One morning in late July, Cameron finally lands a promising clue.
Elusive real estate tycoon Simon Brinks spends summer weekends at his estate in the San Juan Islands, a lavish Tuscan-style villa tucked up on a cliff overlooking some obscure strait. This is according to the old magazine article Cameron dug up on some obscure website. Once he had the town and photo, it was easy enough to unearth the address. It’s a two-hour drive from Sowell Bay.
That would be four hours in the car alone. Cameron scrolls through the address book on his phone. His thumb hovers over Avery’s number.
Would tagging along for a shakedown of a man who might be his biological father be a weird date? It would. Is Avery weird enough to be down with it? Possibly. Everything seems fifty-fifty with Avery, and even though they’ve managed a few coffee dates and a late-night dinner, once, at the pub down in Elland, half the time she develops some snag with her schedule and has to cancel, which seems oddly complicated for a single woman. Paddle store stuff, Cameron assumes. What would he know about owning a business? Holding his breath, he places the call.
“Hey, you.” She sounds happy to hear from him.
“I’m going on a little adventure today. Wanna come?” Cameron explains his plan.
Avery’s sigh seeps through his phone speaker. “Can’t, I’m on duty at the shop. But we should do something later this week.”
“Sure. Later this week.”
“I mean it,” she says earnestly. “We’ll go paddling. I’ll check my schedule.”
He says goodbye to Avery and sets his phone on the bumper of the camper, where his feet are propped, as he sits in one of Ethan’s lawn chairs. It was gross and rainy when he first got here, but now the weather is perfect. All of the colors seem impossibly vivid, from the wide blue sky to the thick green trees. Nothing like the oppressively hot, dusty oven that Modesto becomes in the summertime. He outstretches his right hand, examining his fingers, then flexes and throws a shadow jab upward at the cloudless summer sky.
Life is finally going his way.
For one thing, Avery. He’s never caught the attention of a girl quite like Avery before, and somehow her strange evasiveness only adds to her appeal.
For another thing: he’s about to do a face-to-face with his maybe dad.
And for a third thing: He’s held an actual job for weeks now. He doesn’t even hate it. Who knew? Chopping up fish guts. And cleaning! Not glamorous, but the solitude suits him, especially in the evening. Half the time, he’s the only one at the aquarium when he cleans. On those nights, he smacks the vending machine until it drops something, a package of cookies or stale snack cakes that nobody wants to buy anyway, pops in his earbuds, and zones out while he washes the floors. The other half of the time, the weird lady is there. Tova. She keeps showing up, even though she’s supposed to be on medical leave. Cameron promised he wouldn’t rat her out. He doesn’t mind having her around. Her obsession with that octopus is bizarre, and he hasn’t made much progress making friends with Marcellus, but her company is weirdly enjoyable.
Behind him, a screen door bangs. A second later, Ethan appears around the back side of the camper. A faded Led Zeppelin T-shirt a little tight across his torso. He squints at Cameron. “Lovely mornin’, innit?”
“Yeah. And guess what?” Cameron recounts his Simon Brinks discovery and subsequent conversation with Avery. Ethan nods.
“Well, let’s go, then. We’ll take my truck.”
Cameron tilts his head. “What?”
“Your ears full of porridge, laddie? I said we’ll take my truck!”
“You want to come with me?”
“A’course I do! You think I’d let you smack that wanker around alone?” He beams. “Sounds like a right good time, if you ask me.”
“Okay,” says Cameron slowly. “We’ll go together.”
“Gorgeous up that way, anyway, ’specially this time of year. We’ll make it an adventure, yeah? I’ll be your tour guide.”
Tour guide?
“In fact,” Ethan continues, “there’s a great little spot for fish ’n’ chips off the highway on the way up.”
Fish and chips? Who cares about fish and chips? “Fine. But first we go find Brinks.”
Ethan chuckles. “Extortion first, fish and chips after.”
CAMERON STILL CAN’T seem to wrap his head around the shape of the sea here. It’s like a monster with hundreds of long fingers is gripping the edge of the continent, tendrils of deep blue cutting channels through the dark green countryside in every unexpected way. He finds himself constantly surprised by the presence of the water on the left side of the car, then around a curve and on the right side, then over one bridge after another (how many times can a person cross the same body of water?) as Ethan drives along a never-ending two-lane road, the shoulder speckled by bait shops and gas stations and shabby-looking little restaurants that don’t inspire confidence in the fish-and-chips plan.
“Won’t be too much longer now,” Ethan shouts, in direct defiance of the tiny map on his dash-mounted phone, which states their arrival time an hour from now. He’s got his brawny elbow slung like a freckled sausage on the rim of the open window, having insisted on keeping the windows down, on account of it being “such a lovely day for a drive.” The fifty-mile-an-hour wind and Ethan’s accent make it hard to hear.
Clutching the class ring in his damp palm, he sketches out the logistics of his impending confrontation in his mind for the thousandth time.
