16. Flick
FLICK
He lay in bed thinking of all the ways he’d screwed up with Darcy in the golf cart. Why couldn’t he ever keep his thoughts to himself? His mom always said, People don’t like to hear the truth. It’s like shoving a mirror in their face. Flick had long suspected that had more to do with his mother’s personal history with his father, whose name they did not mention, so he’d chalked it up to her own hard feelings—not a universal truth. But now he wondered if maybe she was right.
Darcy had ignored his texts after the party, but when he’d awakened the next day, there was her reply, as golden as the July sun spilling through his curtains. It wasn’t the best text—in fact, it was one cryptic word—but there it was. Same. He’d take it.
Flick stretched lazily, wondering exactly what she’d meant, before he couldn’t ignore the growling of his stomach or the smell of bacon coming from downstairs. He barely knew Darcy Birch. Why did the girl have such an effect on him?
Downstairs, his mother was waiting for him at the kitchen island with a huge spread, and a suspicious look on her face.
“What happened?” he asked. Josie didn’t cook. So far Stan specialized only in grilled meats. There had not been any big breakfasts since they’d moved into the big house, so Flick knew right away that something was up.
Josie laughed. “Oh, would you relax? We have this gigantic new kitchen and it’s time I started using it. Besides, if we want to entertain more, I need to practice.” She elbowed Stan, who was eyeing the plate of bacon.
“Your mother has a lot of big ideas,” Stan said, but he didn’t look like he minded. He, too, seemed to be waiting as Flick surveyed the scrambled eggs, cut fruit, and plate of bacon. Flick reached for a piece.
“So, we have some news!” Josie announced.
With the piece of bacon halfway to his lips, Flick’s stomach fell. He set the bacon down. God, he hoped they weren’t having a baby. He’d given up New York and his best friend, and he’d moved here to the land of dense forests and even denser rich kids. He could handle all that if he had to. But he did not want to be a big brother. Josie had had him young, but Stan was not young. And being related to someone related to Stan was not something Flick relished. Besides, he was pretty sure Stan would not father an especially attractive child.
Flick stared at his mother, unable to speak.
“We’re joining the club!” Josie shrieked. She announced this like she’d gotten into Harvard or won the lotto (though according to her she had, by marrying Stan).
Flick’s stomach surged with relief as the image of a half-Stan baby vaporized, then clenched again. “Wait—what?”
“Mayhaven,” Josie said, as if he didn’t know which club. “Stan and I went to the open house, and it’s everything I hoped for. We’re joining.”
Stan offered what resembled a smile, for him. “Your mother is going to learn to play tennis,” he said.
“We are going to learn,” she corrected.
“Oh no.” Stan wagged a finger. “I golf. My brothers golf. We will be playing golf. Tennis can be your thing, especially if you wear one of those swishy little skirts, right?” He planted a wet kiss on her lips and Josie kissed him back. Flick had to look away.
“Anyway, we filed our application, and we’ll find out soon if we’re in.”
“Of course, we’re in,” Stan said, shoving a whole piece of bacon in his mouth. “Who wouldn’t take us?”
Flick could think of one person.
It had been lost on him that you had to apply to get into Mayhaven. Flick figured anyone with bags of money was a shoo-in. But if that weren’t the case, and Mr. Birch was in charge, and Stan had been an asshole to him… “So, are you applying to any other clubs?” he asked. Maybe they should be looking at this like college applications and widen their search.
Josie made a face. “Why? Mayhaven is perfect. That’s where I want to belong.” She pushed the platter of eggs closer to her son. “You didn’t tell me how gorgeous it is up there. The lake, the hills, the outdoor dining. Best of all, you’ll be a member, too!”
Flick really did not care to be a member. Not with the likes of Spencer and his crew. He didn’t play golf or tennis, and had zero interest in rubbing elbows with a bunch of elitist old folks. What he liked was his job. He liked working for Mossimo in the kitchen and learning how to cook unique things. He liked watching the campers play, and the cute college girls who strolled by in their bikinis and smiled at him when he worked the snack shack. But becoming a member?
“I don’t know,” he said, shoveling eggs onto his plate. “I’m not really into that scene. Maybe you guys join, and I just keep working there.”
“You won’t work there if we get in.” Josie said this like it was already decided.
Both Stan and Flick stared at her in disbelief. “What? Why can’t the kid work there?”
“Yeah, I like my job!”
