.

And then came the questions about the pool.

“Is the pool not open?”

“Is the pool going to be ready for the weekend?”

“How can we have a pool opening if the pool’s not open?”

Cackle. Har har. Hilarious.

I reminded myself to keep smiling and tried not to grind my teeth.

But there was something about the already drunken voices and naked flesh everywhere that actually calmed me. This sudden chaos was the default state for Bear Mountain Lodge. This was the point. Everybody was here. Everybody was excited. Everybody was ready to have a good time.

Setting the stage was half the job.

The big wave of check-ins slowed to a trickle. The vast majority of men on the property had already lost their clothing, including some of the staff. Austin—wearing only disco-era, roller-skating short-shorts and a red-and-black-striped hanky tied jauntily at his throat—was taking the pool questions in stride while stocking the cabana bar and doling out bags of ice.

The boy had muscles and charisma for days. God help those who fell in love with that one. Get in line.

When I slipped through the kitchen and came in through the back door of the office, I heard Jim singing and Luke laughing uncontrollably. I stopped around the corner to eavesdrop.

Karen Walker was barking at Jim to shut up.

“Oh, you hush, Karen Walker! Daddy has a good voice, and you know it.” He laughed and said to Luke, “Do you see that look she’s giving me? Honey, if looks could kill, I tell you what.”

Jim could cut up with anybody. He’d never met a stranger. With the country music blaring in the background and the bad karaoke, I couldn’t help but smile. This was what it used to sound like when Wayne and Jim worked together in the office.

It hit me in the heart a little bit. Not for me, really, as much as for Jim. He missed Wayne more than anybody. Hell, they’d known each other most of their lives. They’d run this place together for years before I’d come along.

I sometimes forgot, hiding deep within my own stress of keeping this place going, Jim had lost his best friend. Somebody who’d been like a brother to him. He loved to say that he and Wayne and I—and a few other staff and some of the regular guests—were chosen family.

He loved that fucking term.

He’d only known Luke for about twenty-four hours, but it was clear Jim had already adopted him.

I heard Jim say, “Ooo, you know what? You should play at the bonfire tomorrow night.”

I couldn’t see Luke, but from the tone of his mumbled response I knew he’d humbly rejected the idea.

“No, listen. You absolutely should. Wayne Gentry—Goddess rest his soul—played at every bonfire for fifteen years. The guests loved it. Otherwise, the drummers turn the whole thing into some kind of pagan caveman ceremony. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for a bit of men’s group magic, but it can get a little heavy. The intention is more s’mores and stargazing. I think a little of your ‘Cowboy Take Me Away’ would set the perfect vibe.”

“I don’t even know if my guitar’s gonna make it.” Luke was blunt with Jim. He’d tried to put on a happy face for me. “It’s probably going to sound like shit. If I’m lucky.”

“Play the Hummingbird,” Jim said. “You’ve been ogling it all afternoon. It’s just hanging there on the damn wall. Nobody’s gonna mind.”

Luke’s voice went quiet. “I don’t think Coleman would be cool with me playing it.”

“Nonsense,” Jim said. “I promise you, if Wayne were here, he’d want you to. Let me talk to Sawyer.”

19

Luke

Jim and I had checked in a little over a hundred people, and he said there were still another two hundred fifty that would show up over the course of the evening and the next morning. “That’s not even counting the RV park. Even though some of them are arriving at all hours—Hank’s on night duty answering the gate—they’ll still have to officially check in here tomorrow. If Sawyer’s cool with it, you can help me again in the morning, then you can work the pool party after lunch.”