Making It Last (Camelot 4)

He smiled. “Other than that, I mean. What are you doing for yourself?”

“I don’t know. I’m starting to have some ideas, though. In the shower I was thinking about sports jobs. There are a lot more options than there were when I was right out of college. It’s kind of exciting.”

“You think maybe you’re a trainer?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’ll be the kind of trainer who gives classes for people who want to run marathons. Though I’d have to run a marathon first.”

“You could do that. Or triathlons.”

“I’m a terrible swimmer.”

“You could get better.”

“Yeah.” She kissed his neck. “I was thinking maybe I could get a job. Part-time. Marc always said they’d hire me on as a receptionist in a minute at the gym.”

He thought about Marc. Let it go. Marc had never been the problem.

“Of course they would. They’d pay you minimum wage and you’d be running the place inside of a month.”

“It wouldn’t just be for the money. I mean, whatever I can do, sure. It would be great to feel like I was contributing something, but after so long without any job at all … and in this market.”

“But we’re talking about a decade from now, and that’s plenty of time to get back in. Maybe in ten years, you’ll be making good money.”

“That would be nice.”

He thought about it. It would be nice. Sure, there was part of him that felt like keeping a roof over their heads and food on the table was his sole responsibility. Amber had suggested once or twice, in a vague sort of way, that she might want to find a job after Jake started school, but he’d never wanted to think about it, because just the thought of it felt like a failure—an admission that he really couldn’t keep them afloat on his own. And if he couldn’t do this for them, what did they need him for?

Pride and fear. His weaknesses.

If Amber wanted to work again—if the work she did not only made her feel better but made life easier for both of them and for their sons—his pride and fear could go fuck themselves.

“It would be nice,” he said. And meant it.

He stroked her arm. Light strokes, back and forth. Light enough to give her goose bumps that made her arm hair all silky and interesting to touch.

“Tell me what your day looks like a year from now,” he said.

“A year from now?”

“Yeah. Your whole day, if you’re living the life that makes you happiest.”

“Well, I guess I get up early and go for a run. Because I’m training for a marathon. I’ll have already run a half-marathon in the fall, right?”

“Right.”

“And when I come home, you’re up with the kids, and they’re about ready for school, because I packed their lunches last night and you’ve gotten them to dress and put on their shoes.”

“I’m not at work?”

“No. You don’t go to work until they get on the bus. Because you’ve hired somebody to help you run the company, and he goes to work at five-thirty in the morning.” That made his breath catch, but he exhaled past it. Hypothetical.

Hypothetically, he could hire a guy.

“How did I afford him?”

“You gave up the idea that Patrick was coming back, and then you sold Mazzara Construction to Dale Prange.”

“Wow.”