It was the only thing the two had united on so far, but Flick would take it.
Josie shook her head in exasperation. “How would that look? We’ll be surrounded by people who send their kids to private schools and have nannies and big jobs in Boston—but our poor kid needs to wash dishes in the back kitchen while we dine on the upper decks?”
“First of all, I don’t wash dishes…” Flick began.
“Who cares what people think?” Stan interrupted. “The kid says he likes his job. And it’s good for him to earn some pocket money.”
“He doesn’t need pocket money,” Josie insisted. “He’s got us.”
This was not technically true, and it made Flick uncomfortable. Flick had Josie— she was his parent. Stan was not, and Flick couldn’t have Stan thinking he wanted him to be. God, his mother could make such awkward proclamations when she wanted to win an argument. He pushed his plate away. “I’m going to be late for work.”
“But wait,” Josie said. “You don’t need to work, honey. The club was a way for you to keep busy and meet new people this summer. Once we’re members, you can just enjoy it.”
She didn’t get it. He wasn’t exactly making friends at Mayhaven.
Again, Stan came to his rescue. “Listen to what he’s saying, sweet stuff. I think he does enjoy it up there, right, kid?” Stan may have had his own interests in Flick being busy and out of the house more often than not, but Flick decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“I don’t want to quit. Besides, you’re not even in yet.”
Josie’s eyes flashed. “We will be.”
Flick decided to capitalize on the one thing Josie seemed to care about. “Then you don’t want me to be late, do you? It might impact what Mr. Birch thinks.”
At the mention of the neighbor, Stan got fired up. “Birch? He just works there. He doesn’t get to call the shots.”
“Well, it’s certainly not going to help our chances that you didn’t invite them to our party last weekend,” Josie reminded him.
Flick left them debating by the uneaten breakfast buffet.
When he pulled into Mayhaven, he couldn’t help but look at it with fresh eyes. Had the lot always been so full of Porsches and Range Rovers? He locked his Chevy, which was a joke—no one here would take it—and went in. The kitchen was empty, so he checked the assignment board. Ricky wasn’t scheduled until noon. Flick had been assigned to the drink cart for the afternoon. He laughed out loud.
Driving the drink cart was Wendy’s gig and, man, was she territorial about it. He’d once made the mistake of asking Mossimo what it would take to get a shift on the cart. Wendy, in the midst of dicing onions, had looked up from her cutting board. “Step off, junior. If I’m cooped up indoors I get edgy.” She’d rotated her knife so that the light bounced off its blade. Flick thought she was joking, but given the look on Ricky’s face and Mossimo’s swift departure, he knew better. For him to get the drink cart assignment today meant Wendy was either out of state or half dead.
The cart didn’t go out until noon, but there was a slew of sandwiches to prep and beverages to load. On his way to the fridge, there came a rustling sound from the back. Flick startled. In the pantry he found Adam Birch stacking cans of tomato sauce in military-precise rows. He’d heard that Adam had been hired, but this was the first time they’d crossed paths. Adam’s gaze flickered his way and then back to the shelf.
“Morning,” Flick said.
“Midmorning.”
“What?”
“Technically, it’s midmorning.” He watched as Adam turned a can left then right until its label was centered.
“Right.” Adam was Darcy’s brother and his boss’s son. Flick wanted to be friendly. “So you’re working in the kitchen today?”
“No, I’m working in the pantry. Then I work in the office.”
There had been whispers about Adam. Wendy had called him special. Ricky had said he was fine to work with as long as you didn’t interrupt him, which apparently Flick was doing right now.
“I’ll be at the prep island if you need anything,” Flick said, trying to demonstrate camaraderie.
“Why would I need you?”
Flick smiled. It was a fair question.
When Mossimo came in a little later, Flick had assembled twenty Thai chicken salad sandwiches, twenty ham and Gruyère croissants, and fifteen vegetarian wraps for the cart.
“Good morning!” Mossimo called out in his booming voice.
Flick noticed that Adam did not correct him on the time of day.
Mossimo headed straight for Adam where Flick overheard him inquire about a delayed shipment of olive oil.
“Were you able to locate it?” Mossimo asked. “If it doesn’t come in today, I’ll have to source elsewhere.” The chef sounded distressed.
Adam was matter-of-fact. “I called wholesale, and they said it shipped. But when I checked the tracking, it shows it never left their distributor’s warehouse. So I called them next.”
“And?” Mossimo asked.
