“Thank you. I appreciate that.” The tension in my shoulders ebbs a little. “I think I’ll tell them. Though I’d prefer to have another job lined up first. Or an interview at the very least.” When both glasses are full—a little too full, actually—I carefully make my way back to the living room. “They eventually came around when Cam left the family business, so I can trust that it will be okay, but I’d rather avoid any lectures.”
“Fair enough,” Joey says, making grabby hands as I get closer.
The television naturally distracts us, and we fall into acomfortable silence, sipping our cocktails alongside Carrie Bradshaw.
“I know!” Joey gasps several minutes later, startling me. “You should take the job at my cousin’s camp.”
It takes a moment for my brain to flip through what I know about her family. “Asher?”
“Yes. Remember last summer he mentioned the camp’s doctor was retiring?”
I remember. I received a random text from Joey’s cousin—Millie’s older brother—asking if I’d be interested in the position of camp doctor. I politely declined, claiming I was happy where I was. And that was the truth. But now…
“I bet the position has already been filled,” I reason around a mouthful of almonds.
Shifting to one side, she slips her phone from the pocket of her leggings. Then she swipes at her screen. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Are you texting him?” I ask, my heart in my throat. “Wait. I don’t even know whatcamp doctormeans. I need a year-round job, not something just for the summer.”
She’s only half listening, her thumbs moving at the speed of light. “Huh?” She puts her phone down and blinks at me. “Oh. You’d have to talk to him about the details, but Daisy Lake is a year-round retreat center as well as a summer camp. Asher hosts all sorts of events. Writing retreats, yoga retreats, family reunions, corporate events. That kind of stuff. Oh, yes! There was an art retreat recently, actually. I bet you would have loved that. And the summer camp isn’t just for kids—it’s for families. ThinkDirty Dancing, minus the forbidden love and social inequities. Ooh! That’s what we should watch.” She snags the remote off the coffee table and searches for the movie. “Now I’m craving watermelon.” She laughs, handing me her glass for yet another refill.
I’m not sure a third martini is the bestidea, but I go for it anyway. And neither of us even makes it to Baby’s first dance scene before we’re passed out.
Talk about having the time of my life. I wake to a splitting headache and with my cheek glued to my wrist. The adhesive? Gruyère cheese. The living room is significantly darker, and when I check my phone, discovering it’s after seven, I find a text notification from Pauline and another from an unknown number.
Joey’s still passed out on the other side of the sofa. I’m surprised my brother hasn’t shown up looking for her.
I open Pauline’s text first.
Pauline
I’ve forwarded an email from Dr. Elliott. It has all the information you should need about your severance package. I will miss you around here. Take care of yourself.
I secretly wish she would quit in solidarity, but she’s a single mom with kids to put through college. Not everyone has the luxury of living rent-free like me, let alone the trust fund that could easily keep me afloat for a long, long time. I wasn’t expecting a severance package, since I quit and hadn’t been there all that long anyway. This is probably Dr. Elliott’s idiotic way of making amends. No matter, I’ll donate it to a local victim service agency.
The second message is from Asher. I must not have saved his number in my phone the last time we texted. After quickly adding him to my contacts, I return to the thread.
Asher
I don’t know if I believe in fate or perfect timing, but the doc I recently hired backed out and I’ve been scrambling to find a replacement. You come with glowing recommendations, but I’d like to have an in-person interview. Think you can come up to the camp this weekend?
“Joey.” I kick her.
She grumbles but only turns and buries her face in the back cushion.
“Joey. Wake up. What did you do?”
Finally she rubs her eyes and mumbles, “Huh?”
“Did you tell Asher I was interested in the job?”
Eyes wide, she picks up her phone. With a quick look, she confirms that yes, she texted him.
“Ugh, my head hurts,” she whines.
Getting something other than alcohol in our systems is a good idea, but when I stand to head into the kitchen, black fuzzies blur my vision and I’m forced to steady myself against the sofa.
“Did he text you?” she asks when I return with two cups of water.
