Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

 

     The Jones’ are entirely laid back when it comes to operating the Lodge. As long as money is coming in, they don’t care what we do. They basically throw the keys at us and scurry off for their long awaited vacation. They aren’t even out sight yet, before Gram gets straight to work, bossing Grandpa and I around and rearranging everything.

     She’s all living-in-Florida-over-your-fifties today, in her flimsy blouse, coral bermuda shorts, and ugly flip flops with a big sunflower pasted over the bejeweled strap. She bought them for me at a craft fair but couldn’t bear to part with them. She’s always stealing my shoes and, in this instance, it’s fine by me.

     “We are going to make the dining hall more like a restaurant, open to everyone, not only guests,” she says, opening each and every cabinet in the dining hall. “Breakfast only but who knows, maybe we could add lunch later? Heaven knows they have the kitchen and the seating for it.”

     She points in my direction. “Avery, that’s going to be your job, I need you to do full scale waitressing for me. You start tomorrow morning at five, sharp. We’ll help you keep the buffet, but you’ll be in charge of filling drinks and cleaning up. No tips,” she warns. I hide my scowl until she turns away. Only I would get stuck waitressing for zero profit. And I have to be there at five in the morning? What the hell?

     Then again, anything is better than housekeeping duties. Mrs. Jones’ sister lives close by and cleans the cabins and restrooms daily during the tourist season, which doesn’t technically start until the first weekend of June. It’s only four days away but Gram can’t wait. The doors would open today if she knew we wouldn’t give her grief about it.

     I follow Gram around most of the morning, like an obedient dog. I’m anxious to get everything in order so we can check out the park. If we don’t leave soon the dark clouds from the west are going keep us locked inside the RV for the day.

    It’s after lunch when Gram finally relents, so I rush back to exchange my flannel pajama shorts for a pair of jeans. I watch my reflection in the microwave as I run my fingers through my long hair and throw it into a loose pony tail. This dry climate has already helped tame my hairs prevalent wave. A smile creeps across my face when it slides easily into place.

     I’m the product of a beer drinking, hot blooded Irish mother and a beer drinking, hot blooded German father. As much as I hate to say it, I take after my mom, with wavy strawberry-blonde hair, and light blue eyes. My pale skin never quite matches the deep bronzes that populate Florida’s beaches, no matter how hard I try. My brother, however, inherited dark hair and easily tanned skin, which contrasted perfectly with crystal blue eyes that look just like mine. It was the only similarity between us.

     Our parents got married just before I was born and divorced before my first birthday. I guess they still saw each other, since Nathan was born three years later with the last name Garvins printed on his birth certificate, like me. I’m still not sure if Nathan is my dad’s real son, and I’ll never ask. We never saw him, anyway. Nathan barely remembered him, just another thing I couldn’t control in my brother’s short life.

#

     The park entrance is within walking distance from the Lodge. We grab the spot closest to the entrance of the long, stucco building and climb out. Park information boards are situated along the winding walkway but we don’t stop to read them. There will be plenty of time for that later. 

     Inside, the lobby is bright, filled with natural light that pours in from windows that span the entire back wall, all the way to the top of the vaulted ceiling. The dunes, glowing in the sun, are on prominent display, as they should be. A set of double doors lead outside, to a terrace where the majority of people seem to be. 

    I haven’t seen a visitor center this nice since Rushmore. The room is full with exhibits, local paintings, and educational information displayed throughout the lobby for guests to interact with. I’m impressed.

     While my grandparents make a beeline for the customer service counter, I find the theater and take a seat in the back to catch the ending of a film about the dunes history. The room is mostly empty, entire rows of seating unoccupied. I figure they must do presentations since there is an elevated stage under the screen with a small desk. I settle into the warmth of the plush chair to learn about this new and strange place.

     Not even ten minutes into the film, I could swear I hear my name being whispered. I drop my feet from the seat in front of me and sit up. A short, curly haired girl, probably around my age, occupies the doorway. She’s squinting into the theater with her hands on her hips.

