Chapter 20 #2
Nate presses his lips together, and I wince at the bitterness in my voice.
“It’s not that I resented her for having a career,” I clarify.
“She taught me everything I know about hard work. But what she sold was a lie. Jolee didn’t give her any more free time to spend with family than a regular job would’ve—it probably gave her less.
We hardly ever spent time together unless I was helping her package gifts for her downline or pose for before-and-after photos with new products.
And every time she convinced someone to commit to Jolee full time, that person was doomed to either a schedule like hers or financial failure. Or both.”
“How much did you understand at the time?” Nate asks. “About what Jolee was?”
I rake my fork through my eggs. “It was all I knew. We were fully immersed in it. It’s fucked up to say, but I have so many happy memories from that time, before things started to go bad.
You may roll your eyes— I roll my eyes—but Jolee was our community.
At least it felt that way, until it was gone.
“Do you want to know the first time I Googled what a pyramid scheme was? Junior year, the day one of my best friends told me she wasn’t supposed to talk to me anymore because her parents blamed my mom for the ten boxes of worthless Jolee trash they had sitting in their garage instead of a reliable car. ”
He opens his mouth, but we don’t have time for sympathy. I toss my plate in the trash. “I see a couple Beach House people over there. I’m going to ask them if they’ve seen Logan.”
They haven’t, but they heard he headed to the main stage early, so we grab a ride on a golf cart. “I don’t want to be too heavy-handed,” Nate says as we wind down a tree-lined path. “When we find him, let’s be cool at first. Once he warms up to me, I’ll ask if we can talk privately between shows.”
“At what point will you break out the dogcatcher’s pole?”
He shakes his head. “So sassy lately.” Before I can respond, he frowns at his phone and brings it to his ear. “Hello?”
The golf cart pulls to a stop in front of a fenced area with an entrance flanked by security guards. I thank our driver and hop out, hovering in the grass while Nate distractedly follows suit, focused on his conversation.
“Yeah…Are you sure?…How did you hear?…Who are they?…No, I appreciate it.” His dismal expression worsens as the call goes on.
Other festival-goers stream around us into the VIP area.
It’s warm and sunny today, although the ground is still wet.
People are dressed in a mix of Midwestern practical and country chic, with one particularly ingenious woman wearing a cute crochet two-piece set and a pair of white leather ankle boots wrapped in plastic bags.
I wonder if she’s going to take the bags off for photos or just crop out everything below her shins.
Speaking of photos, I should take some once we pass a photogenic spot.
There’s supposed to be a sunflower garden somewhere, which will be a perfect backdrop.
Maren Morris is performing later, and I know I can find some on-point song lyrics about bad relationships in her discography to use as a caption.
I should be excited about this stuff. It furthers my goals and gives me an opportunity to connect with people. But finding the enthusiasm to do it is like struggling to turn on a car with a bad engine.
Boo-hoo. Poor me, stuck at a big party teeming with energy and live music, posing in a cute outfit for a photo that thousands of people will like and comment on, that will serve as one of the building blocks helping me take my career to the next level.
At least today I’m not going to insult a woman with cancer.
“All good?” I ask Nate when he hangs up, even though his tense expression makes it clear that all is not, in fact, good.
“That was my brother. He heard there’s another bidder. A company that already owns three big day camps up north.”
My stomach plummets. “What? Is he sure?”
He massages his jaw. “Joe from the bagel shop told him, and Joe knows everything.”
“It’s okay. You knew other people would be interested, right? It’s a sign that it’s a good investment. And they can’t compete with your personal connection.”
“Can I compete with them financially? And experience-wise? They have a track record. I doubt Logan’s parents want to see me run the camp into the ground.”
“You’re not going to run the camp into the ground!” I say. “You’re going to maintain its legacy as a locally owned small business that serves the community.”
“You’re really good at spinning things.”
“It’s not spin. It’s the truth. You want this badly, right? You know you’re going to be good at it?” I squeeze his shoulder.
“Yeah.” He sighs, wrapping an arm around my waist and squeezing me closer. He presses his face into my hair. “Thank you. Okay, let’s go. We really need to find Logan now.”
Yeah, we really do, because I am so confused about where we stand. The longer we stay in this gray area, the worse it’s going to be when it’s over.