Page 5 of Savage Spades

“He still hasn’t dropped it off?”

Jen was a serial dater. She didn’t usually keep a boyfriend for longer than a couple of months.

Jen let out an annoyed breath. “No, I’m sure he wants me to come over so he can try to apologize for cheating on me.”

Cam placed the lid on her coffee cup. “What a tool.”

“Aren’t they all?” Jen asked, and her eyes held a sadness behind them as she looked at Cam.

Cam felt terrible for Jen. She wore her heart on her sleeve and fell in love fast, usually with the wrong type of guy. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Jen gave her a sad smile. “Another one bites the dust.”

Cam threw her purse over her shoulder. “I’ll see you tonight? Don’t forget you’re opening.”

“Yep, see you tonight,” Jen said as Cam left and got into her pick up truck.

The big, blue truck was old, and she had to jump to get in, but her father left it to her, and she didn’t have the money to buy anything else. After a while, she’d gotten used to Big Blue. It never gave her any trouble despite how old it was. She made a mental note to get an oil change. It had to be past due.

The drive to the local college was short. She could walk if she had to. If she didn’t have Big Blue, that would be her only option since there wasn’t any public transportation in Goldbeach. There weren’t any bus stops until you got closer to the Charlotte. It was completely different from Seattle where everything was convenient. Small things like that made her miss living in a big city, but there was nothing for her in Seattle anymore. She parked in a spot up front and got to her advisor’s office just in time.

“Ms. Hamilton, it’s nice to see you,” Mr. Jones said as Cam sat down in the chair across from him.

“Nice to see you too,” she said.

He looked more like an athletic coach than he did an academic advisor with short, military-cut hair and broad shoulders. His graying hair and pictures of his teenage children around the office gave away his age, but if she had to guess, he probably played football in college. She’d gotten to know Mr. Jones well over the last couple semesters. He was also the Digital Photography professor. The college was so small, all the advisors were also professors.

He stared at the computer screen, not saying anything as he clicked his mouse. After a moment, he looked up at her.

“Alright, it looks like you have a while to go before your degree is finished. I see that you didn’t pass Algebra last semester. Do you want to try that one again?” he asked.

“Can I take it in the spring?” She’d failed once she didn’t want to fail twice in a row.

“Yes, that’s fine. What were you thinking for this semester? Are you going full- or part-time?”

Full-time would get her through school faster. She didn’t want to be in school until she was fifty, but with running the bar, a full course load wasn’t an option.

“Part-time,” she said to Mr. Jones.

He gave her a look that was a mix of pity and disappointment. She couldn’t blame him. Mr. Jones had been rooting for her since the first day she’d enrolled. He’d seen her struggle to keep up with her courses last semester and skipped classes because she was too tired from staying at the bar the night before. This semester was going to be different. She had to focus on school. She didn’t know what the rest of life had in store for her, but she needed this degree as a backup plan.

“There are a couple of visual arts classes you need to take and a history class. Does that work for you? Three classes?” he asked, looking up from the computer.

“What time?”

“One is at nine a.m.; the other two start at eleven a.m., twice a week.”

Nine o’clock was early, but she could swing it. She just had to make sure she was out of the bar early the night before.

“I can do it.”

“Okay, I’ll get your schedule together and send it over.”

“Great,” she said, getting ready to leave the office.

“Hey, Cameron,” he said, stopping her in her tracks.

She slid back down in the chair.

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