He’d visited last October, on the supper club’s final weekend before shutting down for the winter. The parking lot had overflowed with tourists and locals enjoying one more meal before the owner retired and moved to Alabama. At the time, he hadn’t really understood how a supper club differed from a traditional restaurant. It was an elusive something understood best through experience, like the sun at the top of Mount Everest or snorkeling alongside a whale shark—every sense was needed to describe it, and even then, it fell short of the real experience. Supper clubs were like that. They demanded time. Time to savor a predinner cocktail or three while noshing on the relish tray, an assortment of raw vegetables, pickles, olives, cheese spread, and crackers, all against the din of clinking silverware and guest conversation. Then came a leisurely meal of grilled steaks with herbed butter served on sizzling metal plates, buttered shrimp sprinkled with parsley, and crispy tender potatoes, probably topped with melting cheese. Then to the bar for an after-dinner drink to end the evening on a sweet note. It was a night out, not just a meal. Since taking over The Otter in the fall, he’d visited several supper clubs around the state, each with its own unique approach. Some had retro (or possibly original) decor, others added modern twists on old classics; some celebrated long histories with colorful stories on menus and family photos on the walls, while others leaned into dark, cavernous settings reminiscent of their prohibition roots. For The Otter Club, he embraced the natural ambience that surrounded it.
After devouring a memorable dinner of prime rib and scallops, he’d stood in this same spot on the restaurant’s wraparound porch and nursed a manhattan—that was before he understood the joys of a well-made brandy old-fashioned. While sipping his drink, the dusk draped the autumn landscape in purples and blues, the birds quieted, and he could hear the gentle sound of the river hushing against its banks, an otter splashing into the water, and an owl hooting out a greeting. A sense of calmness settled into his soul, bone-deep; each rustle soothed and eased his racing thoughts. He was content. He wanted to recognize the owls by their hoots, the squirrels by their bushy tails, and the trees by their silhouettes. What would it look like surrounded by white snowbanks or with icy chunks floating past during the spring thaw? What would it sound like with the damp new growth of spring or the dry, crisp air of late summer?
For the first time in his life, he could breathe freely, and not just because the air flowed through his lungs with invigorating ease but because he had found what he didn’t know he needed. A place all his own.
His mind returned to the events from earlier in the day. When he’d first spotted Sabrina, picking up towels that weren’t hers, it had caught his attention. Sadly, simple niceties were rare enough that they stood out. While she had been anxious and a little awkward, his delight had bloomed when she let a witty comment spill out, a little glimpse of a different side to her. He hoped he’d get to see her again.
“Have you heard from Dad?” Lucy joined him on the porch, dressed as if to close a real estate deal, in a slim black skirt, crisp white shirt, and stylish heels that he knew cost more than a week’s stay at most local resorts, her blond hair sleek and straight past her shoulders.
The family was gathering.
“He texted a while ago. The nurses say it won’t be long. I’m heading back to the hospital soon.”
She set her palm on the center of his back and rubbed. “You doing okay?”
“Dad’s still giving me a hard time.”
“Do you blame him? He grew up believing the Dells was the tenth circle of hell, devoid of all culture and happiness.”
“That’s the problem. He thinks I’m throwing away some perfect life, but I know—like I knew when I saw this place—I’m meant to be here. All good things from here on out.”
“Now you’re starting to sound like Uncle Harry.”
“Good. I only hope I’m half as happy.”
“Give Dad some time. He’ll come around. If nothing else, he understands family responsibility.” Lucy paused. “I’m not going to pretend to understand, but I can respect your decision. It’s Mom you need to worry about. She hates it here.”
“But they seemed to love it the last time we visited together.”
“At that fall dance the town throws?”
“Yeah, the Goodbye Gala. It was charming.” He was now in charge of the local annual event, since the former River Lodge had always hosted.
“You were still learning how to hold your booze back then. Trust me, it was horrid.”
Ray let it drop, but he remembered it differently, enough so that moving here had felt as inevitable as a sunrise. Given enough time, it would happen.
A sharp pain in his hand drew Ray’s attention—he’d found a snag in the wooden railing. He studied the sliver sticking out of the meaty part of his palm. Maybe his rosy memory wasn’t so perfect, but that didn’t make it unfixable. Nine months ago, he’d barely known anything about his uncle. He’d come for some answers and ended up staying when he’d bought the supper club and Uncle Harry had gotten sick. He’d used moving to Wisconsin as an excuse to get away from his life in New York. He hadn’t expected to like the old man so much, with his wispy white hair, daily brandy nightcap, and uncanny gift of having a ridiculous story for every occasion—like the time he and his buddies hooked up one of the park’s bubblers to a keg of beer and started an impromptu citywide party, complete with a ticket from the local police that he had framed on the wall of his office. The story had gotten even better once Ray had looked up what a bubbler was. Or that Uncle Harry and his brother used to sneak girls into a secret room somewhere in the Jasper home that was once used to hide hooch during prohibition. Ray hadn’t had time to find it, yet.
“I’ll be fine. I wish there was more time, but I’m grateful I had the little bit I did. He was a good man.”
“Are you really going to stay here?”
Ray took a deep breath. Not her, too.
“It’s not that I don’t respect your decision. I’ll miss you.” Lucy took a deep breath. “It’s just so quiet here.”
“That’s what I like the most. There’s room to get to know people, to know a place, to know myself.”
“Is this some quest to find out who you are, and then you’ll come back?”
“I’m never going back to New York.” He picked at the splinter, breaking off the part on the outside, leaving the larger portion still embedded in his hand. It stung. “This is where I belong. There should always be a Jasper in the Dells, and I’m it now. I’ve inherited the Goodbye Gala. You know how much I love that.”
“Can’t you find someone else? Surely the town doesn’t expect you to plan it.”
“I’ve arranged multiparty billion-dollar deals. I can put together some dinner and dancing.” He grinned, specifically thinking about one bedraggled, kind-of-awkward brunette with amber eyes whom he’d like to ask to dance.