Page 23 of All the Ways You Save Me
Maybe someday, I could become the kind of successful man a girl like Madeline deserves.
For the first time, my life stretches out in front of me in what could be a clear path if I’m willing to take a chance on this job. “You’re right,” I say to Jason through the phone. “I’m in.”
If I go to college, get a good job, maybe someday I could even buy a beach house on that island Madeline loves. Sandy Harbor. She says she doesn’t think she’ll ever go back, but that’s because she’s still reeling from the heartbreak of leaving. But I don’t think it would be hard to change her mind. I can tell how special that place is every time she talks about it.
I know I’m getting ahead of myself; we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, but I’ve never felt this way about someone before.
On the drive home, I switch the radio to the rock station and turn it up loud. Cruising down the highway with the windows down, I shove away the last of my doubts about the job. I’d be an idiot to get nervous and pass up this kind of cash and opportunity. Just because good things have never happened to me doesn’t mean they never will.
THIRTEEN
PRESENT DAY
Garrett
My noise-canceling headphones blast my favorite rock playlist, drowning out the sound of the sander whirring across the maple cabinets on my workbench. It’s Saturday, and my current project is miraculously ahead of schedule, but when I’m immersed in a build, I could stay out here in my workshop day and night. I’m putting the finishing touches on one cabinet door and about to reach for another when I sense movement behind me. I drop the sander, whip off my headphones, and whirl around, slowly registering that the person standing in the open garage doorway is Ian, my best friend and the owner of the cabinets I’m building. My shoulders relax.
“Hey.” I rake a hand through my hair and sawdust rains down, settling on my shoulders.
“Sorry to sneak up on you,” Ian says, strolling over to swipe an appreciative hand over a smooth corner of sanded wood. Though he’s technically my boss, he’s not checking up on me. Ian knows I do the best carpentry work on the island and paysme accordingly. “I didn’t expect to find you out here. You know it’s Saturday, right? Time to clock out.”
I toss the headphones aside and give him a grin. Only Ian would urge his employee to work less and not more. But that’s what makes him the sort of guy I want to work for in the first place. That and the fact that he’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.
Ian and I met almost a decade ago when I was nineteen and living in New York City. Sick of the heat and summer crowds, I’d taken the day off to head to the Jersey Shore with no plans but sit with my ass in the sand and stare out at the water. But as I ate a sandwich at the counter of a local diner, Ian slid onto the stool next to me. I don’t think he intended to start talking, but maybe he sensed that he’d found someone who would listen.
He’d just inherited a beach property development company from his dad, who’d passed away earlier that year. Like me, Ian was barely out of his teens and completely in over his head with his newfound adult responsibilities. All the employees at Ian’s dad’s company were older, experienced, and had worked at the business for years. Suddenly, Ian found himself in charge of half-constructed million-dollar properties and on the hook for the paychecks of a dozen people with families to support, all while grieving his dad.
I think he sensed that I wouldn’t judge him if he didn’t have a fucking clue what he was doing. For the first time since his dad died, Ian didn’t have to act confident or pretend to have everything under control. We talked for hours, and then he asked me to come work for him.
I knew it was risky to leave my stable job in the facilities department of an established Wall Street investment firm to take an offer from a guy I just met on the Jersey Shore. But before the end of the weekend, I was back in my fifth-floor studio apartment in the Bronx, packing my bags and buying a ticket for the next Penn Station bus to Sandy Harbor Island.
Because the thing was, I didn’t have to pretend with Ian either. Or at least not very much.
Nearly ten years in, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him. I know from experience that relationships like this are rare. I’ve only ever had one other friend like Ian, and I would have done just about anything for that person, too.
I hitch my chin at the cabinets on the workbench. “I’m just going to finish these so we can stay on schedule for the Salt Ridge house. And you know we’ve got a few more projects to take care of before we can rent the cottages.” I shoot him a grin. “I’m good with you paying me a boatload of overtime.”
Ian crosses his arms over his chest. “As your boss, I’m grateful for your hard work. But as your friend, I think you need a little work–life balance. Thanks to you, we’re both on time and on budget for Salt Ridge. And the cottages just need a few cosmetic fixes, right? I’m not planning to rent them until mid-July anyway.”
“Yeah, you could probably have renters in next week,” I admit.
“So, pack it up, will you? It’s the first truly gorgeous Saturday this season. I’d think you’d have more appreciation for perfect surfing days after growing up in San Diego,” he teases.
I don’t tell him that I appreciate every single day on Sandy Harbor Island. Even in winter, when the sand is covered in snow and the waves spit ice in your face, I know how lucky I am to be here. My gaze shifts around my workshop at all of my half-finished cabinetry. Ian is right that none of these projects are urgent, but I enjoy them and feel grateful every day to have found work that I truly love and can feel proud of.
But if I’m completely honest with myself, my work isn’t why I’m in here on a beautiful Saturday afternoon instead of grabbing my board and heading for the beach. I’m still a little shaken from rescuing those kids the other day. I’m a strong swimmer, and I was confident I could savethem, which is why I jumped in. But later, it all hit me. The kids crying, the mom screaming, the crowd gathering to stare. I don’t want to be the hero. Give me the quiet and bob of the waves as I float on my board fifty feet from shore any day.
I can feel Ian sizing me up. “This is about that rescue the other day, isn’t it?” At this point, Ian is the closest I’ll ever have to a brother, and I should have known he’d figure me out.
I sigh. “Maybe.”
“I’d tell you that you should be proud, but I know you well enough to know you’d prefer to never speak of it again. But remember it’s Saturday. Those people on the beach all left this morning. Nobody is going to ask you for an autograph.”
The weekly crop of tourists always turns over on Saturdays, and a new group will have moved into the rental houses this afternoon. So, Ian is probably right that nobody on the beach is going to recognize me as the guy who saved those kids.
“I could use a break,” I admit, gazing out the garage door at the endless blue sky overhead. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.” I don’t have to mention a spot, we always surf at the beach on 76thStreet after the lifeguards leave for the day.
I tell myself that except for a few friends like Chloe, who might tease me every now and then, the incident is pretty much forgotten. I’ve never liked attention. This will all blow over, and I can go back to being anonymous. Just how I like it.
