Chapter 3
THREE
“Why are you coming with me again?” Grant asks on Friday morning as I slide into the terribly oversized truck I constantly make fun of.
It might make sense for him, since he owns a small contracting company and does a lot of the work himself with his small crew, but I am his little sister, which means it’s my job to constantly make his life more difficult.
"It’s take your sister to work day. Duh."
He glares at me. “That’s absolutely not a real thing.”
“Like you would know. You never even remember when Halloween is.”
“Why would I? I don’t have kids,” Grant says.
Every year, I bring two bags of candy to his house on the thirtieth, knowing damn well he is not going to have any for the next day.
Since he lives on a cul-de-sac in the suburbs, he always gets a ton of kids coming to his house.
If it weren’t for me, he’d probably be a big target on Mischief Night.
“Because it’s the same day each year!” I argue, and the very edges of his lips tip up, signaling he’s purposely trying to irritate me. I sigh and shake my head. “What I’m saying is, you don’t know holidays, so why would you know if Take Your Sister to Work Day isn’t real?”
“Because I have two brain cells and I’ve known you your whole life.
I know when you’re bullshitting me to avoid talking about something that you’re reluctant to address.
” Unfortunately, he had more to do with raising me than our parents did.
This often meant sifting out untruths and lies—not that I did that too often—but if anyone can read me like a book, it’s my older brother.
"So, tell me why you’re really here?" An anxious flutter twists in my stomach as I force myself to sound casual.
"I just wanted to see what it would be like working for you," I say, focusing on my nails and avoiding his gaze. I spent last night painting them a pretty pale pink to distract myself while filling out job applications, all the while dreading having this conversation with Grant.
“Why would you want to do that?” he asks, rightfully confused since physical labor and I have never been friends.
“In case I want to work with you.”
He starts to creep through the parking lot, moving forward as he gives me a puzzled look.
"Why?"
I bite my lip instead of meeting his eyes. “Because I quit my job, and I’ll need a backup soon.”
He slams on the brakes, making me test the crash resistance of his seatbelt.
“Jesus, Grant,” I grumble, rubbing at my neck where the strap rubbed it.
"What did you just say?" He turns in his seat to face me.
“Okay, so, I didn’t quit.” I roll my lips into my mouth.
“Technically, I’ve been laid off. But only for a year,” I add, trying to sound upbeat.
“They needed to reduce the number of teachers, and I’m the newest addition.
I’ll get my position back when Mrs. Evans retires.
I could have gone to Bridgeville to teach, but I chose to be laid off and come back next fall.
” Might as well just rip the Band-Aid off all at once.
“June. Why would you choose to quit instead of taking the other job? That’s reckless, and you know that.”
“I didn’t quit. I was laid off,” I say, my voice low and childish sounding even to my own ears.
“Laid off, quit, whatever. June. What were you thinking?”
I was thinking that each morning I woke up dreading the hours ahead, and I couldn’t live like that forever. But saying that out loud would trigger exactly the kind of alarm I'm trying to avoid. Better to keep that to myself—at least for now.
Or concern him more than how alarmed he already looks.
"I just wanted a change," I say. Wrong answer.
“Then dye your hair!” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “Get a tattoo! You don’t just up and quit your job. I can’t believe this, June. What are you going to do? You’re just throwing everything you worked for all away?”
"It’s just a year," I mumble, doubting myself.
"What will you do for that year?" he asks.
"I don’t know. I just…I saw the chance to catch my breath, and I took it.
Some days…" My words trail off as I stare out the window, pressing my forehead against the cool glass.
Nerves pull tightly at my stomach. "Sometimes, I don’t know if I want to be a teacher anymore," I admit, the confession escaping before I can stop it, my voice trembling.
"What do you mean you aren't sure if you want to be a teacher anymore?" Grant’s voice is sharp with surprise, and anxiety floods my chest. I chew my lip, my hands growing clammy in my lap as I fight the urge to shrink away.
I knew this wouldn’t go over well.
Grant gave up so much to support my dreams, and he’s always been the most responsible person I know. How could I ever explain that, even after getting everything I wanted, I sometimes feel lost? I force a smile, even though my cheeks ache from the effort.
