by Hayleigh Sol
The next morning, I was finishing breakfast at the fold–out table in the trailer when Gram called for me to come outside. Her voice sounded funny, sing–songy, like when she teased me about something. I trotted down the steps and walked toward her but she was looking at the main road. And the boy from the day before, sitting astride his bike.
“Hi,” he said to me cheerfully.
“Uh, hi.” I was stumped as to what he was doing here.
“I wanted to see if you were okay. And say I’m sorry about yesterday.” He ducked his head on the last part, either in true remorse or embarrassment that his mom had made him come over and apologize. I suspected the latter.
“That’s very sweet, Maya.” Gram hadn’t tried to hide the fact that she’d been watching this awkward little exchange with the avid interest of a tennis spectator.
“Yeah, um, thanks. I’m fine.” I glanced at the bandages on my knees, a common accessory for me those days. With or without the bike.
The boy frowned a little in the direction of my knobby knees and walked his bike forward a few steps. “I’m Luka. Your name’s Maya?”
My own chin ducked now; I must’ve been beet–red. “Yeah.”
What was he still doing here? He’d apologized like his mom had made him; he didn’t need to be nice to me now. Heck, the crash had been mostly my fault.
“Hey, you wanna come ride bikes with me?” His hundred–watt smile was irresistible. I looked to Gram, whose grin matched Luka’s.
“I think we were s’posed to go to the store this morning.”
Gram put her hand on my shoulder. “But Maya could go with you later this afternoon.”
Why had she made that suggestion? This kid didn’t want to ride bikes with me and the shopping excuse had been his—and my—perfect out.
“Okay, I’ll come back after lunch then.”
Sure he would.
The friendly boy pedaled off. I watched him go, certain I’d never see him again.
With a snicker, Gram walked with me back to the trailer as I continued to puzzle over the odd behavior I’d just encountered. “Looks like Maya has a little boyfriend,” she announced to Pop once we were inside.
My head swung around so fast it nearly popped off. “No I don’t.”
She filled him in on what had just happened, me interjecting denials that were laughingly overruled. Great, now this stupid boy with his forced apology was making me the target of grandparental teasing. If he hadn’t been put up to it by his mom, he’d probably come over as a dare or some equally stupid trick boys played on girls. There was no way he’d meant it. Boys my age weren’t…nice like that. In my experience, they were miniature terrorists in training.
I never went through that boys–have–cooties phase. I went through a boys–are–mean–jerks reality. And when adults, all of the female variety, told me that boys are only mean to you and put their boogers all over your paper, pencil, desk, and chair—oh yeah, that happened, every day in first grade; I see you Eric White—because they like you? Puh–lease. I saw right through that load of crap. If all the boys who picked on me did so because they had secret crushes, let’s just say I was the Claudia Schiffer of my elementary school.
Although Gram had shopped and packed and prepared for this trip in advance, as she always did, she’d discovered we were missing several crucial groceries our first night in the campground. Namely, the makings for s’mores. Which I’d helpfully pointed out to her.
The Pines was the closest thing to a town near the lake, though calling it a town was a stretch. In addition to the market that was more of a glorified convenience store, there was a real estate office that was always closed, an ice cream shop, and a couple of musty gift shops. While Gram picked up the food items she needed, I perused the rotating racks of paperbacks at the front of the store, disappointed by the limited selection.
Ultimately, I settled on an Archie comic book I figured I’d have finished by lunch this afternoon. Should’ve brought more than the one book I’d abandoned unfinished on the drive from Gram’s to the lake. I staunchly believed to this day that if an author’s gonna kill off a beloved pet, they should warn you about it before you get all invested in the story. Pro tip: any book or movie that features a dog or horse as a main character? Yeah, that critter’s a goner. Have the Kleenex ready.
Like most women, Gram was gender–bound to window shop while I stoically endured mind–numbing boredom. I mean, really, why did she and Mom always have to stop in front of the deserted real estate office to look at all the pictures of lakeside houses for sale? It wasn’t like they were ever going to buy one.
When Gram had finished her window shopping—finally—we headed back to the campsite for lunch. I was down to the last few Fritos on my plate when our morning visitor appeared again.
“Hey, Maya. Can you ride bikes now?” Luka had been joined by two other boys, both a little older and bigger. I’d nearly choked on my last bite when he’d greeted me; now I was struck by the unreasonable—yet perfectly logical at the time—fear that these other two boys had come along to beat me up.
Gram threw me to the wolves. “Sure she can! Go on, sweetie. Just stay inside the campground loops, okay?”
Having obviously not seen my wide, pleading eyes, she scooped up my plate and nudged me off the picnic bench. Like a criminal sentenced to hang, I trudged toward the gallows (my bike), sending a last desperate look over my shoulder to Gram and Pop. They only smiled and waved.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that Lukasz, as his older brothers—not hired mercenaries—called him when they weren’t racing ahead of us, was genuinely friendly and totally cool with hanging out with a girl. We rode bikes and he stuck with me, only showing off a couple of times when his brothers were around, hopping his tires or throwing on the brakes to make the back tire skid out.
