Page 8 of Never Forever

“Dad, I think I want to get another job.”

Since I’d turned ten, I’d been working every summer with my dad on the ferry.

This fall I was going into high school and I decided it was time for me to get a real part-time job. One that actually paid me money, instead of my dad just giving me some allowance for helping him out.

“What kind of job?” My dad asked, like in the whole wide world there weren’t any other jobs.

“I don’t know, the Hotel?”

We were tied up at the dock waiting an hour before making our next crossing out to the island. I was hosing bird shit off the deck. I always had to hose bird shit off the deck. My whole life in the summer was hosing bird shit off the deck.

The sun had set and Dad was filling out his log, sitting on the bench in the bow, his legs stretched out, just killing time before the next run.

While I was hosing bird shit off the deck.

“The Dumont Hotel?” He laughed in my face.

“Or I could work with one of the fishermen.”

“Sure and good luck with that.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, pissed off that he was laughing at me. All I wanted was something different. Something more than just bird shit.

Not dad. All he wanted was the exact same thing all the time. This ferry. There was a guy who came twice a week to handle the ferry and give dad some days off. Those days he was just grumpy not to be working.

He ate the same lunch every day. Tuna on whole wheat. From home, even. Not even from Pappas’ Diner. Where the tuna sandwiches were amazing and came with fries.

“What about Pappas’?” I said, thinking about all the fries I could eat.

“You could try,” he said. “But I heard they’re having a rough go and aren’t hiring outside help.”

“I could pick blueberries.”

“Stop this nonsense. You’re working on the boat with me and that’s it.”

The bright spot was the books everyone left behind. At least three a day. Textbooks, kids’ books, romance novels, thrillers, biographies. I took them all home.

I didn’t tell my dad about the romance novels though. My guess was he didn’t have a clue what some of the girls in my class were reading.

Mrs. Piedmont was heading down the pier with Carrie and Annie behind her. My dad stood up and slicked his hair back from his head. I knew how he felt about Mr. Piedmont, butaround Mrs. Piedmont he always acted a little strange. Anxious. Mad. Also, he always, I mean every time she was around, sucked in his gut.

Obeying my dad’s wishes, I didn’t talk to Carrie at school.

We had one group project together last year and it was brutal. I’d heard her ask the teacher if she could switch groups, but the teacher wouldn’t let her.

And I knew it was because of me.

I did my best and worked hard on the project. I’d even made her laugh once before she’d caught herself. And it had felt like winning a trophy.

It was stupid not to talk to her. Over what? A curse? Because my dad said?

Mrs. Piedmont climbed aboard, and my dad looked as if he wanted to reach out a hand to help her, but then he took a deliberate step back.

“Cecelia.”

“Patrick.”

Their voices were the exact same chilly temperature.

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