Tova lets out a stony chuckle. Stealing beer from the fridge? That sounded like her son. But the rest, was it possible? She shakes her head. “I don’t remember Erik having a girlfriend at that time.”
“I don’t know what she was, technically, but they were a thing.” Adam frowns and furrows a brow. “Damn. What was her name?”
Laura lays a hand on Tova’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Tova? Dear?” Mary Ann echoes her daughter.
“I’m perfectly fine.” Tova’s voice sounds like it’s coming from inside a cave. She stands and thanks Laura for the luncheon while giving Mary Ann a brief hug, then hears herself bid goodbye to Adam Wright and Sandy Hewitt.
Click-clack, click-clack. The sound of her sandals on the restaurant’s hardwood floor seems to propel her away from the table. Outside, late-afternoon sun assaults her, and she shields her face with a hand as she beelines across the Elland Chophouse parking lot toward her car. Only once she’s sitting in the driver’s seat with the ignition turned on and the radio playing does she realize she’s been holding her breath. It comes out, hot and fast, the blowback fogging her glasses.
So Will had been right.
There was a girl.
The Pier’s Shadow
Avery’s house is small with yellow vinyl siding in a subdivision off the county highway. It’s a haul from town; no wonder Avery showers at the store after her morning paddle, even if the water is ice-cold, instead of driving home. Garden tools and yard-waste bags are all over the place on one side of her driveway, barely leaving room for Cameron to park his camper.
She appears in the front doorway clutching a coffee mug. A pair of running shorts sits low on her hips, a flash of light-brown skin peeking out between the waistband and her tank top. Damn. Suddenly, he’s very glad she suggested they meet here for their paddleboarding date rather than down at her shop. She had claimed it was because she doesn’t like to come into work on her days off, but maybe she has something more in mind?
Squinting into the sun, she says, “You made it!”
Cameron hops down from the cab and tucks the keys in his pocket. “Did you expect otherwise?”
She grins. “To be honest, I don’t normally date younger guys. I’ve been ghosted more than once.”
“Younger guys? How old do you think I am?”
“Twenty-four?”
“Try thirty.” Cameron bounds up the short set of front steps in one leap. “But I’ll forgive you. It’s hard to tell with my youthful glow and athleticism.”
Avery rolls her eyes. “Save your chest-puffing for after I get you on a paddleboard. We’ll talk about your athleticism then.”
“I’m sure I’ll be a natural. Naturally.”
“Uh-huh.” Avery smirks. She gestures at the open door. “Come in for a bit? I need to finish getting ready.”
“Sure. But what about you?”
Avery turns to him, puzzled. “What about me?”
“How old are you?” A note of anxiety creeps into Cameron’s voice.
“Turned thirty-two last month.” She laughs at his look of relief, then bends down to pick up a lone sock from the laminate floor. “Why, how old did you think I was?”
“Oh, early twenties, obviously.”
She bats him with the sock. “Stop.”
Cameron puts on his best smile. “I mean, why not? You’re—”
A beleaguered grunt from the other room interrupts him. Moments later, a teenage boy lopes out. He’s almost as tall as Cameron, with shaggy dark curls and the same olive complexion as Avery. Without a glance at Cameron, the boy holds up a cereal box and moans, “Mom! We’re outta Cheerios.”
Cameron’s jaw drops. A kid? A teenage kid?
A look of surprise crosses Avery’s face, then she inhales stiffly. “Cameron, this is Marco.” She turns to the teenager, who glares at Cameron the way someone looks at a fresh turd. “Honey, this is my friend Cameron.”
“Hey,” Cameron says with a nod.
“Sup.” Marco juts his chin.
“Don’t mind him. He’s fifteen. And I thought he had headed out on a bike ride ten minutes ago,” Avery says, ruffling Marco’s hair, which he tolerates for a couple of seconds before ducking away from her hand. Cameron runs the numbers in his head three times to make sure he’s got it right. Seventeen. Avery had a kid when she was seventeen!
“Marco, hon, what do we do when we’re out of Cheerios?”
Marco rolls his eyes. “The list.”
“Right. We add it to the shopping list,” she says, her tone pointed. “I’m sure you’ll find something else to eat in the meantime.”
Marco mutters, “We’re out of chips, too.”
“Oh, the humanity,” Avery says dryly. “Look, I’ll try to get to the grocery store later. Cameron and I are going out on the water. Don’t trash the house while I’m gone, okay?”
“Can Kyle and Nate come over later?”
“If you promise to do something besides play video games all day. Go ride your bikes! And the lawn needs mowing.”
“Yeah, fine. I’ll mow.”
“Great. Have fun. And here.” She tosses the sock at him. “This got lost on its way to the hamper.”
These last words send a shock wave through Cameron. That’s exactly what Katie used to say to him when he’d leave his clothes on their bedroom floor.
“I SHOULD’VE TOLD you.” Avery bites her lip and stares out the passenger window of the camper. “I’m sorry.”
“No! It’s cool. Totally cool.” Cameron rests his arm on the rim of the open window. Is it cool? To his surprise . . . yeah, maybe it is. Watching Avery as a mom, for some reason, had impressed him in a way that he’d never been impressed by a girl before. He turns off the highway and down the long, winding hill toward the water. The transmission shudders at the downshift, and that damn loose belt squeals, which causes him to second-guess his insistence on driving. He had wanted to show off the camper, though. It’s looking good these days. He scrubbed the whole inside down with vinegar and lemon, and even the windows are streak-free. He even sprung for a cheap, but new, mattress.
She gives him a sidelong look. “You’re cool with me having a kid?”
“Well, I guess it means you’re easy,” he says, voice hitching on the last syllable. Did his joke cross the line? But Avery bursts out laughing and gives his shoulder a playful shove.
“You are so going in the water. I’ll dunk you myself.”
“You can’t! I don’t have a swimsuit.”
This is true. All of Cameron’s board shorts are stuffed in a black garbage bag, where they went after Katie tossed them off her balcony. The garbage sack has probably been moved to Brad and Elizabeth’s basement by now.
Avery stares at him, incredulous. “Why not?”
“Don’t own one at the moment.”
“We have trunks at my shop, you know.”
“Too rich for my blood. What do you think they’re paying me to hack up mackerel and mop up the guts afterward?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I would have given you a pair for free!”
“Nah, I’m done with handouts. Although that shit you gave me for my neck was amazing.”
“Fair enough.” She shakes her head, smiling. “But I hope you like being cold and wet.”
TINY WAVES LAP at the pebbled shore. How hard could this be? Nonetheless, Avery gives him the play-by-play. “So, you want to put your feet here.” She points to the middle of his board. “And hold your paddle like this,” she says, demonstrating.
Cameron nods, half listening as she goes through a million more directives.
“And the last thing,” she chirps as she launches her board gracefully over the water, “is don’t fall in!” A breeze flips up the edge of her running shorts, distracting him.
“I won’t,” he promises. He lies on his stomach, as instructed, and launches his board from the beach. But as soon as he rises to a knee, preparing to stand, he starts to topple. With a humbling splash, his foot plunges, sinking into the rough sand six inches below. “Holy shit!” he gasps. The icy water knocks his breath away. Shockingly cold.
“Five seconds.” Avery looks over her shoulder, brow raised. “A record.”
“I was just testing the water.”
“Try widening your stance.”