“They said it should be here between three and five. I emailed you the tracking information, and I printed a hard copy. It’s on your desk.”
“Excellent, thank you. When you’re done here, I’d like you to check inventory of dry goods. We’re running low on flour and rice.”
Mossimo returned to the kitchen and looked at Flick. “Something wrong?”
“No.” Flick got back to work. Here he was scooping chicken salad while Adam managed shipments, delivery, and inventory.
Mossimo leaned over his shoulder and inspected his prep work. “You forgot tuna.”
“Tuna?”
“The older members like their tuna salad. On white.” Mossimo shuddered. “Make ten.”
When Ricky came in, he helped Flick carry the sandwiches downstairs to the storage area. Two industrial refrigerators hummed against one wall. Canned and bottled beverages lined the metal shelving racks on the other. The drink cart was parked just outside. “Big day on the cart,” Ricky said, sliding the door open. “Don’t screw it up.”
Flick couldn’t tell if he were joking or not.
“Has Wendy shown you the drill before?” Ricky asked. Then he caught himself and laughed. “Of course she hasn’t. Alright, sports drinks, water, and premixed beverages are stored in that fridge, and sandwiches in the other. Load half of what you made into the cart and come back to restock as needed.”
He waited while Flick loaded the trays into the refrigerator. When they got to the vegetarian wraps, Flick balked. “Do you really sell many of those?”
Ricky shook his head. “This is a country club, man. You’ve got a lot to learn about their palates.
“Charges go on member accounts. Your job is to drive the track and offer service, same as the dining room.”
“Got it. What about the cart? Is it hard to handle?” It was much bigger and wider than a golf cart.
Ricky shrugged. “It’s heavy, so go easy and stick to the track. Got it?”
Flick was suddenly feeling overwhelmed. But he nodded.
“Good.” Ricky slapped him on the back. “Smile for the tips, pretty boy!”
He’d just finished loading the cart with beverages when he realized he’d left his phone upstairs. Ricky had warned him to have it on the course for communication. He raced back inside.
Halfway up the stairwell, he heard men’s voices at the top. “I thought we talked about this. He is to work in the kitchen, not in the office.” Flick halted on the lower landing where he was out of sight.
“Yes, Mr. Delancey, he was in the kitchen all morning. He helped me solve a shipping problem, in fact.”
It was Spencer’s father and Mossimo.
“So why is he working in the office with Jane right now?” Mr. Delancey sounded annoyed. “When I went in there he had his hands all over billing. That kid has no business looking at members’ invoices or statements; it’s an invasion of privacy.”
“Privacy?” Flick could tell Mossimo found this ridiculous. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Birch told me Adam could divide his time between the kitchen and the main office.”
“Mr. Birch is not in charge. He works for the board,” Mr. Delancey said. “And as chairman of the board, I can assure you that we are not running a daycare center here.”
“Adam has a wonderful mind for numbers.”
Delancey was not having it. “That boy has issues.”
“His name is Adam.”
“Excuse me?”
“That boy. His name is Adam.”
Flick winced. He had to give it to Mossimo, the guy had balls.
Delancey leaned in, and the two men stood toe-to-toe. “He stays in the kitchen with you, is that clear?”
“Crystal,” Mossimo said flatly.
“Stick to your job in the kitchen, Chef. If it’s a job you value.”
A heavy beat of silence was followed by swift footsteps as Delancey stalked out. Flick waited, then peered up the stairs in time to see Mossimo punch the wall. His fist landed where Delancey had been standing.
Out on the course, there was no time to reflect on what he’d just seen. Flick moved steadily along the track, stopping at each hole. Ham and Gruyère croissants flew off the cart, chicken salad coming in second place. Nobody wanted the vegetarian wraps, as predicted. The men wanted beers, the women wanted water. Tips weren’t exactly life-changing. But Flick got his hopes up when he came across Mr. Upton and some clients. Upton was a big deal finance guy in the city, and his drink order ended up being a big deal, too. He eyed the premixed beverages in the cart like he’d stepped in dog poo. “James makes the best bloodies. We like them fresh.” James was the club’s bartender, all the way back in the clubhouse restaurant. Which is exactly where Upton sent Flick. “It’ll be worth your while,” he said, winking. Flick turned the cart around, knowing this would throw off his schedule, but eager to please. Driving along the bumpy cart path with a tray of four Bloody Marys proved a near disaster, but he did it. When he proudly handed them over, Upton slipped him two bills. Twenties? Fifties? Wendy bragged she once got four Benjamins from one foursome. Flick waited until Upton turned away before he looked. He was still staring in disbelief at the two singles in his palm when Upton called out.
