Chapter 18 – Claire
EIGHTEEN
CLAIRE
I’ve been on the clock for barely four hours of my ten-hour shift, and I’m already exhausted.
This is the first time I can really understand why Miles can’t stand the tourists who descend on this town. It’s the first week since most of the public schools in the state were let out, and families have started to show up tenfold.
So far I’ve had to go into the water after an adult let their inner tube drift out too far, only to do it again an hour later. That resulted in my sending Helen a text to consider banning the tubes in the water, a rule we’re enacting starting tomorrow.
I also had to take a kid to the first aid stand when he stepped on a crab, then listened to his mother tell me I should do a better job at making sure there is nothing that can hurt her child on the natural beach.
Finally, ten minutes ago, I had to leave my post and argue with a family who decided to set up camp dead center in the roped-off area right in front of my chair. The dad spent half the time arguing with me, half of it staring at my boobs before his wife finally told him to go find another spot.
I’m grumbling to myself as I climb back up to my chair when I get a new text from Miles.
Do you need this?
I smile at the text and the accompanying photo he sends, my sticker-laden water bottle on the counter, the one that’s nearly surgically attached to me most of the time. I realized I left it behind this morning and grabbed a plastic one from the lifeguard house but in this heat, it got warm and gross in less than a half hour.
MY BABY.
I can’t believe I left her at home.
I try not to think too much about calling Miles’s place home or how much it actually feels that way.
Want me to bring it to you?
I smile wide, then look around to see if anyone is watching me. It feels like some kind of secret every time Miles texts me, since I don’t think I ever see the man scrolling his phone or even using it for anything other than calls.
But he texts me.
I would do crazy things for you if you did.
I should send a follow-up text to explain and make it less weird, because I can just picture him blushing, and even though I refuse to stop altogether (I think I’m physically incapable), I have been making an effort to tone it down lately. But before I can, he replies.
Where are you posted?
I look at my watch, then at the boardwalk, and decide I can take my break a bit early. I turn to Carly, who is on post with me, and tell her I’ll be back in thirty before moving down the beach toward where my things are to grab them, and so I can tell Helen I’m headed on break.
Lifeguard house? I’m about to take my break.
I ignore the way I want to add, to hang out with you. It wouldn’t be the first time. Occasionally, Miles would have his lunch on the boardwalk, grabbing a slice of pizza or a sausage sandwich, and I’d meet him there, sometimes June or Grant joining us, and sometimes just us.
I’ll be there in five.
I’ll meet you on the boards.
With a rush of girly excitement, I make my way down the beach to where the covered lifeguard beach house is on the sand, opening the door to grab my bag.
“Wow, what happened in here?” I ask as Helen sits at the desk, her graying dark hair in a messy knot on top of her head, dozens of papers around her.
“The devil,” she groans, and I let out a laugh.
“I’m sorry?”
“Budgets. The devil. Same thing.” I nod with understanding, even if I don’t actually understand. Helen sometimes speaks in a code only she understands, but if you give her a minute to process, she always interprets and clarifies. “I don’t think the department can fund the soccer league this fall,” she says with a sigh.
Instead of reaching for my bag like planned, I take a step closer, arms crossed on my chest. “Do they normally?”
She nods. “The coaches are all volunteers, and we try to make it so the kids don’t have entry fees. But we still have to pay for league fees, field rentals, jerseys, snacks…unfortunately, the town cut our funding this year. I think we’ll have to charge for the program.”
I see the scattered papers before her and tip my chin toward them.
“Do you mind?” I ask. “If I take a look?”
She waves her hands at me, then shifts her rolling chair back to give me room. “Not at all. My old eyes aren’t too good at these things anymore.”
I scan the columns of money in and out, noting the salaries, beach badge income, and the cost of the lifeguard program, as well as the projected fundraising from the upcoming events, before finally I point to the block party.
“Can we add something here? A contest or some activities that cost something? We can also look into getting some of the local businesses to fundraise, give out flyers, and a certain percentage of sales would go to the department that day.”
