Faye’s Bar and Grill was another one of those old Jackson establishments passed down across generations. The restaurant was opened by the Gillmans in 1956 as a single window service burger joint. It has expanded many times since then as it became the meeting place where the biggest decisions in town were made. The simple diner served moo burgers on a French roll and was featured on the Food Network for the Giant Bryant Challenge. The hallway that led to the bathrooms and the staircase down to the banquet room was lined with family photos and historical pictography of the little Gold Rush town. Change in Jackson only reinforced the tradition.   

Attached to the Northeast end of the restaurant was the bar area, a small saloon covered with sports memorabilia that told more of the history in town and its surprising tradition of producing star athletes in the college and pro ranks. Maybe not so surprising when you consider how important being a “man” was to the people in town. Work hard, play harder. And Faye’s was the place they always returned to revel in the glory of victory or drown out the sorrow of defeat.   

Brendon and I are sitting at a small chair and booth table at the back of the bar, near the pool table and arcade games. Brendon is chowing down on some fries and wings. I have a mostly untouched chicken sandwich in front of me. To be honest, I am fixated on the bartender. Not creepy but just trying to confirm who it is.  

In between bites, but while still chewing, Brendon says, “So yeah, Mindy and I tied the knot at the courthouse a couple months after I knocked her up. Baby’s name is Hank. Well, Henry. He’s two. We live in Grandpa’s old home on Highway 88.  And I manage the store, now.” 

B. I know. It’s not like I was deployed to Afghanistan.  

Brendon just keeps eating and talking. “So, what about you? You’re a lawyer, now? Lot’s paperwork, right? Reading and writing and boring shit like that? 

Finally, I get a good look at the mystery bartender, and I turn back to face my cousin. “I’m not a lawyer, yet. But yeah, pretty much. Lot’s of reading and boring shit. Is…is that Kelly Petrovic?” 

Brendon retraces my stare toward the bar. “Yup, yup. Well, Kelly Sasse.” 

She married that prick? 

Brendon wipes himself down with a Wet Nap. “Yeah, I mean, I think they’re separated now but yeah, they got together.” 

I shake my head, “Typical of this fucking town. I thought she was better than that. Man, I had the biggest crush on her.” 

Brendon swigs his beer. “Hey man, like I said, I think they’re separated. Make your move.” 

I take a bite of my sandwich and look back at Kelly. “Make my move?” I return to Brendon with a death stare. “I’m here for a week, man. I still have six weeks of school before I graduate!” 

Brendon raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders in mild response. Or perhaps, his energy is just more focused on the thunderous burp he produces. “So, are you like putting people in jail, or ya know, keeping ‘em out?” 

I close my eyes for a moment to compose myself. “Neither. I don’t do criminal law. I won’t do criminal law. I am going to be an I.P. attorney.” 

“Oh,” Brendon says as he nods knowingly before housing a fistful of fries. This time Brendon waits to swallow before speaking again. “What’s that? I.P.?”  He continues inhaling the meal. Brendon has his second wind.  

“I.P. – Intellectual property. It’s like copyrights and patents, ya know? Like when an author writes a book, we protect her idea.” 

“Oh, okay. So, you work with authors?” 

I take a sip of water, exhale, and look off to the distance. “Yeah, one day, hopefully. That’s what I want. But for now, I mostly work with people studying the human genome and other stuff like that. Which is cool. I guess.”  

Brendon could not fake understanding this time. “Genome? Jesus Christ, I don’t even want to know what that is. No wonder you never fit in here.” 

“No kidding,” I say smiling for the first time on this trip. I rip another bite out of my sandwich and continue, “I mean; besides that, we generally help people protect their ideas and work. Whether that’s a songwriter or an inventor.” 

Brendon drops his food. “Inventions?” 

“Yeah, we help with patents, but more often we prosecute people who violate patents.” 

Brendon long-blinks. “Well, I don’t know what any of that means but I’m a bit of an inventor.” 

I roll my eyes. “Oh, yeah?” 

“Actually, I have one with me,” Brendon says excitedly as he pulls out a screwdriver from his back pocket. Affixed to the opposite end of the Phillips-head was a spoon. “I call it the spoon-driver.” 

“You just carry that thing around with you?” I frown at the contraption. “I really don’t think people will want a greasy screwdriver attached to an eating utensil.” 

Brendon looks at his product and then scoops some fries with it into his mouth. “Well it’s not a ‘utensil,’ it’s a ‘spoon-driver.’” 

I blink incredulously and then laugh and shake my head.  

— 

The Eaton home sits on some acreage. From Faye’s, you take 88 down to Main, before pulling off Raggio road just past the single-lane bridge. Landmark navigation was necessary for getting around Jackson. A gate, marked with an “E,” led down a dirt road to the property. The workshop barn housed the family toys for exploring the hillside and fields, and for fishing on the lake. My Remmington 700 sat with my father’s collection of firearms in the large gun safe tucked behind the work bench and tool storage. I hadn’t shot in years, but my rifle still got used by others from time to time. All freedoms were well preserved here, and hunting was a way of life.  

The house maintained rustic charm but implemented all of the modern technology one might expect to find in a trendy LA home. The infinity pool that backed into my parents’ bedroom was the only exterior structure which previewed the comforts available inside. I missed the space to explore, and sometimes I missed the comfortable and easy living this home provided even more. Just not all the baggage that came with it.  

The large dining table to the side of the kitchen was covered with papers, tile samples, and brochures. The Cottage was undergoing a minor remodel and spreading out in the great room was the best way to take in all the information at once. Small business owners always bring their work home. And so, the Eatons ate most of their meals at the large island countertop, where Mom is sipping tea while I move about, unable to get settled.  

“Mom, are you going to be okay?” 

Mom takes a deep breath. “I’ll be fine Patty. Your father and I will get through this. You have school and a career to worry about.” 

I sit on a stool next to Mom. “And you have Uncle Bart and Uncle Beau. Brendon too, I guess. But they’ll be here to help and support you.” 

Mom blinks in an effort to hold back her emotions. “Yep. Yes. I have all that I need up here.” She takes one last sip of tea and walks her dishes into the kitchen and places them in the sink. “This town is all I need. All I know. I have to face this.” 

She starts to cry. I walk over and give her a hug. “Mom, I’ve worked so hard.”  

Mom wipes tears from her eyes before placing her hands around my shoulders. “Patty, I know. Go. Live your life. I’m so proud of you.”  

Mom turns away sobbing heavily as I look on, unsure what to do.

I am home.