Terry leans back and crosses his arms, arches one brow. Universal code for Fine, I’m listening.
Cameron leans forward, earnest. “I’ve sealed up more Carrara marble than you could imagine. Whatever you need done, I can do it. Promise.”
Terry stares at the application for what seems like a ridiculously long time. Finally, he looks up, eyes narrow. “I don’t care about California or Carrara marble. And I do not appreciate this little stunt.”
Cameron studies his hands, which are knotted together in his lap. This is weirdly like being in the principal’s office being chewed out for sneaking cigarettes under the bleachers. He probably deserves it now, just like he did then.
Terry goes on, “You know, when I went to apply for college in the United States, my standardized test scores were not that great. But I knew sea life, I sure did. I was raised on a fishing boat outside Kingston.” He shifts a stack of papers on his messy desk. “I knew I wanted to come here to study marine biology, and a lot of people took a chance on me to make that happen.”
Cameron glances up at the framed diploma behind his desk. Summa cum laude. Terry’s more than a fish geek, apparently. He’s some sort of fish genius.
“So you . . . want to give me a chance?”
“Not really.” Terry eyes him, hard. “I expect you’re the sort that’s had plenty of chances. Opportunities you don’t even realize. But you throw them away.”
Ouch.
“Anyway, I’ll give you a chance, but not because I think you deserve one. I’m throwing Ethan a bone. I beat the pants off him in a poker game a while back and he won’t shut his trap about it.” Terry lets out a chuckle.
“Thank you, sir,” Cameron says, sitting up straight. “You won’t regret it.”
“Don’t you want to know what the job actually consists of?”
“I thought it was maintenance.” Surely Ethan had mentioned Cameron’s experience in construction. He’d pictured himself patching roofs and fixing leaky faucets.
“Well, yes. Chopping bait. Cleaning buckets. That type of thing.”
“Okay.” Bait. How bad could it be? And anyway, it’s only until his luggage shows up, or he finds Simon Brinks, whichever comes first. Of course, he doesn’t mention that to Terry.
“Twenty bucks an hour, twenty hours a week.”
Cameron’s optimism sinks as he runs through the math in his head. After taxes, and gas for the camper, it’ll be the end of summer before he can pay Aunt Jeanne back, even if he can save some cash by eating the expired groceries Ethan brings back from the store. End of summer is too late for her cruise deposit.
“I mean, I would take more hours if you offered them,” Cameron says.
Terry steeples his fingers and, after a thoughtful pause, says, “You clean, kiddo?”
Reflexively, Cameron glances down at his shirt, which maybe he should have thrown in the laundry back at Ethan’s place. Then he realizes what Terry must mean. His . . . record.
“Well, mostly. Got a couple misdemeanors. This one time, the bar was closing, and—”
Terry shakes his head. “No. I mean, do you clean? As in, can you mop floors?”
“Oh.” Cameron considers this. “Uh, yeah, totally.”
“I can give you more hours, then. Evening hours. But,” Terry holds up a prohibitive finger, “this part is temporary. I need someone to fill in for my regular cleaning lady for a few weeks.”
“Not a problem.”
“And, know this, Cameron Cassmore. Ethan Mack might not be very good at giving advice on job applications, but he is a very good friend of mine. I’m giving you a chance on his word.”
“Understood.” Cameron nods.
“Don’t let him down.”
WHILE HE WAITS for Ethan to pick him up, Cameron wanders down the pier. High noon sun throws flashy streaks of silver over the water’s surface. A group of paddleboarders sends little ripples toward the dock.
In his pocket, his fingers find the key card. He’s never had a boss who trusted him with a key before. He takes it out and snaps a pic of the key card with the water in the background, then texts the photo to Aunt Jeanne.
As he hits send, a call comes in. Cameron recognizes the number immediately; it’s the one he’s called about a thousand times this week. Left a half-dozen voice mails. His heart speeds up as he taps the green button.
“This is Cameron,” he says, putting on a businesslike air.
“Hello. This is John Hall from Brinks Development, Sowell Bay office.” The voice sounds tired. “You’ve left several messages here. Is there something I can help you with?”