Helen looks at me like my relatively basic ideas are new and exciting.
“That’s…that’s a great idea. We used to do more at the events, but with everyone spread too thin…”
I shrug.
“I could take it over.” She gives me a wary look, then shakes her head, but I speak before she can. “No charge, I’ll do it off the clock. I love planning things. My mom is a PTA president, a class mom, the whole nine. It’s almost in my blood at this point. We could do some stations of crafts at the block party and contests with entry fees. We could raise this money easily.”
“You think?” she asks, tipping her head like she sees me in a new light.
“In a town like this? Where half of the people are tourists already primed to spend money? Hell yeah. Honestly, you guys should be amping up this time of year, honing in to bleed the tourists dry to pay for the people who make this place what it is.”
She smiles at me, leaning back with her arms crossed on her chest.
“You know, you’re good for this place,” she says, and I smile, suddenly self-conscious.
“I’ve had a lot of jobs. They all end up building on one another. Some people see it as a bad thing, the job hopping, but I see it as skill building. That way, when I have a friend who needs to know how to perfectly wrap a gift or someone who can choreograph an eight-year-old’s dance recital, or someone like you who wants some fundraising advice, I’ve got you.”
She tips her head, reading me in a way I do not like .
“Have you considered working in recreation? Or fundraising? That’s basically the skill set that’s needed: a jack of all trades.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “God, no. Much too structured for me.”
“I don’t know about that,” she says, tipping her head toward her disaster of a desk with a laugh.
I shrug, suddenly feeling like I’m under a microscope when I very much do not want to be, something she must read on me.
“Sorry, sorry, not trying to be a nudge. Go on your break.” I smile and nod. “But later, maybe we can talk about some things. Like I said, you’re good here.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say noncommittally, then head out the door.
“Hey, Claire, right?” a voice asks as I close the door behind me, and my entire body stills, hand still on the doorknob.
In the window, Helen gives me a curious look. “Do you need help?” she mouths, but I give her a slight shake of my head and a roll of my eyes. It’s not uncommon for beachgoers to try and come to this building for something, though they don’t typically know my name.
“Hey, yeah, I’m Claire,” I say, slightly uncomfortable but trying to play it cool. “Do you need something?”
“I’m Brad. And you’re actually just the person I was hoping to see.”
I tilt my head to the side, confused, but then I notice he’s in another white polo, but this time, it has the logo for Surf on it. It’s tucked into a pair of khakis, and he’s wearing dress shoes despite the fact that there’s sand grinding beneath his feet. In contrast, I’m in an oversized lifeguard sweatshirt and shorts, my flip-flops slipped into my bag.
Somehow, I just know the guy is a tool, and he looks the part, too.
“How can I help you?” I ask with a tight smile, eyes moving to the boardwalk to keep a lookout for Miles.
“I need to hire some lifeguards.” My jaw goes tight. “The older ones, above legal age.” My brow furrows, and I fight an actual grimace moving across my face.
“Excuse me? This is a township recreation department,” I say. I want to add not an escort service , but considering I’m technically on the clock, I resist the urge.
He lets out a fake laugh, and it grates against me in a way I hate more than anything.
“Of course, I know that, Claire.” I don’t like the way he says my name, like he’s holding the knowledge of it over my head. “You see, I’m hosting a beach games tournament, and we were told we need to hire township lifeguards and EMS to get the proper permitting. I just thought it would be nice for the participants and guests to have some kind of…eye candy, you know?”
I fight a gag at the way he gives me a once-over.
“Beach games?”
“We’re going to start promoting it soon, but yes. It’s going to be quite the event, teams competing in different games, a winner, a big party after.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” I say, because even if I hate this guy, I bet beach games would be fun.
“You know, I’ve even meant to talk since our first meet got a little…interrupted,” he says, then steps closer to me. I give him a tight smile and step back. “At Surf. You started dancing and then were dragged away.”
“Yeah, sorry about that, but?—”
And then we’re interrupted once again.