4. Jenny
Chapter 4
Jenny
I can do this. I will rock this interview for this job. This job I desperately need. My artwork isn’t selling because I haven’t been able to do any shows recently after moving back to town to help my grandpa. And I can’t keep living in a motel because the cost is just too much. I need somewhere that I can work and make money while I figure everything out. Hopefully this job will be just the thing.
Holly mentioned Trent will be doing the interview. He seemed nice when I met him yesterday. Hopefully, he is in the same good mood today.
“I should have guessed,” says Trent with a big grin on his face as he walks forward, stopping in front of me.
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?” I ask, shifting slightly as my bag strap digs into my shoulder.
Trent just shakes his head, then removes his baseball cap, revealing messy hair that looks like it has seen one too many days under that cap. Running his hands through it, he says, “I should have guessed it would be you that Holly sent to me.”
“Is there something wrong with me?” I ask. My pulse quickens as my thoughts spiral. I need this job. This interview has to go well, and right now, it’s not seeming like it will. Although, Trent is still smiling, and his eyes twinkle with something that feels more like amusement than judgment.
“No,” says Trent, “it’s just a very Holly thing to do.” He gestures to the front door. “So, let’s walk and talk. I’m not your typical boss, and this isn’t a typical job. I thought we could walk around the marina and lodge as we talk.”
I nod as he holds the door open for me, the soft chime of the bell above the door ringing out as we step into the crisp morning air. The faint scent of lake water and pine greets me, mingling with the lingering aroma of coffee from the shop counter.
“Why do you want this job, Jenny?” he asks, his voice cutting through the soft murmur of distant boat engines.
“Well,” I say, my fingers playing with the strap of my bag. I guess I should just be completely honest. “It’s not that I necessarily want this job, but I need it.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I just moved back here from Atlanta. I was raised here but have been working in Atlanta since I graduated from college there. My grandmother recently passed away and because of that, I had to pack up and move here to help my grandpa. I am trying to take care of my grandparents’ medical bills and retirement home costs. We sold their house, but the money from the sale is only going to cover so much. That’s why I was so distracted yesterday and stepped into traffic without looking, because I’d just left the bank. I was trying to get a loan, but with no collateral to my name and no full-time job . . . well, I was unsuccessful.” I pause my long rambling, glancing over at Trent.
His expression is unreadable, but then something in his eyes softens, like a ripple in calm water.
“I’m not looking for a handout,” I say. “I am a hard worker. That’s how my grandparents raised me to be. And I’ve held just about any job over the years, so I should be able to handle a marina store.”
Trent holds up his hand to pause me, and I stop mid-step, the gravel crunching under my Converse. “You say you’ve had a variety of jobs, but what is it you did in Atlanta?”
“Oh, that. I’m an artist. Or at least I was trying to be. I had the occasional art show at galleries in Atlanta and did fairly well, but the uncertainty of that won’t cover my grandpa's costs.”
“I see,” Trent says, stopping in front of a gazebo that looks out over the water. A light breeze rustles the nearby trees, carrying the faint scent of the lake as we stand in silence for a moment.
I wish with everything in me that I could read minds. How is it fair that superheroes can do that but I can’t? I mean come on, give a girl a break already.
“Let me tell you a bit about the job,” says Trent, “so you can see if it’s something you’d actually want to do full-time. It requires more than just running the store.”
I nod. “Okay.”
“What I would need is someone who could run the shop, including restocking, doing inventory, running the register, managing the reservations, and prepping the rentals for the next day. I also need someone to do administrative stuff for me, billing, filing, registering guests, stuff like that. You wouldn’t be required to do anything with the boats. I manage all of that.” He motions us to walk toward the docks and boats.
The wooden planks of the docks creak slightly as we walk. There are about six docks lined up along the side of the lake, their edges glinting faintly in the sunlight where the water laps against them. Each dock has spots for about ten boats, probably for people who rent out spaces for their boats. Further back, a cluster of fishing and pontoon boats is corralled in a separate dock area, likely holding the rentals. We walk near these as Trent explains more about some of the boat owners and regular rental people.
