Remarkably Bright Creatures(14)

Weeks later, in Aberdeen, Washington, the van’s transmission finally failed. Ethan tinkered with it, but it was gone. And in the morning, so was Cindy.

And that was that.

Aberdeen suited Ethan. He had never visited its namesake town on the northern coast of Scotland, but it felt familiar. Low, gray skies. Gruff, industrious people. He took a job as a longshoreman. Found a bed in a rooming house. Took his tea early in the morning, while watching the fog drift over the ship masts.

The union treated him well, retiring him with a modest pension at the age of fifty-five. Out of grudging necessity, he moved inland, closer to the city, to the physical therapists needed to reshape his back after years of hoisting logs onto boats. But retirement made him restless. Shop-Way had a swing shift to fill, was happy to furnish an ergonomic chair at his register. He did them one better and gathered up his savings and bought the place.

Now, ten years later, he still doesn’t need the money, not exactly. The union pension covers rent, food, gas for his truck. But the trickle of profit from the store affords him new vinyl records for his collection and a nice bottle of scotch now and then. Proper Islay whiskey, not Highlands rubbish.

Headlights flash on the slick pavement as a car swerves into the parking lot. Ethan snuffs his pipe and ducks back through the front door.

He posts up at the register as a young man and woman stagger in, arms so deeply entwined that they move like a single person. They ping-pong down the aisles, giggling as they ricochet off the pillars of chips and soda. They fumble with a debit card at the register. They peel out onto the road, washing the front windows in white light as they go.

Idiots. They’ll kill someone. Someone like Ethan’s sister, Mariah, who was struck by a truck when she was barely ten. Fishermen on their way back from the pub. The world is full of idiots.

The thought of Tova’s hatchback out there on that road makes Ethan queasy. He wishes he could drive by her house and make sure her car is parked there. Maybe her lights would be on.

But no. He broke himself once, chasing a lass.





Day 1,306 of My Captivity


I AM VERY GOOD AT KEEPING SECRETS.

You might say I have no choice. Whom might I tell? My options are scant.

To the extent I am able to communicate with the other prisoners, those dull conversations are rarely worth the effort. Blunt minds, rudimentary neural systems. They are wired for survival, and perhaps expert at that function, but no other creature here possesses intelligence like mine.

It is lonely. Perhaps it would be less so if I had someone with whom to share my secrets.

Secrets are everywhere. Some humans are crammed full of them. How do they not explode? It seems to be a hallmark of the human species: abysmal communication skills. Not that any other species are much better, mind you, but even a herring can tell which way the school it belongs to is turning and follow accordingly. Why can humans not use their millions of words to simply tell one another what they desire?

The sea, too, is very good at keeping secrets.

One in particular, from the bottom of the sea, I carry with me still.





Baby Vipers are Especially Deadly


The box sits on Cameron’s kitchen counter, untouched, for three days.

Aunt Jeanne had schlepped it out of the trailer herself. Toss it if you want, but at least look through it first, she’d said. Family’s important.

Cameron had rolled his eyes. Family. But when that woman truly wants her way, arguing is pointless. So the box traveled home with him. Now, Cameron eyes it from the sofa, considering turning off SportsCenter to take a look. Might be something in there he could take down to the pawnshop. Katie will need his half of July’s rent soon.

Maybe after lunch.

The microwave hums and rotates his noodle cup while he waits. Cooking by magnet-blasting radiation, causing food molecules to beat the shit out of each other: Who comes up with this stuff, figures out how to market it? Whoever that guy is, he’s probably swimming naked in a pile of cash somewhere, surrounded by supermodels. Life is unfair.

Ding.

Cameron removes the steaming cup. He’s carrying it back to the sofa, careful not to let it slosh, when the apartment door creaks open, startling him.

“Shit!” Scalding liquid spills over his hand.

“Cam! Are you okay?” Katie drops her work bag and runs over.

“I’m fine,” he mutters. What’s she doing home on a Tuesday afternoon? Then again, she might ask him the same question. His mind spins. Had he told her he was working today? Had she asked?

“Hang on,” she says, ducking into the kitchen, her perfect little butt twitching under her gray skirt. Katie works at the front desk of the Holiday Inn by the freeway. Good thing she’s been working day shift lately. He would’ve been busted by now if she were still on nights.

She hurries back, carrying two damp rags.

“Thanks,” Cameron says as she hands him one. Its coolness is welcome relief on his hand. Then she squats down to wipe up the spilled broth with the other.

“So, you’re home early,” he says, bending to help, forcing his voice to be casual.

“I’ve got a dentist appointment this afternoon. Remember? We talked about it last week.”

“Oh yeah. Right.” Cameron nods, vaguely recalling.

“I don’t remember you mentioning you were off today.” She plucks a stray noodle from the carpet and drops it into her rag, looking up at him through narrow eyes.