Here’s one way it can go. And maybe this is the ideal way. Simon Brinks will be shocked to see him. His mouth will drop open as he recognizes Cameron immediately. Although he might be the kind of douchebag who will try to deny it, Cameron’s got the photographic evidence in his pocket. And then Brinks fesses up to everything.
The less-than-ideal way involves Brinks regarding him through narrow eyes. Talking right off the bat about involving attorneys, DNA tests. Keeping his lips zipped about anything until everything is proven.
But then, what if it is proven, and Brinks wants a relationship? That’s what Elizabeth keeps saying when she calls to check in. Elizabeth seems convinced that Simon has some sort of latent paternal instinct that will be inspired by the appearance of his long-lost son. Like something out of a movie. But life isn’t some cheesy Hollywood script.
Aunt Jeanne keeps hammering on the relationship thing, too, although Cameron suspects that, deep down, she’s skeptical that a person like Simon Brinks would have dated her sister. But last time they chatted, when Cameron mentioned that he’d be on the next plane home if he could get Brinks to cut him a check, she’d sighed disapprovingly. Stay up there awhile if you need to, Aunt Jeanne had said. Bought that ridiculous camper, might as well get some use out of it. Besides, life there seems to suit you.
Well, that much is true.
But Cameron doesn’t want a relationship with any would-be father. He wants the eighteen years of child support that this shifty asshole never paid. Hell, Cameron would accept a onetime payment. Ten grand? Twenty? He can send it directly to Aunt Jeanne. Cameron owes her a mint for everything he put her through over the years, not to mention the money she fronted him for the camper. He’s already paid back almost half, but it’s still a chunk of change.
“Aye, look!” Ethan brakes slightly, gesturing to a dirt road turning off the highway. “You ever want to go whale-watching, there’s a brilliant spot down there. Took a lady friend once. We saw orcas frolicking around like wee kittens. Quite a sight. Ah, the love we made that night was—”
“Uh, thanks.” Cameron cuts him off. What is with old people in love? “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Well, I’m just saying. I know you’ve got that lass.”
“I don’t think Avery wants to drive all the way up here to look at whales.”
“Might not knock it till you try it, eh? They’re majestic creatures.” Ethan turns and winks, and the truck drifts across the center line just as an oncoming car pops around the curve up ahead. He jerks back into the proper lane just in time. “Bugger! Eyes on the road. Anyway, there’s a nice spit of sand there, too, great for beachcombing. Lots of starfish and sand dollars.”
“If I wanted to show Avery starfish and sand dollars, why wouldn’t I just bring her to work?” Cameron points out dryly. “We have the largest collection of native echinoderms in the state. That’s what Tova says, anyway.”
Ethan’s head swivels and his gaze fixes on Cameron for an alarming stretch of time. His frizzy beard twitches, like he’s biting his lip underneath. Cameron feels himself grip the edge of the bench seat. What happened to eyes on the road?
Finally, the big man’s attention snaps back toward the dashboard. They ride in silence for quite a while. His voice is low when he says, “You’ve met Tova Sullivan?”
Shit. The secret. No one is supposed to know about Tova coming to the aquarium. Not for the first time, Cameron wonders why it’s such a big deal. After thinking it over for a minute, he decides that it shouldn’t be. Old people are weird sometimes. And why would Ethan care anyway? After a pause, he answers, “Yeah, Tova comes by once in a while to help out.”
“I thought she was on medical leave.”
“She is. Forget I said anything.”
“Is she all right?” There’s a quiet reverence to Ethan’s voice.
“She’s fine. Her foot’s getting better, I think.”
“Very glad to hear that,” Ethan mumbles. His ruddy cheeks are even redder than usual.
A grin spreads across Cameron’s face. “Oh my God. You like her.”
“Well, who wouldn’t like her?”
“That’s pure bullshit. It’s written all over you.”
Now Ethan’s ears are also deep red. “She’s a lovely lady.”
“‘She’s a lovely lady,’” Cameron repeats, imitating the Scot. He reaches over and gives Ethan a little smack on the shoulder. “Come on, bro. Let’s hear it. You two have a history, or what?”
“A history?” Ethan’s mouth presses into a serious line. “I’d never pursue a married lady. Which is what Mrs. Sullivan was, up till recently.”
“Oh.” Cameron slumps. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. Husband was a decent bloke. Died of pancreatic cancer a couple years ago.”
Cameron folds his hands in his lap and studies them. For some reason, learning this about Tova stings a little. That she hadn’t bothered to share this basic information.
“Been a rough life,” Ethan goes on, “what with her son and all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know about that? Well, I guess you wouldn’t. It’s local knowledge, but you haven’t been here long. And folks don’t bring it up like they used to.”
With a shiver, Cameron recalls Tova’s comment. People in Sowell Bay like to talk. He mutters, “I didn’t know she had a son.”
“Isn’t my story to tell, but I s’pose it’s as good to hear it from me as from anyone else.” Ethan draws in a long breath. “So back in the late eighties, her son was working the ferry dock. Erik, his name was. Bloody smart. Valedictorian of his class. Brilliant at sports, captain of the sailing team. You get the idea.”
“Yeah, sure,” Cameron says. Every high school has an Erik.