After a while, we stopped by his family’s campsite so the boys could get a snack and Luka introduced me to his mom and dad. They were both as friendly as their youngest son and had funny accents I’d never heard before. The way they said his full name with the “sz” sound at the end was so different from all the other boys’ names in my class. I later learned they were from Poland, which I only knew was somewhere in Europe. Having a new friend whose parents were from a different country was the coolest thing ever.
Over the next week, I rode my bike with Luka a few times and sometimes his brothers came, too. Gram and Pop and I went out on Pop’s fishing boat and I shyly invited Luka. We dug in the sand on the beach and swam in the lake; he was as good a swimmer as I was—almost. Another day, his family invited me on their speedboat and taught me how to waterski. I wasn’t very good but I had a blast trying.
By the weekend, when my parents arrived, Luka and I were thick as thieves, one of us stopping at the other’s campsite at least once a day. I’m sure I chattered about him incessantly, filling Mom and Dad in on everything we’d been doing all week. Observing me with my new friend, Mom’s eyebrows raised and she looked at Gram with a wry smile.
“What’d you do, Mom, marry her off?” They both thought that was hilarious but I was mortified and told Luka to ignore them. He just laughed along with them and off we went.
That summer at Bass Lake, playing and having fun before adult worries were even on my radar, was awesome. Luka’s family and mine both left the morning after the Fourth of July fireworks, which my new friend and I stayed up late to watch from his tent.
When I was ten, Lukasz was my first kiss. Years later, he was my first something else.
Chapter 3
Once I’d finished flipping through Gram’s photo albums, it was time to move on from memories of carefree—stress–free—summers and face reality. I pulled out my laptop and tackled the emails that’d come in Friday and Saturday, scheduling meetings for the coming week and creating to–d
o lists for myself and my employees. Mine grew to epic length.
Recently, I’d had a nightmare about my hydra–like checklists that never seemed to shorten; for every item I checked off, three more took its place. I had a notes app on my phone where I kept a list, another in my email–linked calendar, and several handwritten lists—on recycled paper, of course—I had at the office, home, in my gym bag, and in my car. Every few months, I’d go through each and combine them, vowing to maintain only one. That never seemed to last long and, as a result, it always felt like I was drowning in to–do lists. And I was a strong swimmer.
Gram and I never did get to talk more about work and the changes I was thinking of making with Brad’s help. Mom wanted to take Gram out for brunch on Sunday and, imagining that would consume two hours minimum, I made my apologies and told everyone I needed to head home. As I was throwing a few things back in my duffel bag, Gram sat on the edge of the bed in the guest room to keep me company.
“I’ve had an inspired idea, Maya, my dear.”
I smiled; Gram was always having “inspired ideas”.
“What’s that, Gram?”
“You should take a little vacation time and head up to Bass Lake.”
Before I could protest that there was no way I could take time off right now, she countered the arguments she knew I would make.
“Yes, I know the business is very busy right now, but it’s always busy. At some point, you just have to put a vacation on the calendar and plan around it.”
Ha, if only it were that simple. I’d love to explain that to my staff. Not that they skipped vacations or worked excessive hours like I did.
“As the owner of the company, you don’t have to answer to anyone about taking time off.” If only that were true. I’d set a precedent for working evenings and weekends and my employees and clients knew it.
“It’s not healthy to always be available, to have no personal time.”
But a vacation right now wouldn’t really look good to my potential manager or temporary partner or whatever Brad and I were going to be to each other soon.
“Most importantly, a break will give you the opportunity to think about Brad’s offer and what you want, what your vision is for the future of your company.”
Okay, the mind–reading thing was creeping me out.
“I’ll think about it, Gram.” She looked highly dubious. “I promise I will. It is a good suggestion, thank you.”
After hugs and farewells, I hopped on the 60–west, praying I was leaving early enough to miss the worst of the end–of–weekend traffic. During the drive, I caught my shoulders tensing whenever I thought about work and forced them to relax. Instead, I attempted my own version of Dr. Lac’s recommended meditation.
I pictured myself at seventeen. Floating on an air mattress on the lake, reading a book and miraculously managing to keep it dry, listening for the first time to What I Got—still my favorite Sublime song to this day—drifting from the stereo of a nearby boat.
Back home, I started a load of laundry and ate lunch while I worked on my laptop next to the open slider. The sounds of summer—birds chirping and kids playing outside—faded with the sunset.
Early Monday morning, I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, my mind already chugging along with everything I needed to accomplish today, this week, this month. Regular exercise had been the only thing that relieved even an ounce of my stress—a lesson learned after the first few months running my new business and forsaking too many workouts. The weather was perfect for a run on the nature trail near my apartment but I laced up my shoes and headed for the gym instead. If I ran on the treadmill, I could read the latest research on solar panels and the concerns environmentalists had raised regarding their non–recyclable rare earth components.
