by Leah Meers
Fifteen minutes after I survived another silent breakfast with my parents, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number.
"Hello?"
The woman on the other end sounded ridiculously chipper. "Hello there. Is this Cody Meyers? I hope it is because this is the number he gave." Her laugh burbled through the phone.
"Yes, I'm Cody. How can I help you?"
"Great! This is Holly McGrath from Camp Rocky Cove. I'm the camp director in charge of hiring and, well, most things." She laughed again, and my own lips twitched upward.
"It's great to hear from you, Holly. I assume this is about my application." I had spent a couple hours every day scouring the help-wanted ads online, putting in applications for anything in a reasonable driving distance, and avoiding my father's pointed questions about the coaching job. My mom mentioned perhaps working at the family store, which I ignored even harder.
"Oh, for sure. We're hiring right now for the off-season. Well, we're trying to make it an on-season off-season with some overnight events, family, group, and even corporate stays. Plus, there's plenty of light construction work to do. Are you comfortable with that?"
My initial reflex was to agree, but then I remembered my shoulder. "Well, I do have a chronic shoulder—"
She interrupted. "We googled you. I know about your torn rotator cuff and healing issues. No overhead work. Some painting, moving brush, pulling a hand truck of supplies around. You'd need to handle that type of stuff for a full-time position, anyway. Be able to, I don't know, grab a kid if they're about to fall off a cliff or something."
"I… um… That shouldn't be an issue." The thought of saving kids' lives sent a hot ball of lead spinning in my gut. I had imagined all the fun parts of working at a camp -- going on hikes, playing games, swimming in the lake – not preventing horrific accidents.
Holly just laughed again. "We don't have any cliffs. We haven't lost anyone yet. That's just something I like to throw out there to test applicant reactions. Anyway, can you come in for an interview and a walk around? You're on the shortlist, and we need to hire ASAP."
At any rate, working for someone like Holly would be interesting. She sounded kinda insane, but after dealing with my bad-tempered dad, my disappointed mom, and Sandy, who offered affection but little else, she also sounded refreshing.
"I'm free to come whenever you want me."
"Two o'clock should work. Oh, and tell me now if you won't pass a background or drug test. They're mandatory, and I prefer you didn't waste my time if you might fail."
"No chance of that. I'm sure I'll pass both with no problems." The days of pain pills for my shoulder ended long ago, and I didn't even like taking them then.
"Great! Then we'll see you at two. See ya!" She hung up before I could respond.
Finally, something to look forward to. A tiny spark of hope that I could do something with my life, even if it paid like shit and had nothing to do with my life's dream, flared to life. I knew I had to stop thinking of baseball like that. Twenty-seven was way too young to rest on the tales of my glory days, if I could even call a couple seasons in the minor leagues glory.
My Mom tapped and scrolled through Facebook on her tablet at the kitchen table. She glanced up with a frown when I walked in.
"Hey, Mom," I said, which was probably more than she expected after my week of avoidance. "I got an interview at two. If you have any errands or anything, I can pick stuff up on the way back."
Her finger paused over the screen and her frown morphed into something more positive. "An interview. That's great, Cody." Her voice didn't sound like she really thought so. "So, you won't consider working at the store?"
I gulped down water and leaned against the counter. "Do you really think Dad and I could stand working together at this point? I don't want any more drama."
"If you made an effort, I think maybe—"
"If I made an effort?" The hot simmer of anger flared to life again." I've been making an effort for him since I was twelve and he started calling me the next Roger Clemens. I've been doing nothing but trying to make him proud of me my whole damn life." There it was. My Mom didn't deserve the anger, but her comment about making an effort opened some type of hatch inside me.
"Cody, please." For the first time, she looked all of her fifty-two years. Her shoulders slumped.
I took a deep breath. I hated that I made her look like that. "I'm sorry. I wanted it too, but it's over, and I need to accept that. If Dad can't, there's nothing I can do about it. There's no way I could work for him at the store. None. We'd end up hating each other."
"He loves you, Cody. I know he's not good at showing it, and I know his plans, his dreams, sometimes pushed you too much. You've been grown for long enough, and you never told him you didn't want it, too." She tucked her foot up on the chair. "It was always baseball between you two, but ask yourself this. Did you ever let him know about any other part of you?"
I couldn't meet her eyes anymore when the words hit home. Baseball had been my life for so long. Did I even have anything else to tell my Dad about? Would he care? Would he accept anything else? One torn tendon forced a complete shift for both of us. My mind drifted toward Gabe and the earlier jumble of thoughts about dating him. Like all out in the open.
"I'll try, Mom." My smile felt anything but happy. "Maybe you could have this same talk with him, though, yeah?"
She unfolded from the chair and hurried over to give me a big hug. I couldn't remember the last time Mom had hugged me, but it felt like coming home. Things were going to change, but I had people on my side. That thought pulled Gabe into my mind again, and I knew I couldn't wait any longer to get in touch with him.
Cody: Hey Gabe. Sorry I kinda disappeared. Crazy trying to find a job so I can escape this house. I want to see you again if you still want anything to do with me.
