Cleo broke into a bubbly laugh. “I tried having the camp come here on a field trip. I thought our patients would enjoy seeing all the darling children, but unfortunately some of the older ones rather frightened the children. There was some screaming. Crying on both sides. Dogs work better. They’re less judgmental.”
Cleo’s laugh was contagious. Ari could envision the scene. “I can understand that.”
Cleo got herself in control. “Here’s the deal, Ari—it is Ari, isn’t it? Beach Camp is a special camp. It’s free, which means we give out full scholarships. Our director organized it two years ago to help the children of parents who work all day in the summer but don’t have the resources to pay for daily camp.” Before Ari could speak, Cleo continued. “Don’t worry, the counselors get paid. Beach Camp has a committee that fundraises to pay for counselors and supplies.” She named an hourly wage that was higher than the minimum daily wage in Massachusetts but lower than many other jobs paid.
“Okay…” Slightly disconcerted, Ari realized Cleo was studying her, sort of scanning her—judging her.
Cleo nodded, as if she’d decided something. “I know. I know. You can make a lot more money waiting tables. Working at the camp is a long day with unruly little children. You have to have a special personality to do that. And frankly, you don’t look like you match the job.”
“Why?”
“Well, for example, look at your teeth.”
“Um, that’s impossible right at this moment.”
Cleo laughed. “Oh, you’re funny. I mean, they’re so straight and white. Braces in adolescence, right? You’re so healthy looking. And your clothes. Your sunglasses. Ralph Lauren, I’d bet. Not everyone can afford to pay over a hundred dollars for a pair of sunglasses. Personally, I buy them in bulk at the Christmas Tree Shops and I’d advise you to do the same. If you take the job, you’ll lose your sunglasses a lot.”
How old was Cleo? Ari wondered again. Not that much older than Ari was. Ari said, just a bit sassily, “Your teeth are straight, too.”
“Annnnd just like that, you’ve got the job!” Cleo announced.
“What?”
“We need someone at Beach Camp who can take it and give it right back. We’ve got three or four sixteen-year-olds who help out, but sometimes the camp kids can be troublesome. Obstinate.” Cleo stood up. “I’ve got to get back inside. I think you’re cool, Ari. I hope you like the kids. Here’s the address of our office. It’s on Amelia Drive. I’ve texted your name to Poppy so she’s already checking you out. If you can go over there and give Poppy any other info she needs, that would be great.” As Cleo set off, she said over her shoulder, “Poppy’s good with computers but not so good with people. But you’ll like her. And she’ll like you.”
As Ari walked back to her car, she almost wished she could talk to Peter. She always talked important things over with him, or she had until the past few months. She sat in her car, pulled down the visor, and redid her lipstick. What would Peter say? That Cleo Marshall was eccentric. That it was a wonderful, altruistic idea to have a free camp for children whose parents had to work, but was that what Ari really wanted to do? Wasn’t she here to enjoy herself, to give herself a break from finishing college exams and starting more coursework in the fall? Peter would say she shouldn’t even think of starting at that camp unless she was willing and ready to work for the entire summer. And that was true.
She drove down lower Orange, through the rotary, and turned right on Amelia Drive, past the Meat and Fish Market, and Annye’s Whole Foods, and Life Massage, and turned right into a small parking lot next to a two-story building. A sign for BEACH CAMP in large block letters was nailed above a blue door. Ari knocked, opened the door, and walked in.
A lovely woman in her forties sat behind a desk. Her long brown hair was piled in a messy bun, she wore blue-framed glasses over her brown eyes, and such a pretty shade of lipstick that Ari wanted to ask her what it was.
The woman rose and held out her hand. “You’re Ari. I’m Poppy Marshall. Cleo told me you were coming. She’s my cousin. Have a seat.”
Ari shook the other woman’s hand and settled in a chair facing Poppy’s desk.
“You’re a Marshall, too.”
“Oh, yes. There are