With a showy strum, he hits one of the trickier chords just right. Hell yeah, still got it. He’s hardly played this summer, and the instrument’s coarse metal strings are sharp on the tender pads of his fingers. But it’s a good type of pain.
Yawning, he nests the guitar between two lumpy sofa cushions, then grabs a bite of cereal from his bowl on the side table and swipes milk off his chin with the back of his hand before standing and sauntering over to the front window. His camper looks kind of dirty from here, the glare of the sun highlighting the grimy windshield. Maybe he’ll wash it this afternoon, before he goes to meet Avery for their paddle date.
Ethan’s patchy front lawn is fading to a tawny brown. Everyone keeps talking about how hot and dry it’s been. “Hot and dry” has a different meaning in Modesto, but lately Cameron finds himself nodding along, as if the Modesto is slowly draining out of him. When did that start to happen?
“Mornin’。” Ethan comes through the living room, leaving the smell of soap in his wake. Cameron follows him into the kitchen. His beard looks damp, and he’s attempted to slick down the wiry fuzz that normally floats over his mostly bald head. Instead of wearing a ratty old rock band tee or one of his usual flannels, he’s got some striped golf-type collared shirt on. Cameron hadn’t realized Ethan owned something so . . . normal. The shirt is tucked into a pair of khaki pants that are an inch too short, the waist saddled under his bulblike belly by a braided-leather belt.
“Why are you dressed like an extra from Caddyshack?” A corner of Cameron’s mouth ticks up, teasing. “Do you have another date with Tova?”
Ethan fills his teakettle at the sink. “Tova? No.” With a click, he turns on the burner and sets the kettle on the coil. “I mean, I’ll stop over there this week to say goodbye, a’course.”
“Oh. Right.” Cameron wishes he could take back the Caddyshack jab.
“Doing an interview at the store today,” Ethan says. He takes a travel mug down from the cupboard and drops in a teabag of his usual English Breakfast. “Need to hire a new day manager, or a temporary one, anyway. You heard what happened to Melody Patterson, right? Her little boy’s got some awful disease. Had to be admitted to the children’s hospital down in Seattle. She’s taking an extended leave of absence to care for him.”
“That’s terrible,” Cameron says. And it is. Melody Patterson is a nice lady. But it’s Ethan’s first words that sting him, slicing through poor Melody’s tragedy to spear him personally.
A manager. Had Ethan even considered Cameron for the position? He remembers his first night here, drunk on expensive scotch, when he asked for a job at the store.
Ethan starts going on about Melody’s husband, and something about how their insurance is being a “real pain in the arse” about the kid’s coverage. Details that are surely none of his damn business, but Ethan clearly has no boundaries when chatting with his customers while scanning their milk and weighing their tomatoes.
“Hey,” Cameron interrupts. “Are you still taking applications?”
“For the manager job? I s’pose so. Why, do you have someone in mind?”
The tips of Cameron’s ears burn so hot, they must be glowing. “Me, obviously.”
“You?” Ethan looks genuinely surprised. “Well . . . maybe.” Then he shakes his head. “See, it’s a manager job. Would normally be looking for someone with years of experience. Need to be familiar with all the systems. Inventory, point of sale, even a bit of bookkeeping. It’s not to be taken lightly.”
“Do you really think I couldn’t do . . .” Cameron yanks back the words before they come tumbling out. Do you really think I couldn’t do your job? He tries again. “Look. I might not have years of experience. I don’t even have a degree or whatever. But we both know I’m smart.” His voice wavers. “I’m really smart.”
Ethan’s eyes widen. “I never said you weren’t smart, Cameron.”
“Well, then, I can learn.”
“Aye, you could.” Ethan pops the top on his travel mug. “If you really want to work in the grocery business, I’ll show you the ropes. Nothin’ would please me more. But right this minute, I need to fill this position with someone . . . already qualified.”
“Oh, give me a break.” Cameron stomps over to the kitchen window, nearly tripping over one of the kitchen chairs on his way. “What exactly are the qualifications to work at Shop-Way, anyway? Running your mouth all the time?” He turns back and glares at Ethan.