That covered everything. Now all I had to do is wait to see if he replied or if what I did and said on our night together was something he didn't want to deal with. Or maybe he thought it was all a mistake, or…. I shook my head. I had to stop driving myself crazy with woulda, shoulda, coulda bullshit. I put my phone on silent so it wouldn't interrupt the interview.
~ ~ ~
After changing into camel chinos and a dark blue polo, I drove west around the lake toward the camp. The Help Wanted sign had disappeared, which I took as a good omen. A woman with laugh lines around her eyes, a brown ponytail, and her hands shoved in the pockets of khaki cargo pants stood outside a huge timber lodge with a green metal roof. She bent over and peered through my windshield as I pulled to a stop on the gravel lot.
"Cody Meyers?" she asked the moment I stepped out of the car. "Right on time. Good first impressions are important." She stepped forward and shook my hand with a businesslike double pump. "I'm Holly McGrath."
"Great to meet you." I looked up at the building, which looked like a quintessential camp lodge you'd see in a family movie. "Impressive place."
"You don't have to flatter us to get the job. Just answer a few questions and survive the tour." Her laugh rang out and drew the attention of an older man on the porch with a hammer. Graying braids looped together in a thick knot at the back of his head.
"Holly, don't scare away the new guy with your cackling." He jogged down the stairs and shook my hand. "Name's Jamal. I guess I'm in charge of building and maintenance around here, but I usually end up doing everything. If Holly likes you well enough, I'll be the one telling you what to do."
Holly laughed again, and I grinned. I had a good feeling about this place already, and it sounded like they had already made up their minds about hiring me. What I looked at as just a decent job started to change into a fun prospect. She turned away and waved a hand toward me. "Come on, Cody. Let me give you the tour."
We hopped into an electric utility vehicle for the hour-long tour of the lodge, camper's cabins, and various recreation and outbuildings on the massive property, she pointed out the usual swimming spots, where they took campers on ca
noe trips, and trailheads that wound through forests and fields.
"Until this year, we've been a summer-only kind of camp. The kids show up, get sticky, get bug bites, get homesick, and we show them a good time and keep them safe. This is the first year we're extending to an all-season camp and, quite frankly, we're not sure how it's going to work." She gave me a pointed look as she settled at a picnic table.
I took the seat across from her. "But aren't all the kids back in school?"
"Adult camps. Family weekends, company adventure experiences, wedding parties, reunions. The place is beautiful. We have the facilities to spruce up the dining options from hot dogs and spaghetti to roast chicken and pasta salad. The marketing is in place. Now we need more people to both fix stuff up before guests arrive and take care of them when they're here. Can you handle both, or are you just a bit of muscle?"
I bit back a laugh and ran my hand over my short hair. "I'd like the opportunity to do both. My shoulder shouldn't get in the way of anything but real heavy lifting or overhead work, and I'm comfortable with all sorts of people."
Her burbling laugh filled the picnic area again. "Great answer. Well, barring issues with the background or drug checks or any crazy responses to the details, I'd say you have yourself a job, Cody Meyers. I think you'll fit in fine." She stuck out her hand for another shake.
~ ~ ~
It was past five-thirty by the time Holly let me go. She covered current and future projects, how public-facing employees would stay in staff quarters on a rotational basis, and pay rates, which were almost as dismal as a minor league pitcher's salary. She hinted at the possibility of a lot of overtime and extra duties that would pay more, though, and I really didn't have any other options.
The thought of going straight home and dealing with another awkward family dinner didn't match my mood, so I turned in at the Sunrise Diner and grabbed a table near the window. Dean still ruled the kitchen like he had before I left for university – I saw his profile when I peeked in the pass-through – but a behemoth with shoulder-length black hair waited tables. He stopped next to me, grinned, and asked, "Can I get you a drink? Know what you want to eat?"
"Water and do you guys still make that Italian melt with the salami and sauce? I haven't been here in a while." I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
He nodded. "Yup, we do. Anything else?"
He headed back behind the counter when I shook my head. Before he clipped my order to the carousel for Dean, he rested his palm on the shoulder of an attractive sandy-haired man in a business suit. The man stopped staring at his phone for a moment to smile up into the waiter's eyes.
Some unexpected warmth bloomed in my chest. With a simple touch and a glance, the two men shared something that even I could tell was meaningful. Was it really that easy to just be with the person you wanted? The waiter returned with my water, and I couldn't help but look between him and the other man at the counter.
He caught my glance and narrowed his eyes. "Everything all right here?"
And there it was. It wasn't so easy, after all. One quick look and this guy assumed I was some kind of homophobic asshole he would gladly squash into the tiles. I shot him a quick smile. "Yup. Everything's great. Thanks." The tension around his eyes didn't vanish before he turned away.
I took another gulp of water and let images of Gabe fill my mind. I hadn't been out in college. There was never even a discussion about whether he would hold my hand in the dining hall or I would grab a quick kiss before parting ways to head to different classes. We were only friends, and barely even that, until the dorm room door closed and locked behind us.
