Lake-Effect Coffee, Chapter 6

Matthew inches the van forward, the engine revving as a tire slips on the wet grass of the Jamboree field. He narrowly avoids taking out a cluster of boy scouts. Robin follows in their car. You could cut the tension with a knife, so I do.

“I didn’t know Robin had a driver’s license.” Matthew doesn’t respond.

The hum of WXYZ’s traffic report warns against taking U.S. 12. Matthew leans over. “Ferry?”

I’m always up for the ferry.

A few minutes later, my phone pings with a message in our group chat.

“Robin says the traffic on U.S. 12 is bad.” I put on my lighter voice. “Guess she didn’t take the ferry.”

Matthew shrugs, “Oh yeah, she turns the radio off when I get out of the car. Something about how she can’t think while it’s on.”

“That’s fine, we’ll see who gets there first.”

When we pull up to the ferry ramp a few minutes later, we are third in line behind two American-made sedans. The next boat is pulling up. Crossing the Potomac every 20 minutes since Union soldiers first forged a floating bridge here, the ferry primarily serves Gull’s Hollow residents. Every election cycle, the issue of ending public support for the Gull’s Hollow Ferry makes its way onto the mayoral debate agenda. Every election cycle, some figures are floated about the cost of a twin-span bridge being far greater than the ferry operating subsidy. With my recent crash course in local power and machinations, I assume Finkman supplies the motor oil for the ferry—or takes a straight-up bribe.

After a dozen or so vehicles and pedestrians disembark, the ferryman waves us forward. Matthew puts the van into park, rolls down the windows, and turns off the engine. I double check the power is off, still hearing the WXYZ jingle in my head.

Trying to lighten the mood, I say, “Do you think we’re the first food-truck-adjacent vehicle to take the ferry?”

“You shouldn’t have burned the check without talking to us.”

“Oh. You wanted to burn it with me?”

“You know what I mean.”

The ferry engine revs to life and we push away from the dock. A man steps out of the sedan in front of us and walks to the railing, his bomber jacket fluttering in the evening breeze.

“I don’t even think you made the wrong call. I’m just frustrated you made it alone.”

“Matthew…”

“We all need this van to work. The alternative… putting the mask back on…”

Matthew doesn’t finish, but I get it.

“I’m sorry I acted alone. That was selfish of me.”

“Thanks, it’s okay. And…it scares the hell out of me to say this…I’m depending on you for this. I need you to be reliable.”

With shame rising to my face, I know he’s right. “I need y’all too. I’d still be stuck in that fluorescent hellhole if it weren’t for you two believing in my silly ideas.”

Before Matthew can respond, the man wearing the bomber jacket walks up to my side window.

“Yo! You guys are the rock garden gang! I read your feature in A-Bomb!”

“Heh…that’s us.” I smile weakly, today’s emotional roller coaster standing in the way of my thrill at being recognized as a pillar of community.

“How ya doin?” Matthew’s charisma is dimmed, but still present.

“Are you serving drinks right now? I’d love a jolt.”

“Sorry man…” I start to say, not wanting to put Matthew through any more half-thought-out plans, but he bumps my elbow.

“There’s a cup or two left in the urn.” Matthew says directly to me, before looking back at our potential customer. “Would you be okay with drip?”

“Would I?! Drip is all I drink! I’m gonna post this on my socials. ‘BEST DRIP ON THE POTOMAC #IHATEITALIANS.’”

“Uhhhh don’t tag us in that…heh. My wife would not be pleased.”

“Can I just say though, coffee man to coffee man, what is the deal with espresso culture? If you grew up with it, fine, that’s one thing. But rando midwesterners waiting in a longer line to get something that barely tastes like coffee…I don’t get it!”

Not expecting an industry symposium on the ferry, I must concede he has a point. “None of us drink espresso either. We thought you just had to serve it to run a coffee van.”

A small light appears in Matthew’s eyes, “Oh yeah…why did we do that? Just because we got the La Marzocco for free? That thing’s been ruining our lives.”

“And I can’t hear anything when it’s running.”

“SO loud.”

“Wow. I HATE espresso. Sir, you may have just…oh…where’d he go?” Our customer is gone. My phone chimes and I see a $10 payment to our Venmo account, with the message ☕️❌🇮🇹.

Matthew’s phone chimes next. “It’s Robin,” he says to me as he picks up. “Hi Robin, you’re on speaker.”

“Didn’t the Boy Scouts have a scandal? How are there still this many people? Where are y’all?”

“Hi Robin! It’s me! We’re on the ferry! And we hate Ital…I mean espresso! We hate espresso!”

“Matthew…honey…what’s going on?”

“We just made an unorthodox sale while on the ferry, and…well…the guy made us realize we’re not sure why we sell espresso.”

“What do you mean, we run a coffee van, don’t we have to sell espresso?”

“Do we?” Matthew’s question hangs in the air before he continues, “It’s not us. I don’t feel like I even get to talk to half our customers. My back is turned while I play with a milk wand.”

“What are you suggesting? We just sell…coffee?”

“I’m saying we do what feels right to us, not what anyone expects of us.”

