tentatively.
His Dad chose not to respond to him. Instead, he turned to Marty and struggled to get the words out, “I wanta you ta ta tell your son he’s not welcome here. I’m tired.”
Marty’s face fell. “James ...” she said pleadingly.
“No, Mom, it’s okay. I should have known better.” Michael’s anger was building and his face began to get red.
“Dad, I understand that I’m not your favorite person in the world, but I care about this family and about you, and I’m here to see you. And I’m here to help if I can. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come here.”
There. He had said it.
His father appeared to be listening. Michael could see it in his eyes. Or, at least he thought he saw something in his eyes. He thought James was going to address him, but instead, James stammered and said with some difficulty, “Marty, it’s late. Why don’t you all justa leave.”
Michael shook his head and then stormed out of the room.
A few minutes later, Marty shepherded everyone else out of his room. Michael drove them all home in silence. They picked up some food from the Dairy Barn but Michael opted to spend the rest of the evening alone. He just didn’t want to talk about it all. After he dropped everyone off, he just started driving. He must have circled the block at least fifty times, and somehow he ended up at the Warren Inn. He had heard that they had a decent bar and decided that it might be just what he needed tonight. A drink and someplace where he could just forget everything that had just happened. He drove past the Inn’s sign, and past its Adirondack chairs, and then parked in the lot. Looked like it was a slow night so far … probably typical for a Monday, he supposed. New Yorkers made every night a drinking night, but that was not the case in Maine.
He got out of the car and checked his reflection in the window of the driver’s side. He looked presentable in his polo shirt from the morning and his jeans. He mussed with his hair a bit and decided to leave on his driving glasses. He usually wore contacts, or walked around a bit blurry, but he felt most comfortable in his designer tortoise shell glasses. When he was younger, he always felt like his glasses were really a mask behind which he could hide. Tonight, he felt like he wanted to hide away from the whole world. He breathed in and walked to the front of the Inn, looking for an entrance to the Tavern.
He walked to the reception area to ask about it. He looked around. The place looked great. It had a lovely fireplace and big comfortable blue upholstered French Country chairs with a worn mahogany wood. On his right was a small gift shop, which was really an alcove with Maine-centric trinkets. Just beyond the gift shop was the reception desk. Bob Adams from McAllister's really had done a great job with this place. Michael inquired about the bar and discovered there was an outdoor side entrance but that it was accessible from inside the Inn, as well. He walked down the corridor to the left as he was directed and came upon a quaint bar and restaurant area. It had chunky wood tables and chairs and a full bar with old fashioned ‘milking style’ wood bar stools and a large mirrored wall behind the bar. The rest of the walls were plank wood, giving it the feel of a ship. There were even little models of boats on the large stone hearth that was in the center of the room. There was one large flat screen television in the corner.
Michael made his way over to the bar. It was pretty quiet inside. There were a few people dining at the nearby tables and only one other gentleman sitting at the bar on the opposite end of where Michael decided to plant himself. He wasn’t feeling in the mood for chatting it up with a stranger tonight. He just wanted a drink, a burger, and some television. As he settled into his stool, he leaned back to look at the specials on the board. He didn’t even notice that a woman had walked over and was looking at him
His Dad chose not to respond to him. Instead, he turned to Marty and struggled to get the words out, “I wanta you ta ta tell your son he’s not welcome here. I’m tired.”
Marty’s face fell. “James ...” she said pleadingly.
“No, Mom, it’s okay. I should have known better.” Michael’s anger was building and his face began to get red.
“Dad, I understand that I’m not your favorite person in the world, but I care about this family and about you, and I’m here to see you. And I’m here to help if I can. I’m sorry it took so long for me to come here.”
There. He had said it.
His father appeared to be listening. Michael could see it in his eyes. Or, at least he thought he saw something in his eyes. He thought James was going to address him, but instead, James stammered and said with some difficulty, “Marty, it’s late. Why don’t you all justa leave.”
Michael shook his head and then stormed out of the room.
A few minutes later, Marty shepherded everyone else out of his room. Michael drove them all home in silence. They picked up some food from the Dairy Barn but Michael opted to spend the rest of the evening alone. He just didn’t want to talk about it all. After he dropped everyone off, he just started driving. He must have circled the block at least fifty times, and somehow he ended up at the Warren Inn. He had heard that they had a decent bar and decided that it might be just what he needed tonight. A drink and someplace where he could just forget everything that had just happened. He drove past the Inn’s sign, and past its Adirondack chairs, and then parked in the lot. Looked like it was a slow night so far … probably typical for a Monday, he supposed. New Yorkers made every night a drinking night, but that was not the case in Maine.
He got out of the car and checked his reflection in the window of the driver’s side. He looked presentable in his polo shirt from the morning and his jeans. He mussed with his hair a bit and decided to leave on his driving glasses. He usually wore contacts, or walked around a bit blurry, but he felt most comfortable in his designer tortoise shell glasses. When he was younger, he always felt like his glasses were really a mask behind which he could hide. Tonight, he felt like he wanted to hide away from the whole world. He breathed in and walked to the front of the Inn, looking for an entrance to the Tavern.
He walked to the reception area to ask about it. He looked around. The place looked great. It had a lovely fireplace and big comfortable blue upholstered French Country chairs with a worn mahogany wood. On his right was a small gift shop, which was really an alcove with Maine-centric trinkets. Just beyond the gift shop was the reception desk. Bob Adams from McAllister's really had done a great job with this place. Michael inquired about the bar and discovered there was an outdoor side entrance but that it was accessible from inside the Inn, as well. He walked down the corridor to the left as he was directed and came upon a quaint bar and restaurant area. It had chunky wood tables and chairs and a full bar with old fashioned ‘milking style’ wood bar stools and a large mirrored wall behind the bar. The rest of the walls were plank wood, giving it the feel of a ship. There were even little models of boats on the large stone hearth that was in the center of the room. There was one large flat screen television in the corner.
Michael made his way over to the bar. It was pretty quiet inside. There were a few people dining at the nearby tables and only one other gentleman sitting at the bar on the opposite end of where Michael decided to plant himself. He wasn’t feeling in the mood for chatting it up with a stranger tonight. He just wanted a drink, a burger, and some television. As he settled into his stool, he leaned back to look at the specials on the board. He didn’t even notice that a woman had walked over and was looking at him
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