When I’d still been a young pup in college, I’d discovered a way to wedge my towel around a textbook—now, my phone or tablet—so I could read as the miles rolled by on the treadmill. People asked if reading while running ever made me nauseated or gave me a headache but, so far, I’d been lucky.
I wasn’t the only one up early this morning, I discovered, when an urgent email came through as I ate breakfast. Repeat client Guy Harris was the general contractor overseeing construction of a new hospital. He’d used Green for Green’s consulting services before on commercial buildings after they’d been built, usually renovation projects he’d been hired for on asbestos–ridden relics. With the hospital project, Guy would be among the first contractors in the area to commit publicly to using environmentally friendly materials on a majority of the build. And he’d hired Green for Green to consult.
This gig was the realization of the vision I’d had when I started my business. It would be a huge boon, financially, and for my company’s reputation. If we could pull it off.
That was what had me worried. In terms of size and scope, this endeavor was five times bigger than anything else I’d ever done.
Up to this point, Green for Green had shown homeowners and small business owners how to reduce their carbon footprints in manageable and affordable ways: switching to LED lighting, composting food waste, purchasing energy–efficient appliances that saved money on the electricity, gas, and water bills, as well as earning the client a rebate from the utilities companies. Once hired, we performed an analysis of a client’s current areas for improvement, then offered a detailed list of changes they could make, along with associated upfront costs and estimated savings over five and ten years. To my satisfaction, our customers tended to take the majority of our suggestions, even if they didn’t implement all of them at one time.
The as–yet–unnamed hospital required a completely different approach, one I hoped would become what Green for Green was ultimately known for. My vision for the company had always been to work with commercial real estate developers and contractors throughout the new construction process. The hospital project was our first chance to do that.
Inspired by the vertical gardens popping up all over the world since Patrick Blanc introduced them in the 1990s, I’d recommended incorporating live greenery along the outside walls to provide shade and combat carbon emissions, especially in parking structures. Building materials would do their part in the green effort, namely by using recycled steel for the skeleton of the massive structure rather than lumber, and ferrock instead of concrete. Solar panels—something I’d been researching this morning—would provide much of the energy for the building. The possibilities didn’t stop there but, at present, I had to track down the missing materials Guy had emailed about.
Parents always claim they don’t have a favorite kid; it was the same for employers and their employees. They were all probably lying. For me, Evan was my favorite. He had a great rapport with the customers assigned to him, probably because he seemed to genuinely like his job and was always willing to go the extra mile. At team meetings, he often brought a new idea for us to research or implement, and he displayed close to my level of enthusiasm for expanding the business into larger scale projects like the hospital. When I knew I’d need help on this one, Evan was the only choice for my number two.
“Morning, Maya.” Evan’s positive attitude was ever–present, even on a Monday morning.
“Morning, Evan. Hey, Ev, when you have a chance, can you please check on the first shipment of steel for the hospital project? Guy’s freaking out that they haven’t arrived and he can’t get anyone from the supplier to return his calls.”
“Yikes. On it, boss.”
I’d already emailed Guy, assuring him we were checking into the issue. After that, I’d texted Brad since he’d been the one to vet the supplier, a company we’d never used before and I’d been leery of trusting for such an important trial run. Brad had promised me they could handle the job and would provide the materials at nearly half the cost their competitors had bid.
That ha
d been my first warning sign. Which I’d ignored.
By noon, Evan had finally reached someone at the new supplier’s and learned the materials weren’t arriving for another three weeks.
Not good.
Very, very bad, in fact.
Looking green, Evan asked what he should tell Guy.
“Don’t worry, I got this. Guy’s my guy.” My tone was light and confident but I’m sure Evan picked up on the underlying dread. “Why don’t you take lunch?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, this kind of mishap is probably best handled by the owner, right? Taking responsibility, trying to fix it. Maybe Guy can work around this until the shipment comes in.” We both knew that was extremely unlikely.
Brad had shown up and set up his laptop in the conference room around the same time. His own company didn’t have a brick–and–mortar space, so he’d gotten in the habit of using mine when he was tired of coffee shops and his own apartment. When we were together, he used to share my desk and we’d work companionably side by side. Since putting our relationship on hold, he’d stopped sharing my desk.
After Evan left, I gave Brad fifteen minutes to get settled and come to me about the project. He never did, so I approached him tentatively in the conference room, hovering at the threshold until he noticed. He didn’t like distractions when he was working.
“Hey, what’s up?”
Somewhat baffled by his lack of concern over the missing materials from the supplier he’d endorsed, I reminded him about my text from this morning and filled him in on the delay. His focus strayed to his laptop a time or two but he seemed to be listening to me, for the most part.
“What do you think I should tell Guy? This is really gonna screw up his build schedule.”
Kicked back in his chair, Brad looked like a man without a care in the world. “I don’t think it’s as big a deal as you’re making it. You and Evan always feed off each other about these kinds of things.”