“Better keep moving. I think you’re behind schedule.”
His spirits were low as he approached the next foursome, until he spied Bitsy Babcock. Bitsy introduced him around as her “delicious pal” and her partners crowded around him. Where did he go to school? Did he have a girlfriend? He made out like a bandit at that hole.
By the time he made one sweep of the course the cart needed restocking. He passed a group of campers on his way back to the clubhouse. Leading them was a girl who worked with Darcy—what was her name? Lily? Darcy had been on his mind since her one-worded text.
When he pulled the drink cart up to the clubhouse, he found a member of the Birch family, but it wasn’t Darcy.
Adam was slumped against the side of the clubhouse, his hands covering his face. Not sure what to do, Flick decided to go about his business. He unloaded the bag of trash he’d collected and dumped the empties into the recycling bin. The crash of plastic made Adam cover his ears.
“Sorry,” Flick said.
Adam sniffed and swiped at his nose. Flick could see he’d been crying.
“Are you okay?” he ventured.
“Please leave me alone.” Adam crossed his arms tight, but his voice was soft. All of a sudden he looked much younger.
Flick remembered Mossimo and Mr. Delancey on the back stairs. He wondered if he should go find Mr. Birch.
“I have to restock this cart,” Flick said. “But if you need help, I’m here.” He started loading fresh sandwiches into the cooler.
“You’re doing it wrong.”
Flick turned to see Adam scrutinizing his work.
“The sandwiches go in flat, not sideways. You’re crushing them. Nobody wants a crushed sandwich.”
“No,” Flick agreed. “Nobody wants that.”
“Let me,” Adam said, coming over. When he looked inside the cooler he gasped. “What were you thinking?” He began removing every single sandwich. “This is all wrong. Good thing I’m here.”
Flick tried to hide his smile. “Yeah, good thing.”
“I like your car,” Adam said suddenly.
“This isn’t my car.”
“Duh. I meant your car. The Chevy Malibu, from 2013.”
“That’s right.” Flick looked at Adam with surprise.
“You just missed the V-6 by one year. Too bad.” Adam made a face. “But one hundred ninety-seven horsepower isn’t bad.”
Flick couldn’t believe it. “You really do like cars.”
When Adam had stored the sandwiches to his satisfaction, he turned to Flick. “All fixed now.”
“Thanks,” Flick said. “You’re pretty good at that.”
The compliment had the opposite effect. Adam’s face crumpled and tears sprang to his eyes. “I’m really good at lots of things.”
“Adam? What’s wrong?”
They both turned to see Darcy rounding the corner. She was carrying a basket full of craft supplies, but seeing Adam’s face she dumped them on the ground and rushed up to her brother. “What happened?” She turned to Flick. “What did you say to him?”
Flick hopped back. “I didn’t say anything, I found him like this.”
But Darcy wasn’t listening.
The moment he laid eyes on his sister, Adam’s defenses collapsed.
Flick ducked out of the way and finished his job as Adam cried to Darcy. It was hard to make out exactly what he was saying, but Flick froze when he heard his name.
It was a relief when Darcy finally took Adam inside. What was it with this girl? One minute she was kidnapping him to steal golf carts and wine and the next she was blaming him for upsetting her brother. He’d just started the cart when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
He turned to face Darcy’s big green eyes.
“Adam told me you were nice to him. That you tried to help.”
Flick felt himself soften. “He did?” Adam had given no indication he’d absorbed anything beyond the sandwich crisis.
“Adam can be…” She looked off in the distance at a group of campers. “Complicated. But he’s very sensitive, and he knows a lot more than people give him credit for.”
“Okay.” He was about to share what he’d overheard on the stairs, but caught himself. Things were complicated enough with this girl. Darcy was smart. She’d figure it out.
“Thank you for being so nice to him.”
Flick needed to get back out on the course. The ice was melting in the coolers and the golfers would be hungry. But he couldn’t pull his gaze away just yet. “No problem,” he said. “Adam is a good kid.”
“So are you.” Before he knew what was happening Darcy leaned in and kissed him. By the time Flick pressed his hand to where her lips had brushed his cheek, she was already jogging back to her campers.