     She’s looking straight at me.

     “Avery, is that you?”   

     “Um, yeah,” I whisper back, as she walks the few feet over and plops down into the seat next to me so hard that my seat shakes.

     She shakes my hand as firmly as any man. “Your grandpa asked me to come get you. My name’s Shanna.”  

     Confused, I take in her dark green shirt and brown pants. “Do you work here?”

     Shanna nods. “Soon, I hope. I’m on my second interview. Right now, actually.” She scratches at her cheek and sits back. “I had to get away for a minute. My ex is throwing me off my game, on purpose. He’s lucky he’s the reason I got the interview in the first place or I’d have to hurt him.”

     Who is this girl? And why is she talking to me like we’ve known each other for years? “Let me get this straight. You’re in the middle of an interview, with your ex trying to sabotage it, and you’re in here talking to me? No offense, but you need to work on your interview skills.”

     Shanna only laughs. “I know, right? Come on, your grandparents are waiting and I have to get back. I didn’t take those online classes for nothing. If I don’t get this job, I’m screwed.” Shanna grabs my arm and pulls me up. I think she would take my hand if I didn’t pull away. 

     “Listen, I know this is weird and pushy, but maybe we can hang out some time? If I get the position I’ll always be here, and I live close by, anyway. Aren’t too many people our age around here, you know? It’s a small town and I don’t have a lot of girlfriends to begin with.”

     I take in Shanna’s friendly brown eyes and her easy demeanor. She seems bold, not domineering. There’s a difference. “Yeah, we should definitely hang out some time.” Shanna smiles and punches me in the arm, making me stumble forward a little.

     My grandparents are outside a small gift shop, standing next to two Park Rangers. Grandpa is waiting with a smile, ready to introduce me. “Avery, this is Stan,” he says, gesturing to the older Ranger next to him. “He’s the superintendent and lead Ranger. I guess that makes him the boss.” 

     “I’d like to think so,” Stan replies. His tanned face wrinkles significantly when he smiles, probably from years of working in the sun. Gray hair sticks out from under his crisp, green hat that matches a similarly crisp uniform. “It’s good to meet you, Avery. We’re all excited about new management running the Lodge, since we meet there a once a month, or so. We have a meeting with the folks from the Environmental Protection Agency tomorrow morning.”

     Before I can ask what the EPA is doing here, Stan answers my unspoken question. “They keep a temporary facility in the park, doing some hydrology research, among other things. The Rangers like to keep a hand in things much as we can, since the research has been great publicity for us.” He rocks back on his heels and clasps his hands together, happily. His smile isn’t forced or fake. I like that.

     “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Stan,” I say, genuinely.

     Stan nods and gestures to the Ranger standing beside him, who must be Shanna’s ex. He seems young, but determined to impress his boss. “This is Derrick, and I guess you’ve already met Shanna.”

     Derrick extends his hand. He’s shorter than Stan, and stockier. Mousy brown hair lies flat on his head, probably from the Ranger hat in his hands. I double take Shanna’s choice in clothing. She’s obviously tried to simulate the look. 

     After we get the scoop on the area, I feel my prospects of getting a summer job diminish. There is nothing in between the park and the next town out �" which happens to be thirty-five miles away from here �" except the Sand Stop convenience store down the road. I’ll have to investigate later, when we drive into town for groceries.  

     We say our goodbyes and my grandparents disappear into the gift shop while Shanna scribbles her phone number and address on a tour guide. I stuff the paper into my pocket and find Grandpa near a rack of postcards, holding a small ceramic lizard. He has every intention of buying it, but Gram isn’t having it. She saunters over, eyes narrowed, and offers to place it back on the shelf for him. She starts lecturing when he refuses, and I can’t help but snicker when Grandpa argues back, a truly rare occurrence. He must really want that lizard.

     This won’t end anytime soon. “I’m going outside,” I yell over my shoulder, not sure if they hear me or not.

