“You like this woman a lot, don’t you?” Nora asks as the doors slide shut again.
“I do.”
Which is why I can’t erase this nagging feeling building in my gut that something is wrong. I’m sure it’s because of my own issues. I’m probably overreacting, expecting something awful because I’ve never felt this close to anyone before. Nora’s right. She’s in class or driving back from Binghampton and going through a dead zone for cell reception. I’m sure she’ll call as soon as she can. But the unease continues to shove at me.
On the ground floor, we push out of the large glass doors and into the muggy heat of downtown Miami. It’s eighty degrees in the middle of March.
My phone rings, and I’m so on edge, I answer without even checking who it is.
“Finley?”
“Not quite,” a deep, familiar voice answers.
“Hey. Oliver.” I glance over at Nora, and she sticks out her tongue, making a face. “I’m surprised it took you this long to break my ‘no calling’ rule.”
“You know how lucky you are that I cater to any of your whims.”
“So lucky.”
“What’s the news?”
We walk down the sidewalk in the direction of Nora’s car, weaving through pedestrians and skirting a food cart. “I do have an idea for you, and you will get what you want, which is starting the camp, but there are some caveats, and I’m still working on it.”
“Let’s hear it.”
I hesitate. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until I can present something to you in writing?” It would be best if I could list out the positives for him in plain black and white before he can cut me off.
“I don’t need that from you yet. Just spill it, Weston.”
“You pay Finley half of what you’re offering, and then you split the ownership rights. She’ll help manage and run the camp plus oversee any renovations and hiring. You’ll cover all those expenses, of course.”
There’s an extended pause. I pull the phone away. He hasn’t hung up yet. That’s positive.
“Shared ownership?” He says the words the way he might say “filing taxes” or “dental surgery” or “flaming excrement.”
“That’s the idea.”
The line goes dead. I check again. Yep. This time, he hung up.
“What did he say?”
“He hung up on me. So it went better than I expected.”
She clicks the button on her key fob, and the lights flash on her silver Honda. “He hung up on you? How is that good?”
“It’s not great, but he’s reacted worse, and I eventually got him over to my side.”
We get in the car, and while she’s peering over her shoulder, waiting to merge into traffic, Oliver calls me back.
“Oliver,” I answer.
“Shared ownership?” he says again, as if we didn’t just have a few minutes’ hiatus from the last call. “Have you lost your mind? How is she going to help manage anything? By running it into the ground again?”
“Hang on there. You don’t know the circumstances.”
“I don’t need the circumstances. I’ve reviewed the numbers, and they don’t lie.”
“Yes, you do. She has a lot more to offer than you realize.”