Page 96 of Nerdplay
“This is your first ride. Give it time and you’ll want one of your own.”
She laughs. “Oh Charlie, I wouldn’t dream of spending this much money on a car.”
“Why not? You spend more than necessary on shoes. You’re wearing special-edition Converse. Those aren’t cheap.”
“Maybe not, but they’re not the price of a luxury vehicle either. I don’t deprive myself of all niceties, I choose them carefully and with my limited budget in mind.” She pauses. “Which is not remotely the same as yours.”
Guilt seeps into my pores. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like an entitled asshole.”
“It’s okay. To be honest, even if I had your money, I wouldn’t choose to spend it on an expensive car.”
“No? Then what would you spend it on? A life-size replica of Gandalf?”
She beams at the thought. “That would be awesome, wouldn’t it? Or I could create my own version of Hobbiton right here.”
“Might be worth a trip to New Zealand to see the real deal. Seems like a beautiful country.”
She nods. “I’d love to see it in person, but I know myself. I’d spend that money on the camp. It needs work, as you can personally attest, but I probably shouldn’t be admitting that to you.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not.”
I frown. “Do you still worry I’ll use it against you?”
She averts her gaze. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
What would it take to convince her that I won’t betray her? “That guy must’ve really hurt you.”
Her face turns to stone as she reaches for the dashboard. “Let’s see what Charlie listens to when no one else is listening.”
Mozart blasts through the speakers. “Sorry about that,” I tell her. “I listen to it as a calming technique.”
“No judgment,” she says and turns down the volume. “Ever listen to move theme songs? John Williams is a freakin’ genius. Let’s see if we get service.” She taps on her phone. “Check out that French horn. Legend.”
“It’s the theme song from Jurassic Park.”
“Damn right it is.”
For the remainder of the drive, we listen to recordings of live orchestras play one John Williams song after another. I’m blown away by the number of masterpieces one man has composed, to the point where I’m disappointed to have to park the car when we arrive at the store.
Inside, we purchase a space heater based on the recommendation of the owner, an older man named Juan-Carlo who’s known Cricket since she was apparently “knee-high to a grasshopper,” which seems apt given her nickname. He gives us a friends-and-family discount and receives a hug and kiss on the cheek from Cricket in return. I can’t imagine getting a hug and a kiss from a client because I negotiated them a better deal. She lives in a different world, and I feel lucky to experience it, if only for a little while.
We continue our John Williams concert on the drive back to camp, albeit at a low-enough volume so we can hear each other. Talking to Cricket is like talking to a best friend I’ve known since kindergarten, except I don’t actually have one of those. She manages to extract information out of me that I typically wouldn’t share or wouldn’t have even asked myself if not for her directness. It’s a startling revelation, that I’m perfectly adept at directness in a professional setting, but not necessarily in a personal one.
Back in my cabin, I set up the heater and Cricket heads to the arts and crafts cabin to check on a paint spill. We barely see each other the rest of the day, which I have mixed feelings about. I simultaneously want to spend more time with her but also want to keep my distance. It’s a battle of my own wills. I channel that energy into an all-afternoon board game extravaganza where I crush my competition. I even manage to win games I’ve never heard of before today. I feel a twinge of guilt when Stefan cries after a brutal 7 Wonders loss, but he assures me that it’s all good and that he cries regularly, which doesn’t strike me as very Viking-like, but what do I know?
I stick close to my board game competitors in the cafeteria, where we enjoy a hearty dinner of chili and cornbread. Bernie’s skills are topnotch and today I tell her so. There are restaurants in Philly that would be over the moon to find someone with her culinary talent.
“I’m happy here, but I appreciate the compliment,” Bernie says.
“But you could make a name for yourself, not to mention a lot more money in the city.”
“And I’d also have to live and work there. No thank you. I’ll take the fresh mountain air any day of the week and twice on Sundays, even in the dead of winter.”
“Sit down and eat the rest of your cornbread, Charlie,” Gloria urges. “Not everyone prioritizes money.”
“Some of us work to live, but we don’t live to work,” Bernie says, before returning to the cramped kitchen.