     Stan is standing near the doors as I pass. He’s talking with two people, a man and a woman. Shanna and Derrick are hanging back with their bodies angled away from one another. Must not be a good day for couples.

     I run my eyes over the strangers. The middle-aged female is stoic. She’s slender, with sleek brown hair pulled back into a neat bun. My eyes scan over the man next to her. I can’t see him well since he’s turned away, looking toward Stan. Both strangers are dressed similarly, in cargo khaki pants, hiking boots and button down shirts.  

     Stan catches me staring and, in the middle of speaking, turns in my direction and smiles. I grin back and quickly lower my head before anyone else notices me, pushing open the glass door to the huge open terrace.

     The cool spring breeze hits me and I breathe it in. If only the air could be like this in Florida, fresh and dry, even with the promise of rain. I close my eyes and inhale, smelling the approaching storm that should hit any minute. It smells clean, just the way summertime should.

     A few families remain on the terrace, spaced out against the terra cotta railing, staring at the dunes. Crowds of children congregate around coin operated telescopes, playing and arguing loudly over whose turn it is. It’s summer at its finest.

     I find an open space next to a middle aged woman with a Cocker Spaniel lying at her feet, and lean against the railing, feeling the sun warm my face through a break in the clouds. The storm hasn’t dispersed like I thought it might. The gloomy puffs of clouds have only spread, promising to overtake the last remaining rays of the sun. There is no avoiding it.

     I ignore the storm. That’s not what I’ve come to see. To my left, the dunes stretch for what has to be at least two miles before they curve westward into the obscure valley, where nothing exists except the brown a yellow-green twinge of dirt and brush. To my right, the sands run until they melt into the craggy Sangre De Christo Mountains, whose tallest peaks are still capped with snow. A small creek flows along the base of the dunes, where the majority of the visitors seem to be either packing up, or on their way back to their vehicles to escape the coming rain, especially after a bolt of lightning surges low behind the face of the mountains.

    Another quick bolt of lightning from the west captures my attention. Rain is probably a good thing. It’s obvious the valley can use it.

     So this is going to be home for the next three months, I think. I can deal with that.

     The dog next to me bolts, making the woman run off after him, screaming. I keep my focus on the dunes, at the approaching clouds. At the wind that whips through them that sends tiny grains whirling through the air in a synchronized dance. The wind seems so much stronger at the top than anywhere else.

     “Transcendental,” I whisper amusingly to myself for remembering “The World’s Best Bathroom Reader!” The word was in the crossword puzzle. Six down.  

     “I’m sorry, what did you say?”  

     I suck in a breath. Please, tell me I did not get caught talking to myself. With a frown, I turn left, toward the low sound, to find the male Stan was talking to earlier. He must have been standing on the other side of the lady with the dog before she ran off. Well, s**t.  

     He’s staring straight at me but I still glance over my shoulder. The only other option is a little boy rolling a toy dump truck across the terrace, not paying attention to anything else in the world. Definitely not him. Wonderful, now I get the joy of trying to explain to a stranger why I’m talking to myself.

     When I glance back, the man is still staring. He’s not really a man, so much, maybe only a year or two older than I am. He’s cute, too. Really cute. Why wouldn’t he be? Gram once told me that only beautiful people are crass enough to call people out for their eccentricities. I think she may be right.   

     I realize I’ve waited an odd amount of time to reply. “I was just saying that the view is transcendental.” I should stop, I know, but I don’t. I suddenly feel the need to elaborate. “I found the word in a bathroom reader. You know, one of those books people keep in bathrooms? I had some time on my hands,” I say, as if that should clear up any confusion.

     As soon as the words leave my lips I regret them. No, I loathe them. What the hell am I thinking? I’m pretty sure this guy is imagining me on the toilet right now. I resist the urge to open palm smack myself on the forehead and stare at the ground, feeling blood flush my cheeks in waves. I know my face is as red as an apple.