The waiter leaned over the counter, his gaze locked on the man who must have been his boyfriend. I watched him smile and nod, say soft things I couldn't hear, and lean in for a quick kiss before he retrieved the next plates from the kitchen.
A sudden hunger that had nothing to do with spicy salami and rich tomato sauce filled me. I remembered the text I sent Gabe before the interview and pulled out my phone. Two messages.
Gabe: I wondered. Any luck on the job front?
He wondered what? Probably why I hadn't messaged him in a week. I could play the "well, he didn't either" game all I wanted, but ultimately if I wanted something, it was up to me to get it. My father and my coaches had told me the same since the first time I picked up a baseball. Of course, they were talking about a sports career and not a sexy man with a kinky side.
The man in the suit stood up and slipped his phone into his pocket. He tipped his head back as the waiter cupped his jaw and laid a tender kiss on his mouth. I whipped my eyes back to my phone before they caught me watching. I was big enough to hold my own in most situations, but that waiter was massive, and the last thing I wanted to do was offend him somehow.
Gabe: Not sure why you'd think I'd want nothing to do with you. Last week was awesome, and I'd like to hang out again. Besides, your hoodie is still here and seriously taking over.
I groaned at the memory of naked Gabe on my lap the moment the waiter set my Italian melt down in front of me. The heat of embarrassment flared through me as I glanced up to thank him. An odd look crossed his face.
"I'm sorry." No one made noises like that over even the world's best sandwich. "I just… Just a message from my guy." The words came out without thought.
When I lifted my gaze to the waiter that time, a genuine smile filled his face. "No problem. I know how it is." Any hint of the one-word-wrong-and-I-kick-your-ass look disappeared. "Enjoy your meal."
I did. The melt was as delicious as I remembered, and the thoughts that filled my head were even better.
Chapter Seven
Gabe
When the video chat session with my therapist, Dr. Miriam Russo, connected, I was head down and ass up peering under the couch for my other shoe. I heard the chime, nearly clobbered myself on the edge of the coffee table, and flopped down onto the cushions in time to catch her with both eyebrows high on her forehead.
"Sorry about that," I said as my gaze continued to scan the room for the wayward sneaker. "I lost my shoe."
"Is a sudden difficulty keeping track of your footwear something we should add to our sessions, Gabe?" Her eyebrows relaxed while her smile widened.
Dr. Russo, who insisted I call her Miriam, worried about my move back to my hometown, mostly because it took me away from regular appointments at her office, I thought. Not that she believed I desperately needed regular mental help anymore. At least that's what she said.
In the beginning, I had seen her twice per week, then every Thursday, then once a month, and now over the internet on a six-week schedule. I could request more sessions if I needed to, but I didn't need to. I could probably stop them altogether, but as Miriam said, and I came to understand, PTSD was a tricky thing that didn't operate on time schedules.
"How's the new job and apartment working out?" She leaned forward on her desk and fiddled with her pen.
"Great actually. The guys who own the bar are incredible. I met their friends, who seem like genuine people, and I…" I stopped a second before I blurted out any mention of Cody. I didn't know what to say about him.
"You… what?"
Miriam never let me get away with anything. I still tried, though. "I was just going to say, and I really like it here."
Her eyebrows shot up again. "Are you sure that's what you stopped yourself from saying?"
I slumped against the cushions. "I ran into an old friend, Cody. I roomed with him in college. It was nice catching up." My shrug was totally theatrical.
"Would you call Cody a friend now? That sounds like a long time to know someone. Do you think you will hang out some more?"
It sometimes felt like too much to meet her eyes, and my gaze roamed around the room. I spotted my shoe under a kitchen stool. "I hope so. I hope I can see more of him."
She asked a few more questions, gave me the opportunity to share like always, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her about our history. No way I would
tell her about the recent hookup. Despite sharing some of the deepest, most secret stuff with Miriam over the years, I couldn't tell her how he made me feel safe somehow. That would lead to questions about why I still didn't feel safe, even after all this time.
"Same time in six weeks, Gabe? If you need a schedule change, just message."
"Thanks, Miriam. I'm good for now." I logged off the virtual meeting app and closed my laptop.
Tuesdays and Thursdays were my nights off. Revere's opted for their usual playlists on the lowest traffic days. After my first nervous week, Paul passed over a fat envelope holding what he called a sign-on bonus and said people were raving about me. Besides the mostly ignored requests for awful songs, one older and slightly slimy guy who wanted me to stop DJing and dance with him, and a lost power cord, everything was perfect.
I finished tying my second shoe, my favorite solid black converse, and cuffing my skinny gray jeans before I hurried down the stairs to my car. Nights off found me at Revere's with my usual ice-choked rum and coke in hand and a few new friends by my side. Before I turned the key, I grabbed my phone.
Gabe: Hey, Cody. I'm heading to Revere's – it's my night off. If you want to hang out, come on by.
I wanted to see him. I knew that much. What I didn't know was how to make it happen. I had spent too much time in the past week fantasizing about our incredibly hot night together and trying to figure out how to repeat it. Maybe I should be more obvious. Tell him to come over and fuck me already.