The way he speaks about each patron, with genuine warmth and a hint of pride, I can tell how much he cares about them and his job. I could tell the first time I met him that he’s a people person. This must be the perfect job for that.
“I would be responsible for maintaining the boats,” Trent says, “refueling, cleaning, moving them in preparation for the next day, and receiving them from people returning them at the end of the day.”
The smell of the lake mixed with the faint chemical sweetness of gasoline from the docked boats lingers in the air, and I nod, taking in the ripples glistening on the water’s surface. Somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic hum of an engine drones, fading in and out like a heartbeat for the marina.
“That sounds doable,” I say with a smile, brushing a strand of hair away as the breeze plays with it.
“It would also include helping to clean and reset the cabins once we open those in a couple weeks.” His tone is casual and his eyes steady, searching mine for any sign of hesitation.
“I can handle that," I say, my voice firm. "I worked part-time as a hotel maid when I was just starting up my art, so I’m not opposed to housekeeping.” Memories of scrubbing grout and folding corners of crisp white sheets flicker briefly in my mind.
“Good. Of course, just like with the boats, you wouldn’t have to do any maintenance on the cabins. When they open up, you would just manage check-in and checkout and prep for the next guest.” His fingers brush absently against a railing as we walk.
“Nothing you’re telling me sounds like something I can’t handle. And I plan to be around for a long time. I don’t want to move away from my grandpa now that he is all alone.”
“Understandable,” Trent says, nodding as his gaze drifts over the water. “When would you be able to start?”
“What?” I ask, caught off guard. Is he really offering me the job? "You don’t want to check references or interview other candidates?” I ask, my tone tinged with incredulity.
“Jenny, I’ve had this posting up for a few months now, and the only people who have interviewed are college kids who can’t work full-time. I need someone who can and is capable, and you fit both categories. Plus, you come highly recommended from someone whose opinion I value more than most.”
“But she only just met me,” I argue, the warmth of the sunlight on my face doing little to calm my racing thoughts.
“Are you saying you don’t want the job?” Trent asks, his eyes bunching in confusion.
“Yes, I mean no, of course I want the job, but that just seemed too easy. And nothing these past few weeks has been easy. Either way, you offered and I accept.” I straighten my shoulders and hold out my hand to shake his.
He stares at me a bit before a big smile stretches across his face, the kind that reaches his eyes. He takes my hand in his. His hand is warm in mine and envelops it completely. A shiver runs through me as we shake in agreement.
“So you can start today?” Trent’s tone is filled with an eager energy that is almost contagious.
“Yes, if you want to show me the ropes.” What else am I going to do? I can’t paint in my motel room, and I don’t want to just sit there twiddling my thumbs. Plus, it’s too early for visiting hours at the retirement home.
“Sounds grreeaat!” he grins, drawing out the word and sounding just like that tiger from the cereal commercials. His dorky enthusiasm makes me chuckle, breaking the last of my tension.
I laugh at his impression as his eyes catch at something over my shoulder. His grin widens. “Henry!” he calls out, waving energetically.
I turn around to see my grandpa heading to one of the docks with his tackle box and fishing pole. Grandpa’s face lights up when he spots me.
“Grandpa,” I say, rushing over to give him a hug. “What are you doing out here? And so early?” The faint scent of his aftershave and the familiarity of his embrace makes me smile.
“That’s your grandpa?” asks Trent, following behind me, his steps echoing lightly on the dock’s planks.
“Yes, why?” I respond, glancing between the two of them.
“Because,” my grandpa says, “Trent and I are best pals.”
I stare at the two of them, dumbstruck, as they share a brief but warm hug.
“Good to see you, young man,” my grandpa says to Trent.
“Good to see you Henry,” Trent says, grabbing the tackle box and fishing pole from my grandpa. “You ready to catch some fish today?”
