My dinky insignia jacket and silly gold-crested suit are so lame, but Mr. Garrett doesn’t appear to notice. “This is just the first of the load,” he tells me. “They tell you where these’re supposed to go?”
Lumber? No, I’m blank, which obviously shows.
“No worries. I’ll give the building manager a ring before we get going carrying the rest.”
I didn’t know Garrett’s Hardware even did lumber. I know nothing about the Garretts’ business, and I feel shamed by this suddenly, like I should know.
As he’s calling, I peer over his shoulder down to the curb, where I can see Jase’s distinctive form bent into the back of a faded green pickup truck. My pulse picks up. How is it that my world and the Garretts’ had such sharp boundaries until this summer and now they keep interlocking?
“Yup”—Mr. Garrett snaps the phone shut—“they want it right here between the two pools. I guess they’re building a tiki bar.”
Right. A tiki bar will blend in great with the whole Henry VIII vibe going on at the B&T. Bring me a scorpion bowl, wench. I glance through the bushes in search of Tim, but see only a drift of cigarette smoke.
“Sam!” Jase balances a stack of wood on his shoulder, sweaty in the summer heat. He’s wearing jeans and has a pair of thick work gloves on. The wood drops onto the pool deck with a clatter and he comes right up for a kiss, salty warm. His gloves are rough on my arms and he tastes like cinnamon gum. I pull back, suddenly very aware of Mr. Lennox’s window overlooking the pool and Tim not twenty feet away. And Nan. Not to mention Mrs. Henderson tanning nearby. She’s in the Garden Club with Mom.
Jase stands back to survey me, raising his eyebrows slightly.
“You’re an admiral now?” This is not what I expect him to say. He touches the gold braid on the shoulders of my jacket. “Big promotion from Breakfast Ahoy.” He smiles. “Do I have to salute you?”
“Please don’t.”
Jase bends in for another kiss. I stiffen. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mrs. Henderson sit up, cell phone to her ear. Surely she hasn’t got my mom on speed dial…?
The expression in Jase’s eyes—it’s surprise and a little hurt. He scans my face.
“Sorry!” I say. “Have to keep up appearances while in uniform.” I flap my hand at him. Keep up appearances? “I mean—keep my eyes on the pool. Not get distracted. The management gets all uptight about ‘fraternizing on the job,’” I say, gesturing toward Mr. Lennox’s window.
Shooting the Lifeguard Off Duty sign a puzzled glance, Jase falls back and nods. I cringe inwardly. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Is this acceptable then?” He ducks to give my forehead a chaste smack.
Mr. Garrett calls, “Hey, J, I need four hands for this one and I’ve only got the two.”
I flush, but Jase just smiles at me and turns to help his dad. Maybe Mr. Garrett is used to Jase kissing girls in front of him? Maybe this is all easy and expected for both of them. Why is it so weird and hard for me?
At this point, Mr. Lennox hurries out, looking flustered. I brace myself. “They didn’t say when you were coming,” he says. “Nothing but ‘between noon and five’!” I exhale, feeling silly.
“Bad time?” Mr. Garrett asks, easing the latest stack of wood onto the last.
“I just like to have Notice,” Mr. Lennox protests. “Did you sign in at the gatehouse? All service people need to sign in with Precise time of Delivery and Departure.”
“We just pulled up to the curb. I’ve delivered here before. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“It’s Club Protocol.” Mr. Lennox’s tone is urgent.
“I’ll sign on the way out,” Mr. Garrett says. “Do you want the rest in a pile here? When does construction start?”
Apparently another sore point for the flustered Mr. Lennox. “They haven’t told me that either.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mr. Garrett tells him. “We’ve got a tarp to leave in case it takes a while and there’s rain.”
He and Jase go back and forth to the truck, alternately carrying single loads and hauling them together, a team. Mr. Lennox hovers, possibly needing CPR soon.
“That’s the lot,” Mr. Garrett says finally. “I just need this signed.” He holds out a clipboard to Mr. Lennox, then stands back, clenching and unclenching his left hand, wincing.
I glance over at Jase. He’s stripped off the gloves and is wiping his brow. Though it’s cloudy, the temperature’s over eighty and it’s humid as usual.