Page 79 of The Leaving Kind
“What’s up?” Nick asked.
“Yeah. Okay.” Cam spread his hands across the counter and breathed for a second. It’s not a big deal. Just breathe. “I need to start a business. Or register one. Or whatever it is you do to make yourself legit. I have actual employees now, and one of them needs to show income so they can rent themselves an apartment.”
Showing no surprise whatsoever, Nick nodded. “Do you have a list?”
“A list?”
“Of what you need to do?”
“Oh, yeah.” Cam retrieved his phone again and opened his notes app. “So, um, get a business name and bank account. That’s all I’ve got so far. I googled business names and found this website. It’s from the PA government, and there are checklists. Like, six dozen of them.” That was when his heart had begun to flail. Cam looked up. “I need help, bro. You’re good at this kind of thing. Organization and whatever.” He shoved the phone across the counter. “Tell me what to do.”
Nick did not pick up the phone. “Do you have a name?”
“For the business?”
“Yes.”
“Um, no.”
He’d tossed a few ideas around with Jorge last night while they sat side by side on loungers on the back patio, peeling the labels from their beer bottles. As usual, Cam had done most of the talking with Jorge interjecting a grunt now and again. Cam had yet to figure out whether Jorge’s “comments” had been in the affirmative or negative, however.
“Let’s start there.”
“With a name?”
“You’ll need it for all the paperwork.”
“Shit.”
“You don’t have to put whatever you register on the side of your truck. You can use a trading name. But you need something for the business paperwork.”
“Your truck,” Cam muttered.
“What?”
“It’s your truck.”
“I gave it to you.”
“I’m borrowing it, okay? But if I offered to buy it, how much would you want? I’m going to need some assets for this business, aren’t I? Fuck.” A familiar roiling moved through his gut. Flat air seemed to push at his ears. Cam edged off the stool. “You know what, let’s just forget it. I’ll—”
Nick grabbed his elbow, and the movement was so unexpected—his brother never reached out unprompted—Cam stood still.
“What’s happening?” Nick asked.
“What do you mean?”
“In your head. Why is this so hard?”
Resisting the urge to shake off Nick’s hand, Cam sighed and sat. Then he touched Nick’s fingers, sort of squeezing them and peeling them off his arm at the same time.
Nick sat on the stool beside him and pulled Cam’s phone across the counter. He opened a fresh note and put his thumbs to the tiny keyboard. “Milford, Zimmermann, landscape, lawn, care, terrain, beautiful, garden, aspect, prospect, grounds—”
“What are you doing?” Cam leaned over to watch the progression of words on Nick’s list.
“Listing keywords. We can bump two together as a business name.”
Could it be that easy?