Grandpa beams up at him, his grin as wide as I’d seen in weeks. “You betcha. Jenny, I didn’t think I’d see you here. What brings you to the marina?”
Trent looks over at me, grinning, “You’re going to be seeing her around the marina a lot more now.”
“Oh? Why is that?” my grandpa asks.
“I’m going to be working here,” I say.
“Remember that office position I was trying to fill?” Trent says.
“Not my Jenny?” Grandpa’s voice carries a playful warmth that makes my cheeks heat up. “You mean I’ll get to see her pretty face every morning when I come fishing?”
“Of course, Grandpa. I’ll be here every morning for the foreseeable future.”
“Well, ain’t that some great news.” He embraces me in another hug. “Will you be commuting from the motel every day?”
“That’s the plan,” I say.
“Hopefully with this new job,” my grandpa says, “you can get out of that motel and get a place nearby soon. I wish I could do more to help you.”
My face flushes as Trent glances at me with a raised eyebrow.
“It’s fine, Grandpa. I’m sure I won’t be there too much longer. I’m sure a rental will open up around here soon. And as soon as I have a steady paycheck, I’ll be able to afford it.” I hope my answer eases some of his worry. But in all truth, it may be a long time before I can afford a place. I’ve looked at rentals around here, and the prices are ridiculous. I may be in a small town, but it’s still close enough to Nashville that rental prices are high.
Once Trent and I get Grandpa set up on the dock with his pole, we say our goodbyes. Trent is quiet as we walk back past the gazebo and head into the store.
We stop behind the front desk where the register is, and Trent, still quiet, pulls out a book with what looks to be cabin rental reservations. The quiet rustling of the pages fills the air, adding to the awkward silence.
When I am just about to fill the silence with my random thoughts, Trent speaks up, “What if you stayed in one of the cabins here?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Like, move out of the motel and live in one of the cabins here.”
“I couldn’t afford it,” I wave him off, shaking my head.
“It would be at no cost,” he says.
“What?” I ask, unable to believe I have heard him correctly.
“What if you stayed in one of the cabins here?” he repeats, his expression earnest.
I shake my head, “No, I heard you, but I can’t believe it. Why would you do that for me?”
“Well, Henry is probably one of my most favorite people in the world, and I like to help out.”
“I don’t need charity,” I say flatly, crossing my arms.
“Don’t think of it as charity. Think of it as you are my store manager, and it’s the manager’s cabin. It comes with the job.”
“Does it really though?”
“Well, I’m the boss, so it does if I say it does.”
“What about the profit you’ll lose because you won’t be renting it out?”
He nods for a minute, looking at the reservation book, his fingers tapping lightly against the counter. “Well, there is one cabin that isn’t rented often. It’s farther away from the recreational part of the marina and closer to the boat rental location, so people don’t like renting it as much. Honestly, it’s vacant a good portion of the year. So really, you’d be doing me a favor by living there and upkeeping it.”
“I see,” I say. What is this guy thinking? He only just met me and offers me a job and now a place to stay . . . FOR FREE? Who is this guy? I debate with myself for a bit, but ultimately, I’d be stupid to pass up this opportunity. Smiling, I hold up one finger, “Well, if I am going to do you this favor, I have one condition.”
“Name it,” he says, smiling back at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“I can do my painting in the cabin.” I say, and then hurry to add. “Of course, I’ll use a tarp. I always do when I paint, and if I get anything on the wood, I will sand it and restain it for you when I move out.”
“Jenny, stop, it’s okay.” Trent holds his hand out to me. “I accept your condition.”
I take his hand in mine, and we shake in agreement for the second time. That tingle jolts through me again, making me shiver slightly as I pull my hand back.
“Now,” I say, “tell me how to run this place. I am going to be the best store manager-assistant this marina has ever seen!” I grin wide enough to match Trent’s earlier enthusiasm.