     It’s high school all over again, after I walked into the men’s room, where the captain of the basketball team just happened to be finishing up at the urinal. It wouldn’t have been that humiliating if, by the time I looked up from my phone, I hadn’t been standing so close to him. We made eye contact before I realized what I’d done. “Oh, crap. Don’t worry, I didn’t see any of your parts,” I stammered, and ran away. By the time school was over everybody was laughing at me.  

     Leaving a handful of seconds to wallow in embarrassment, I muster up what dignity I have left and look up to find him facing the dunes, expressionless, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. I should probably do the same but I find myself watching him.

     Of course I would act a fool in front of someone like him. This guy is striking. Well, from the side at least. Tall and sturdy, all hard lines with soft subtleties, devoid of the skinny, awkward attributes that consumes most boys my age. A short trace of stubble barely stands out across his jaw line and I wonder if he leaves it like that on purpose or if it just grows that fast? His head full of light brown hair catches a little in the breeze and blows across his brow. For a second, I wonder if I should cut my losses and make a run for it. Instead, I hold my ground.

     “It’s just, this doesn’t look natural, that’s all,” I finish, trying to justify what I believe is one of the more idiotic things I’ve ever said.

     “No,” he says slowly, contemplating the idea himself. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

     “I’ve just noticed that, in the little time that I’ve been here, I feel like I’m on another planet or something. You know, the weather, the scenery. Kind of like the movie Dune, it looks like that. I think that was on another planet but then again, I saw the movie when I was around six so, who knows?”

     When he finally looks down, he furrows his brows in what can only be confusion and I get a glimpse of his eyes. Deep gray, speckled with lighter shards, some the exact shade of the clouds rushing toward us. The rims of his irises are coal black, and only make the color stand out that much more. All this surrounded by disgustingly flawless skin. He must notice me staring and turns away with an annoyed expression. 

     I know I should end this session of verbal torture but I’ve turned masochist. I clear my throat, feeling nervous to speak again after my senseless mention of the bathroom reader, but I’m determined not to leave an impression of complete idiocy. I might see this guy around once in a while.

     “I guess I’ll get used to it. The Rangers say this is normal.”

     “It is.” He turns to me again, his jaw flexing. “Is it safe to assume you are not a tourist, then?”

     I shake my head. “I’m here for the summer. My grandparents are running the Lodge. I came along to help out.” The wind picks up and pulls a strand of hair that has escaped my pony tail and whips it across my face. I try to tuck it behind my ears but that never works with my unruly hair.

     “I see,” he says quietly. “I suppose I will be seeing you around then. In fact, I believe I will be seeing you tomorrow.”

     I open my mouth to ask what he means, but I’m interrupted by his cell phone. After the first ring, he has it out of his pocket, and to his ear. “Not yet, I’m on my way. I’ll be there.” Lowering the phone without waiting for a reply, he turns to me. “I’m sorry, I have to cut our conversation short. It was nice meeting you…?”

     “Avery,” I say, almost like it’s a question and swipe at the strand of hair that keeps blowing into my mouth.

     “Nice to meet you, Avery.”

     He turns and I watch him walk through a small crowd of people, slightly relieved that the meeting is over, until I realize something.

     I cup my hands around my mouth. “Hey!” I yell. “I didn’t get your name.”

     He turns around, walking backwards. “Samuel.”

     “Okay. Um, it was nice to meet you, too.” I glance to my side, where I’ve extended my index finger, then back to Samuel just before he disappears behind a group of retreating visitors.

     This time, I do smack myself on the forehead.

     God, I’m an idiot. I look up to the sky just as a drop of rain splashes my cheek. What the hell? The clouds are rolling over the visitor center now, gaining ground. On the sands, two tiny black dots are making a pretty impressive run down the lower half. They better hurry if they don’t want to get soaked.

     Grandpa’s voice sounds from the doorway. “You ready to go, kiddo? You can’t walk back in this.” He’s holding the door steady from the wind.

     I take one last look at the dunes before turning away.

     “Yeah, I’m coming.”