Page 23 of Second Chance Summer

I looked at my sister and saw that her hands were gripping the straps of her tote bag so hard that her knuckles had turned white. She glanced over at me and I realized that she was scared. I knew it was probably up to me to say something, something encouraging and big-sisterly, but I had no idea what that would be.

“I should go,” Gelsey said after a moment, taking a deep breath and pushing open her door. “I’ll call Mom for a ride home, or walk, or something.”

“Okay,” I said. “Have fun.”

Gelsey rolled her eyes hugely at that, got out of the car, and walked up to the entrance stiffly, like she was facing a firing squad and not a tennis lesson. I looked down at the clock, cursed, and put the car into gear. I peeled out of the parking lot, now officially five minutes late for my first day of work.

I hadn’t gone to the beach since I’d been back, but as I got out of the car, I could see it hadn’t changed much. There were picnic tables and benches on the grassy area nearest to the parking lot. A small incline (there was a set of steps if you didn’t want to roll down the hill, as I’d been fond of doing when I was around eight) led down to the sand. The beach wasn’t very full—there were only a handful of towels and blankets spread out, with some families and sunbathers staking their claims. A few ambitious kids were already mid–sandcastle construction, but the water was free from swimmers. When I saw the tall white lifeguard’s chair perched at the edge of the water was empty, I realized why there was nobody swimming—the lifeguard wasn’t on duty yet. The far right side of the beach was the marina area, with sailboats up on their wooden pallets, and kayaks and canoes stacked in wooden structures. The lake was the main feature, stretching out almost as far as you could see. A large wooden raft, complete with ladder, was anchored beyond the roped-off swimming section that kids weren’t supposed to go past, and the bobbing round yellow buoys by the raft demarcated where adults were supposed to stop. The lake was bordered on all sides by pine trees, and the three islands scattered across it were also covered in them. The sky above the lake was clear and a bright blue, with wispy clouds streaking across it. Looking back, it sometimes seemed like I had spent all my childhood summers at this beach. The pool had never held as much charm for me, with its rough concrete and smell of chlorine. The beach had always felt like home.

“Are you Taylor?” I turned around and saw a short man with a very red face, in his forties or thereabouts, wearing a Lake Phoenix polo shirt and squinting at me.

“Hi,” I said, hurrying over to him, trying to simultaneously smooth down my hair and come up with an excuse for why I was late for my first day of work. “I mean, yes.” I held out my hand to shake his—the night before, Warren had given me a tutorial on making a good first impression, and he seemed to rank a strong handshake very highly—but the man was already turning and walking down the steps toward the snack bar, gesturing for me to follow him.

“Fred Lefevre,” he said over his shoulder. “This way.” The snack bar was in the building that was adjacent to the Clubhouse, where the bathrooms, equipment rooms, and administrative offices were, and Fred headed through this building’s open doorway and to an office marked BEACH DIRECTOR. He pushed the door open and motioned me in, but as soon as I crossed the threshold, I stopped short.

There were fish everywhere. None alive, but stuffed and mounted fish were affixed to most of the available wall space, and a fishing calendar hung behind the desk, the surface of which was covered with framed pictures of Fred holding up huge trophy fishes. There were tackle boxes and fishing poles scattered all over, and as Fred took the seat across from me, behind his desk, I noticed that he had the permanently sunburned look of someone who spent most of his time outside. Fred leaned back in the squeaky leather chair, the kind on wheels with casters, and looked across the desk at me. I immediately sat up straighter on the metal folding chair that was cold against the backs of my legs. “So,” he said. “You’re our late hire.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that I had been hired late, or if he was talking about the fact that I’d been late for work today, so I just nodded. Fred picked up the frame closest to him and gazed at it for a moment before turning it to face me. In the picture, Fred held up on his line a fish that looked almost as tall as he was. “Know what that is?” he asked. My knowledge of fish was pretty much limited to what I got on seafood menus, so I just shook my head. “It’s a threespine stickleback,” he said wistfully. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Mmm,” I said with as much enthusiasm as possible.

“That was two years ago,” he said, setting the picture down, continuing to stare at it. “I haven’t caught one as big since. And that’s why you’re here.”

I blinked at him for a moment, then glanced at the picture of the large, disgruntled-looking fish, as though it would somehow help me out here. “Um, what?” I asked.

“I like to fish,” Fred said, tearing his eyes away from the stickleback and looking at me. “And June and July are my peak fishing months. And I can’t put in my time on the lakes if I have to be micromanaging this place.”

“Okay,” I said, still waiting for an explanation of how I fit into all this.

“So I put in a request with Jillian for one more employee,” he said. “Someone here who can do what needs doing. Mostly the snack bar, but I also need someone to help figure out the movie-on-the-beach nights. Last year, they were…” He paused for a moment. “Not a success,” he finally concluded. “Basically, I need to be able to be away from this place and know that everything is going to be covered. So that’ll be you. Sound good?”

“Well,” I said, turning over my job description in my head. It wasn’t that it sounded bad—it was only that I wasn’t sure I was qualified to do any of it. “It’s just—”

“Good!” Fred said, standing up, this meeting apparently now over as far as he was concerned. “Let’s say four days a week. I’ll let you work out the schedule with the others, figuring out where the holes are.”

I stood up as well, out of instinct, since he was looming over me and clearly wanted me to leave his fish-bedecked office. “But—”

“The job’s very easy, Taylor,” he said, coming around to join me on the other side of his desk, and then opening the door for me, in case I still wasn’t getting the hint that I was supposed to leave. “Just make my life simple. I want to fish. And I want to fish undisturbed. So if you can help me make that happen, you’ll be doing great work. Okay?”

ked at my sister and saw that her hands were gripping the straps of her tote bag so hard that her knuckles had turned white. She glanced over at me and I realized that she was scared. I knew it was probably up to me to say something, something encouraging and big-sisterly, but I had no idea what that would be.