I am quiet while I listen to Matthew articulate my feelings perfectly.

Robin eventually breaks the silence, “While we’re on this, what do y’all think about inviting Morgan to come work with us? Not as a partner, just as someone we pay a living wage.”

I feel my opening once again, “That would make one of us earning a living wage from this thing!”

“Fair enough, actually,” Robin concedes. “We’d give her a fair rate, so we’d have to decide what that looks like. As a trio, I mean. Anyway, she seemed pretty miserable since she was forced to close shop and go back to corporate. And if we’re trying to connect with like-souls in the community, she seems like a great place to start. We don’t have to decide now, I just wanted…”

“Let’s do it.” Matthew needs no further convincing. “Her story stuck with me too. She tried to forge her own path and the system threw her one-too-many obstacles. What do you think?” His last question is quieter, using his non-speaker-phone voice as he bumps my elbow once more.

“I love the idea in theory. But I’m scared. There’s a reason y’all are my people. You laugh at my jokes! What if she doesn’t laugh at my jokes?”

It’s not that I’m afraid to not be seen as funny, I’m afraid to not be seen at all.

“She’ll laugh because we’ll laugh.” It doesn’t register whether Matthew or Robin says this, because I snap awake to several car horns blaring behind us.

“Robin, we have to go. We’ll see you at Violet’s.” Matthew hangs up the phone.

I feel as though I just snapped out of a trance. “How long has the boat been docked?” The two cars in front of us and all the pedestrians have already disembarked.

“Judging by those blares, we’ve been here a hot minute.”

As Matthew juices the van towards dry land, I glance over my shoulder. “Want to throw La Marzocco in the river?”

“Ya know, normally I would, but I don’t know that our new business partner would appreciate that.”

“You mean our new business employee. Who we won’t exploit. Much.”

The rest of the drive to Violet’s is as uneventful as a WXYZ traffic bulletin on any day but today. Robin’s car is in the driveway when we pull up. “I can’t believe the ferry wasn’t the fastest route,” I say, feigning surprise.

“Hi boys,” Robin says as she steps towards us, coming to rest on Matthew’s window. “Violet is around back.”

“She knows the three outlaws are here?”

“She does.”

“How should we handle this?”

“I’ll take the lead, but we should each say our truths. I don’t know that Violet would want to come work with us, but I believe she is genuine. I don’t think she’ll want any spin.”

“No spin. Got it.” I concur, stopping myself from making a ping pong joke. As the gravel crunches under my feet, I wonder if this will be our last hurrah. Her backyard looks different than the last time we were here and I see a garden behind where the van used to sit. Violet looks up as we approach, two freshly-picked tomatoes in hand.

“Hi Violet, we’re all here now,” Robin begins, “I’m just gonna cut to the chase: we received a business waste citation from the Department of Health. The only term you set for us was to not get in trouble with the law and we failed.”

Robin holds the paper out with two hands, head slightly bowed. I’m impressed by her ability to confront a problem head-on.

It pains me to watch her take the fall for my emotional response from earlier today, so I speak up, “I messed up. I had a run-in with our nemesis and panic-drove to the Jamboree and left our trash in the public bins. These two did nothing wrong.”

Matthew feels similarly moved to say, “These last few months…your van…we felt alive again.”

Violet plays with the tomatoes in her right hand and for a second I expect her to pelt me with one. I won’t even duck.

“Your nemesis…what’s their name?”

Matter-of-factly, I reply, “Finkman.”

“And the Department of Health, who’s it named after again?”

Robin glances down at the citation, her voice trailing off, “Finkman Department of Health…oh…”

“Listen, you three are the most genuine, and, at the moment, terrified, trio I’ve ever met. I’m gonna tell my ex-husband to stop making your lives hell.”

For a moment, I don’t even catch what she says. Then it hits me.

“Your…”

“…ex-…,” Robin catches that part.

“…husband?” Matthew lands the jump.

“Remember I told you he divorced me after learning his name wasn’t on the van title? Clearly that still eats at him and he’s taking out on you three. As for me, I’ve always been grateful he got stuck behind the train on U.S. 12 that day. Gave me my autonomy back.”

“We thought he hated us!” I’m still processing the news, but this sentence falls out of me.

“He couldn’t care less about you, and I mean that respectfully. That’s his M.O., he finds leverage on anyone who has ‘wronged’ him. Then he squeezes them dry. Why do you think he owns the whole town?”

Matthew has a concerned look in his eye, which he expands on, “Look, we’d love if you told him to lay off. Ideally for good. I guess I feel torn because…well…the van is supposed to be our ticket to sovereignty. Wouldn’t we just be exchanging his leverage for yours?”

“That’s one way to look at it. But he’s an insecure asshole, and I’m not.”

I take a deep breath and step outside the moment, grateful for the tall oak trees lining the backyard. This day had not taken me where I expected. Being out in the world like this, making friends and foes, that’s what I loved about our van life and my friendship with these two.

Turning towards us, Robin says, “And we’ve got to trust someone.” There is uncertainty in her voice but I suspect she’s right.

“Right. I want the best for y’all. If you choose to believe me.”