The Moon and More(87)
Author: Sarah Dessen

He’d spread a white cloth out on the bench beside him, upon which he’d arranged two champagne flutes and snacks: a tiny plate of crackers and cheeses, some mini-pickles, and a dish of olives. His backpack was at his feet, unzipped. When he saw me, he grinned.

“Surprise!” he said, attracting the attention of everyone else around me. I felt myself redden as I stepped away from the moving crowd, closer to him. “Have a seat.”

I did, looking up at the balloons. “Where did you get those?”

“Helium Helpers, in Cape Frost,” he replied, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottle. He opened it—pop!—then began to pour. “Clyde told me about them. Nice, right?”

“We can’t drink here,” I said, looking around. Everyone passing was staring at us. “It’s illegal.”

“It’s sparkling cider,” he explained. “Which sounds so much better than fake champagne, don’t you think? The snacks, however, are one hundred percent real. Olive?”

I took one, just because I knew he wanted me to. “So . . . what’s all this about?”

“Ah!” He lifted his glass, then waited for me to do the same. Once I did, he cleared his throat. “To the Best Future Plan Ever.”

“Which is what?”

“Drink first!” he said. “It’s bad luck otherwise.”

I drank, wincing at the sharp, fizzy taste. Theo put his glass down, then reached over and took my hands. “You,” he said, “are looking at the new tour manager for world-renowned collagist and painter Clyde Conaway’s long-anticipated upcoming museum shows.”

This was a long title, not to mention quite a bit of information. “Clyde hired you?”

“Basically,” he said, taking another sip of his cider. He picked up a piece of cheese and placed it on a cracker, then handed it to me before fixing one for himself. “Let’s just say when you create the job description for a person who isn’t even aware they need someone, you’re already halfway hired.”

“Halfway,” I repeated. Above us, the balloons caught a gust, making squeaky, rubbing noises.

“The point is,” he went on, “until today, Clyde had no idea all the help he was going to need for this tour. Now he does. And he also already has, right in front of him, the perfect person for the job. It’s just a matter of putting the two together.”

“Which he did?” I asked, still confused.

“He will,” he said. “We’re having breakfast tomorrow, at which time I fully expect a job offer.”

“Hold on,” I said, putting my glass down. “But isn’t this tour supposed to be happening sort of soon? What about school?”

“Emaline.” He leaned closer to me, fixing me with a serious stare. “This will be Clyde’s first display of work in over twenty years, in conjunction with the release of a documentary by an award-winning filmmaker. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance. School will wait.”

“That filmmaker’s not too high on you right now,” I pointed out.

“True,” he replied, eating another olive. “But even if it wasn’t in her best interest to support the tour, it and the film will be separate entities. But I know Ivy. She likes holding a grudge, but she loves publicity and media attention. Unless she works with me, not against me, she won’t have the access to Clyde she wants.”

“But . . .” I was trying to tread carefully here. “You don’t even have the job yet.”

“Yet,” he repeated. “Today, I set the factors in motion. Now, all that’s left is to wait for them to unfold. Hold on, that’s my phone.”

As he pulled it out and glanced at the screen, I downed another gulp of my cider, thinking that this all sounded awfully optimistic, if not a little bit arrogant. Then again, I kind of had to admire his ability to go for what he wanted. I agonized and worried before making the safest move; Theo saw his opportunity and took it, risk be damned. No wonder he couldn’t believe I’d turned down Columbia. He would have found a way to make it happen, money or no money.

“Sorry, this is Clyde,” he said to me, typing something.

“Since when does he text?” I asked. “I didn’t even think he had a cell phone.”

“He does. He just let the battery die and never recharged it. It’s been sitting in his truck until today, when I plugged it in on the way to Cape Frost,” he told me. “Then I explained that texting means you don’t have to talk to people, which turned out to be a concept he could really get behind. Took right to it.”

“I don’t know. It seems weird to me,” I said, as his phone beeped again. “Doesn’t sound like something Clyde would need.”

“He doesn’t know what he needs,” he said. “That’s what I’m for.”

That sounded a bit too familiar. Feeling unsettled, I looked out at the water. The ocean had always been my constant and usually all it took was finding it—on the horizon, over the next hill, in the far corner of a window—to feel calmer and know where I stood. Right then, though, with it front and center, even this oldest of tricks wasn’t working. Something was off. And I knew it even before Theo started talking again.

“Okay,” he said, putting his phone down and turning back to face me. “Here’s the thing about the Best Future Plan Ever. It’s not just about the job.”

That you don’t have yet, I thought, but managed not to say this aloud. “It’s not?”

He shook his head, smiling. “Since I’ll be working closely with Clyde to get the exhibit together, I’ll need to keep a base here, even as I’m going back and forth to the city to arrange dates and travel details.”

“You’re going to do this from the trailer?”

“No,” he said, laughing. “I think with what Clyde will be paying me I’ll be able to afford better than that. Nothing like Sand Dollars, of course. But since it’ll be the off season, I’m sure we’ll be able to find something nice and relatively inexpensive.”

With all this big talk, it was ironic—or maybe not—that the one word that stuck out to me was a short one. “We?” I said. “But I’ll be at school.”

“Well, yeah, but only a couple of hours away.” He picked up another olive, popping it in his mouth. “You’ll be coming back weekends. Or I can get up there now and again, when Clyde doesn’t need me here. Oh! That reminds me. I’m going to need to get a second-hand car. Hold on, that’s probably him again.”