Candy watched as a dirty sedan with a light dusting of snow emerged from the dark and parked in front. “And so it starts” she told herself. Twenty years as a waitress and then a dozen more in a Detroit auto plant was her crooked road to this moment. Her new Cafe was a single story cement block artifact from the 50’s, yellow on top, orange on the bottom and divided by a brown horizontal stripe. Anywhere else it might have faced demolition, but in Otter Lake it was still cutting edge.
After six months of hard work, too much money and not a little despair, she had finally opened her doors to the world. About a third of Otter Lake’s residents were retired and a growing number unemployed. So Candy knew that counting on business in mid- February before tourist season was just wishful thinking.
Still, she began her new enterprise, open 5:00 AM to 1:30 PM Saturday and Sunday. Supposedly, this was practice for the summer. But in truth, after years of being told what to do, she needed to grab this dream and make it real. So, Candy now found herself in the wee dark hours of a cold February morning, in the tiny rural town of Otter Lake, alone in her own little piece of the planet and nothing had ever felt so sweet.
The lights were on, grill hot, coffee pot churning away, open sign in the window, chairs down and tables set. Now she stood at the service window leaning forward on the ledge, drinking coffee and half-listening to the news on the kitchen TV. She wasn’t making any money and right now she didn’t care.
Candy drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she looked out the front window at nothing in particular. She remembered working the afternoon shift in Detroit and looking up at midnight as she wearily walked to her car. The same sky, but how different the worlds under it, she reflected.
A large green truck slowed down as it dropped a bundle of papers in front of Ed’s Superette across the street. She noticed the car that had pulled up a few minutes ago. It was still parked and the driver, a tall man, was just sitting there. Candy thought maybe he was looking at his map or trying to get cell phone service. She gave a mental shrug and turned back to the kitchen.
After six months of hard work, too much money and not a little despair, she had finally opened her doors to the world. About a third of Otter Lake’s residents were retired and a growing number unemployed. So Candy knew that counting on business in mid- February before tourist season was just wishful thinking.
Still, she began her new enterprise, open 5:00 AM to 1:30 PM Saturday and Sunday. Supposedly, this was practice for the summer. But in truth, after years of being told what to do, she needed to grab this dream and make it real. So, Candy now found herself in the wee dark hours of a cold February morning, in the tiny rural town of Otter Lake, alone in her own little piece of the planet and nothing had ever felt so sweet.
The lights were on, grill hot, coffee pot churning away, open sign in the window, chairs down and tables set. Now she stood at the service window leaning forward on the ledge, drinking coffee and half-listening to the news on the kitchen TV. She wasn’t making any money and right now she didn’t care.
Candy drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she looked out the front window at nothing in particular. She remembered working the afternoon shift in Detroit and looking up at midnight as she wearily walked to her car. The same sky, but how different the worlds under it, she reflected.
A large green truck slowed down as it dropped a bundle of papers in front of Ed’s Superette across the street. She noticed the car that had pulled up a few minutes ago. It was still parked and the driver, a tall man, was just sitting there. Candy thought maybe he was looking at his map or trying to get cell phone service. She gave a mental shrug and turned back to the kitchen.
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