“I should go,” Gelsey said after a moment, taking a deep breath and pushing open her door. “I’ll call Mom for a ride home, or walk, or something.”

“Okay,” I said. “Have fun.”

Gelsey rolled her eyes hugely at that, got out of the car, and walked up to the entrance stiffly, like she was facing a firing squad and not a tennis lesson. I looked down at the clock, cursed, and put the car into gear. I peeled out of the parking lot, now officially five minutes late for my first day of work.

I hadn’t gone to the beach since I’d been back, but as I got out of the car, I could see it hadn’t changed much. There were picnic tables and benches on the grassy area nearest to the parking lot. A small incline (there was a set of steps if you didn’t want to roll down the hill, as I’d been fond of doing when I was around eight) led down to the sand. The beach wasn’t very full—there were only a handful of towels and blankets spread out, with some families and sunbathers staking their claims. A few ambitious kids were already mid–sandcastle construction, but the water was free from swimmers. When I saw the tall white lifeguard’s chair perched at the edge of the water was empty, I realized why there was nobody swimming—the lifeguard wasn’t on duty yet. The far right side of the beach was the marina area, with sailboats up on their wooden pallets, and kayaks and canoes stacked in wooden structures. The lake was the main feature, stretching out almost as far as you could see. A large wooden raft, complete with ladder, was anchored beyond the roped-off swimming section that kids weren’t supposed to go past, and the bobbing round yellow buoys by the raft demarcated where adults were supposed to stop. The lake was bordered on all sides by pine trees, and the three islands scattered across it were also covered in them. The sky above the lake was clear and a bright blue, with wispy clouds streaking across it. Looking back, it sometimes seemed like I had spent all my childhood summers at this beach. The pool had never held as much charm for me, with its rough concrete and smell of chlorine. The beach had always felt like home.

“Are you Taylor?” I turned around and saw a short man with a very red face, in his forties or thereabouts, wearing a Lake Phoenix polo shirt and squinting at me.

“Hi,” I said, hurrying over to him, trying to simultaneously smooth down my hair and come up with an excuse for why I was late for my first day of work. “I mean, yes.” I held out my hand to shake his—the night before, Warren had given me a tutorial on making a good first impression, and he seemed to rank a strong handshake very highly—but the man was already turning and walking down the steps toward the snack bar, gesturing for me to follow him.

“Fred Lefevre,” he said over his shoulder. “This way.” The snack bar was in the building that was adjacent to the Clubhouse, where the bathrooms, equipment rooms, and administrative offices were, and Fred headed through this building’s open doorway and to an office marked BEACH DIRECTOR. He pushed the door open and motioned me in, but as soon as I crossed the threshold, I stopped short.

There were fish everywhere. None alive, but stuffed and mounted fish were affixed to most of the available wall space, and a fishing calendar hung behind the desk, the surface of which was covered with framed pictures of Fred holding up huge trophy fishes. There were tackle boxes and fishing poles scattered all over, and as Fred took the seat across from me, behind his desk, I noticed that he had the permanently sunburned look of someone who spent most of his time outside. Fred leaned back in the squeaky leather chair, the kind on wheels with casters, and looked across the desk at me. I immediately sat up straighter on the metal folding chair that was cold against the backs of my legs. “So,” he said. “You’re our late hire.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant that I had been hired late, or if he was talking about the fact that I’d been late for work today, so I just nodded. Fred picked up the frame closest to him and gazed at it for a moment before turning it to face me. In the picture, Fred held up on his line a fish that looked almost as tall as he was. “Know what that is?” he asked. My knowledge of fish was pretty much limited to what I got on seafood menus, so I just shook my head. “It’s a threespine stickleback,” he said wistfully. “Isn’t she a beauty?”

“Mmm,” I said with as much enthusiasm as possible.

“That was two years ago,” he said, setting the picture down, continuing to stare at it. “I haven’t caught one as big since. And that’s why you’re here.”

I blinked at him for a moment, then glanced at the picture of the large, disgruntled-looking fish, as though it would somehow help me out here. “Um, what?” I asked.

“I like to fish,” Fred said, tearing his eyes away from the stickleback and looking at me. “And June and July are my peak fishing months. And I can’t put in my time on the lakes if I have to be micromanaging this place.”

“Okay,” I said, still waiting for an explanation of how I fit into all this.

“So I put in a request with Jillian for one more employee,” he said. “Someone here who can do what needs doing. Mostly the snack bar, but I also need someone to help figure out the movie-on-the-beach nights. Last year, they were…” He paused for a moment. “Not a success,” he finally concluded. “Basically, I need to be able to be away from this place and know that everything is going to be covered. So that’ll be you. Sound good?”

“Well,” I said, turning over my job description in my head. It wasn’t that it sounded bad—it was only that I wasn’t sure I was qualified to do any of it. “It’s just—”

“Good!” Fred said, standing up, this meeting apparently now over as far as he was concerned. “Let’s say four days a week. I’ll let you work out the schedule with the others, figuring out where the holes are.”

I stood up as well, out of instinct, since he was looming over me and clearly wanted me to leave his fish-bedecked office. “But—”

“The job’s very easy, Taylor,” he said, coming around to join me on the other side of his desk, and then opening the door for me, in case I still wasn’t getting the hint that I was supposed to leave. “Just make my life simple. I want to fish. And I want to fish undisturbed. So if you can help me make that happen, you’ll be doing great work. Okay?”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com