“No, I mean…I don’t mean that I don’t want to be a teacher. I just think it will be fun to try something new for a bit. I’ve only ever worked with kids; I’ve never tried anything else. I love teaching. I’m young—why not take the opportunity to try something new?”
He continues to stare at me, though the tight look of concern starts to fade, and relief moves through me.
“So what’s your plan?” he asks. “You’re obviously not going to start putting up drywall with me, and you’re not going to run off to California to become some hippie artist.”
That’s what our parents did, after all. They’re hippies and while they were always happy, Grant and I were the ones who suffered.
They never had real jobs, refusing to work for The Man, and instead always had odd jobs that barely kept them fed and in art supplies.
Soon after Grant was born, they dumped him on Grandma and Grandpa to watch while they chased their dreams. For a while, I think everyone thought they’d actually do it—land some big gig and then fly Grant out to be with them—but when I came along, and it was more of the same, I think our grandparents and Grant both became a bit jaded.
It’s why Grant has always pushed both of us toward the most practical jobs, with him running a contracting business and sending me to school to be a teacher.
Normal, respectable jobs with consistent income and reliable hours.
I lift a shoulder, leaning into my regular happy-go-lucky attitude. Despite the fact that I don’t have a job, the mere fact that the worst of this conversation is over has my spirits lifting.
"I don’t know. I just…I'm going to figure it out, because I’m very lucky—things always seem to work out for me," I say, trying to exude confidence.
“Jobs don’t just fall into your lap, June.”
“They could,” I say. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but we’re turning into the lot for Surf, the luxury beach club that was built a few years ago and sold over the winter to Daydream resorts and Grant’s newest contract.
They’re creating a new line of their luxury day resorts, and this is the first location.
Apparently, Claire’s older sister, Sutton, encouraged her boss, the VP of Operations for the large luxury chain, and his girlfriend to spend a week vacationing here, and they fell in love with the area.
As soon as he puts the truck into park, I open my door, eager to get out of this jail cell.
“June,” he says, looking at me, and my entire body stills. “We’re not done with this conversation. We have to figure out what you’re going to do.”
“I’ve got it covered, Grant. I’m lucky; it will all work out. It always does.” It’s what I’ve been telling myself all week, desperately trying to believe it myself, but I force myself to sound convincing enough for Grant. He lets out a deep sigh and shakes his head.
“What am I going to do with you, June Bug?”
“Love me eternally. Unfortunately, you’re my big brother, and that’s your only option.
” He sighs and looks up at the roof of his truck as if looking for some peace he might find up there, and while he’s distracted, I hop out of the car and toward the entrance.
A door slams behind me, and the locks bleep before Grant is taking long strides beside me.
“I’ve gotta see what the guys are doing. You stay here since those shoes aren’t great for a construction zone,” he says, looking at my feet, which are in a pair of sandals. “Don’t think construction is really in your future.”
“Excuse me, I would rock a pair of steel-toed boots,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.
“Just stay in the business area, okay? Don’t get into trouble,” he says, walking me through the front door.
Stepping in, I take it in. The place looks totally different from the last time I was here, taking shots with Claire and Lainey on the night Claire fell into Miles’ arms, literally.
It’s wild to think that was barely a year ago, considering it feels like it was an entire lifetime ago.
In place of the dark nightclub vibe it boasted then, it’s bright, open, and fittingly beachy, with a small stand at the front where I assume someone will check guests in and a dining area right beyond it.
I follow him through a hidden door to the left of the entrance and into a much less interesting area with a few desks and offices, white walls, and fluorescent lighting.
Grant wanders off with one last reminder to behave before I move through the space, too nosy not to inspect.
I’m wandering around the office area, which looks almost clinical compared to the beauty area for customers and clients, when a door opens to an office.
On instinct, my head turns to it, and I see a familiar face.
“Hey, June!” Sutton Donovan says, walking out of an office and scanning the room, smiling when she sees me there.
“I didn’t realize you were my next interview!
” Her light blonde hair is tucked behind her ears, and she’s wearing a pretty purple dress and sneakers, somehow looking both effortlessly cool and businesslike.