Cameron sees again, in his mind, the self-assured way Avery ruffled her son’s hair. Took no shit about dirty socks on the floor. He can barely scrape up enough money to buy a crappy camper with money siphoned from his overly generous aunt, and meanwhile, Avery has raised a whole entire human being, not to mention buying a house and a paddleboard store, and doesn’t think twice about giving away a twenty-dollar jar of organic Vaseline, for free, to a schmuck like him. A sucker for injured creatures, indeed.
“My friends Elizabeth and Brad are having a baby,” he says, although he’s not sure why, because it’s kind of out of nowhere. “Best friends, I mean. We’ve all been tight for a long time.”
“That’s wonderful,” Avery says.
“It is. It’s amazing.” Cameron nods slowly. “I mean, they have no clue what they’re doing, but I guess they’ll figure it out.”
“For sure. Billions of people have figured it out.”
Cameron smiles. “You’d like them. I mean, Brad is a dork, but he’s a solid dude. And I think you and Elizabeth would be good friends.” He runs a hand through the cold, dark water. “I wish you could meet them. I mean, someday.” He rubs the back of his neck, which is suddenly hot, flushed.
“Sure, I’d love that.” Avery rises to her knees and dips a paddle. “Let’s head back, huh? It’s chilly under here.”
An hour later, as they swing back around the tip of the jetty, that same aggrieved seagull gives them another hard glare. “Cheer up, mate,” says Cameron, chuckling to himself. Ethan is rubbing off on him.
The gull rears back, thrusts open its beak, and lets out the loudest, angriest squawk a bird has ever made.
All it takes is his one foot slipping back a couple of inches, weight shifted, and with a massive splash Cameron is in the water. Again.
Coming up with a gasp, he yells, “Holy shit, that’s still cold!”
Where did Avery go? Treading in the freezing water, he swivels his head around looking for her. He probably looks like a goddamn seal. Or a sea lion? He can’t remember which pinniped is native to the Pacific Northwest. Is the cold taking over his brain? Hypothermia?
“Need a hand?” There she is, paddling toward him on her board. She’s gasping. With laughter.
“I’ve got it,” he grumbles, attempting to hoist himself back onto his slippery board. Just as he gets a knee up, it shoots away, sending him back underwater.
When he resurfaces, Avery is letting loose a string of incomprehensible instructions. “Shift your weight, brace your knee, tighten your core, no, your other knee, that elbow, grip with that hand, no, your right hand, no, your other right hand . . .”
He manages to flop up onto the board, and is sitting there like an asshole, dripping and panting, when the seagull lifts off the jetty and glides past them.
“You feathered little jerk,” he mutters, shaking his fist.
Avery has finally recovered from her laughter. She wipes her eyes with the hem of her shirt. “So close to the shore! You almost made it.”
“Gee, thanks for believing in me.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Well, since I’m already wet . . .” He dives into the bracing water and beelines for her board. Her warnings are muffled by the water as he gives the board a solid shove. She crashes into him, squealing and pushing him under, as the board pops back out few feet away.
He surfaces, grinning. “Now we’re both wet!”
“You are so dead.” Her voice is sandpaper, but her eyes are sparkling. He winds an arm around her waist and pulls her into him, her body practically weightless underwater. She wraps her legs around his hips. It’s hot as hell, even though he’s numb from the armpits down at this point.
“You didn’t pack a change of clothes,” he says, teeth chattering. “I noticed you didn’t bring a bag.” His lips are a breath away from hers.
She whispers, “Because I never fall.”
“Good thing I’ve got blankets in the back of the camper.”
Laughing, she pulls back a bit. “Cameron, if you try some line about us needing to get out of these wet clothes . . .”
He feigns offense. “Well, we do, don’t we?”
“And if you say one damn word about how you’re glad we brought your camper here, because Marco and his friends are back at my house . . .”
“Well? Aren’t you glad about that?”
“Yep.” She draws herself close again and kisses him, softly at first. Her lips are salty, shivering, but as she opens her mouth to his, the inside is warm, sweet, intoxicating. Then, with a swoosh, she jets away. As she grabs hold of her loose board, she flashes him a daring grin that almost sends him off the edge as she says, “Last one back to the shore is a rotten egg.”
There Was a Girl
There was a girl.
Like a noxious ivy, this notion winds its way around every aspect of Tova’s daily routine. When she’s making up her bed in the morning: There was a girl. Waiting for the coffee to percolate: There was a girl. Dusting the baseboards (because it’s a Wednesday, after all, even when the world’s been tipped upside down): A girl, a girl, a girl.
Even though he was very popular, Erik was selective in who he chose to date. There were a handful of sweethearts throughout high school, and the police spoke at length with all of them. Not as suspects, of course—they never said that—but as people who had once been close to Erik, who might have known what he was doing that night, whether he was playing some game or running away from home or . . .
There was Ashley Barrington, whom Erik took to the Sowell Bay High School homecoming dance the previous autumn, but she knew nothing, she’d been out of town with her family on a cruise the night it happened. Jenny-Lynn Mason, his prom date from earlier that spring, was also of no help, as she had attended a social gathering down in Seattle that evening and stayed the night at a friend’s there. Then there was Stephanie Lee. When the police prodded, Tova had identified her as a classmate who had come around the house several times that spring for so-called study dates. Stephanie said she was home, asleep. At first, the detective raised a brow at this, but eventually determined that it was true, and that the young woman couldn’t offer any information.
There was a girl. How did she not know? Tova’s eyes seem to tangle with themselves as she tries to focus on the newspaper laid out in front of her with the daily crossword. Five letters: A daredevil’s move. She knows the word is “STUNT,” but her pencil wants to write A-G-I-R-L. Or better yet, the girl’s name. What was her name? Is it buried in her own memory? A name she’d heard but not attached any importance to? Had Adam Wright managed to remember it? Was he even trying? She had tried to look him up in the phone book, but he wasn’t listed, which probably made sense because he just moved back to town. And anyhow, perhaps he wouldn’t even remember their conversation from the Elland Chophouse. He had consumed quite a few martinis.
This, too, nags at Tova. What does anyone really know about Adam Wright? Who says the liquor-fueled memory of a lunchtime lush could be counted upon? He was a school buddy of Erik’s, but not a close friend. He said so himself.
She picks at a peeling edge of Formica on the corner of her kitchen table. A terrible habit, to pick at such a thing. She ought to superglue it down right away. But she keeps picking. Why is everything coming apart at the seams?
If she hadn’t taken her crossword down to Hamilton Park that day, had that moment of connection over Debbie Harry of Blondie, of all things, good heavens . . . would he have recognized her at the Elland Chophouse?
Why is he only now remembering these details about that night?
Why did Erik take that boat out?
Why can’t Adam remember the girl’s name?
Why didn’t Erik tell her about the girl?
Why is all of this coming up now?
“Why?” she says to Cat, who is parked in a patch of sunshine on the linoleum. Cat licks a paw and squints.
It has been years since Tova has juggled so many of these Erik-related questions. It exhausts her, to the point where she lies down on the davenport after lunch for a nap, which is something she hasn’t done in years.
THE PHONE’S RING slices through her sleep. Tova fumbles the receiver, almost dropping it, and croaks, “Hello?”
“I have great news!” It’s a woman’s voice, and for the smallest second Tova’s mind flashes to a girl. But it’s Jessica Snell, the realtor.