“Anyway, he was—oh, bloody hell. Have I missed the turnoff?” Ethan snatches his phone and squints at the screen. “Well, Rhonda? Why didn’t you tip me off?”
Cameron arches a brow. “Rhonda?”
“That’s what I call the lady’s voice who reads out the directions. And she’s buggered it this time.” The phone lands with a clatter in the cup holder. “Your old man’s place is a mile back that way,” he says, jabbing his thumb behind.
“What about the story? About Tova’s son?” Cameron’s knuckles whiten, clinging to the door handle as the truck reels in a tight circle, in what is definitely not a legal U-turn.
“Eh, never mind about that.”
“Oh, come on!”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s sad.” The truck’s tires hum on the pavement as it gains speed heading south now. Between the dense treetops, slivers of pale blue water peek through. “Her son died. Drowned. When he was eighteen.”
“Oh God.” Cameron lets out a breath. “That’s horrible.”
“Aye,” says Ethan quietly. “Well, here we are.” He guides the truck off the blacktop and onto an unmarked gravel road, kicking up a huge cloud of dust that makes both of them cough.
Cameron rolls up his window, eyeing the road skeptically. It’s pocked and weedy. “Are you sure?”
Ethan holds up the phone, double-checking the address. “Yep. Definitely it.”
SURE AS SHIT, this is not it.
It could be a good location for a billionaire’s vacation home. The empty bluff overlooks dark blue sea on three sides. But there is no Tuscan-style villa, no billionaire deadbeat potential father lounging poolside, sipping from a golden goblet. Just a dusky gravel clearing that reminds Cameron of a certain type of movie set, the kind where kids are making out in a car before they get slashed up by a serial killer.
“Shit,” he mutters, kicking a pinecone across the dirt. It disappears over the edge and tumbles down the cliffside.
“So this isn’t it,” Ethan says pointlessly.
“Definitely not.”
Maybe Cameron’s internet sleuthing skills aren’t as impressive as he’d thought. They head back to the truck and begin the lumbering trek back along the choppy road.
Ethan hits a rough spot, braking when he should’ve pushed through. A typical rookie reaction. But now they’re stuck. The wheels spin uselessly as Ethan stomps on the accelerator.
“Whoa, chill. You hit a nasty groove,” Cameron explains patiently. Sure, the road is a little gnarly, but it’s entry-level four-wheeling. Child’s play compared to the nasty shit he and Katie used to run out in the California desert with his old Jeep, before it got repossessed.
“Bloody rut,” Ethan says under his breath as he jams on the gas even harder. The truck’s transmission groans and whines, like it’s sick of this adventure, too.
Cameron sighs. “Let me try?”
“You?” Ethan frowns, but his eyes widen with curiosity, maybe hope. “Well, I suppose so.” He cuts the engine and tosses Cameron the keys.
“Okay. Come on, let’s get out.”
“Out?”
“Yeah, out.” Cameron tries to tamp down the impatience in his voice as he climbs down from the cab. “We need to check out what’s going on down there. Might need to shore up the traction in the back. You got anything we could use as a wedge?” He scans the road, which drops into dark, thick forest at the edge. Nothing like the wide desert. But there’s a small boulder on the side that might work. He jerks his head toward it and commands, “Grab that rock over there.”
Ethan looks surprised. Impressed, even. Cameron allows himself a tiny smile. “Used to off-road in the desert once in a while.”
“Aye.” Ethan nods and lopes off toward the appointed rock. By the time he returns, Cameron has already packed a pad of thick, dry dirt in front of the rear wheels and is peering under the chassis, using the edges of his hands like tiny protractors to work out the angles.
Cameron explains how it’s going to work. “First, we push the truck forward, even just an inch or two, and wedge the right tire with that rock. Then we come out at a hard left, then once the back wheels catch, cut right.”
“Left?” Ethan looks left, at the wall of trees. There’s maybe two feet between the side of the front bumper and the first row of thick trunks. “No, I don’t think so.”
“It’ll work. It’s just physics.” Cameron remembers so many of these conversations with his four-wheeling friends. They couldn’t see it like he could, the forces that would launch the vehicle this way and that, even when it seemed impossible. They’d sit there and spin their wheels, both metaphorically and physically. Looking earnestly at Ethan’s doubtful face, he adds, “Trust me.”
“Aye, then.”
Left, hard right, a splatter of gravelly mud in the rearview mirror, and with a stomach-yanking jostle that alarms even Cameron, the truck bolts up the road. Once they’re clear of the rut, he lets out a laugh. He’d forgotten how much fun this is, and this pickup is no Jeep, but it isn’t half-bad on the rough stuff. He glances over to see Ethan practically shitting a brick. A wicked grin tugs at the corner of Cameron’s mouth as he intentionally dips the front wheels through a divot, causing both of them to bounce. “Want to have some more fun?”
In the passenger seat, Ethan throws his head back and lets out a strange, almost canine, howl. “Let’s do it!”
Cameron slams on the gas. This is a hell of a lot more fun than fish and chips.