Remarkably Bright Creatures(35)

“Anyway, I guess she’s at peace now.” A sad smile spreads over Elliot’s face. Cameron drops his gaze, feeling yet again like an intruder spying on the typical human experience, an outsider looking in on the normal, which is always just out of his grasp. Losing grandparents, worrying about valuables in your suitcase: these experiences belong to other people.

Elliot pulls off his glasses and wipes them on his shirt as they shuffle forward in the queue. “Your family must be excited to see you! Are they in Seattle?”

“No, Sowell Bay. My dad.” The word feels dry and sticky on Cameron’s tongue, like one of those old-man candies.

“Awesome. Bonding time with the old man, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Sowell Bay’s nice. Really pretty up there.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Elliot’s head tilts. “You’ve never been?”

“No. I mean, my dad just moved there recently, so.” Cameron allows himself a tiny smile, surprised at how easily this lie slips out.

“Right on,” Elliot says. “Sowell Bay. Used to be super touristy, but now it’s kind of run-down. There’s an aquarium that’s still open, I think. You should check it out.”

“Sure, thanks,” says Cameron, though obviously he has no plans to waste time looking at fish when he needs to track down Simon Brinks. The line creeps forward. The JoyJet baggage office must be run by a team of sloths and snails. He turns to Elliot. “You’ve gone through this before, huh? How long are we gonna be waiting here?”

Elliot shrugs. “Oh, they’re usually pretty quick. Two, three hours, maybe?”

“Three hours? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Well, you get what you pay for, right?”

AUNT JEANNE ANSWERS on the third ring. “Hello?” she huffs into the phone, out of breath.

“Are you okay?” Cameron plugs a finger in his other ear to block out the loud babbling of a tour group, which has for some reason decided they need to congregate three inches away from him in this far corner of the baggage area.

“Cammy? Is that you?”

“Yeah.” He nudges away from the tourists. “What are you doing? Why are you breathing so hard?” An unwelcome image of Wally Perkins smacks into Cameron’s brain. He shudders, ready to hang up the phone.

“I’m clearing out the second bedroom,” his aunt answers.

“That’s a project.”

“Well, I figured you might need a place to stay.” A long pause. “I heard about you and Katie.”

“Word travels fast.” Cameron bites a nail. He and Aunt Jeanne need to have a major conversation about why she never told him that his mom lived in a goddamn different state when he was conceived. Here in baggage claim isn’t an ideal setting for that, and now she’s putting herself out for him . . . well, he’ll have to tell her where he is, at least. No choice.

“Aunt Jeanne, I could never stay . . .” He cuts himself off before the thought can finish itself. Could never stay in that tiny trailer full of junk. Through all of his screwups, this is one thing he’s always managed to avoid.

If only that were the only thing he needed.

On the other end of the line, a trickling sound followed by a tiny steaming sizzle tells him Aunt Jeanne is pouring coffee, then sliding the pot back onto its hot plate. “I know, I know. You could never live here with me,” she says. “But, Cammy, you don’t exactly have another plan.”

“I do, actually!” For a moment, Cameron considers telling her the whole master plan. But not here, at the airport. “I do have a plan. But the thing is . . .”

“What is it?”

“I need help. A very small amount of help,” Cameron says, grimacing.

Aunt Jeanne’s sigh stretches all the way up the West Coast. “What happened now?”

Where to even start? It’s a new low, running away like this, then calling home to beg for money. He’s no better than his loser mother. But what choice does he have? From across the corridor, Elliot emerges from the baggage office, then strides toward him, waving cheerily with one hand and dragging a gray suitcase with the other. Lucky asshole.

“Cammy, what happened?” Aunt Jeanne presses.

From a speaker on the low ceiling, a woman’s recorded voice bleats an announcement about attending luggage and personal belongings at all times. How obnoxiously ironic.

He hauls in a breath, then explains, as succinctly as he can, his discovery of the ring and photo, the impromptu plane ticket, the hostel plan.

After a loaded silence, Aunt Jeanne says softly, “Oh, Cammy. I should’ve told you.”

“It’s okay. But here’s the cherry on the shit sundae,” he says, borrowing one of her pet metaphors. “The airline lost my bag.”

The announcement voice blares over him again.

“Will you speak up? I can’t hear you!”

“They lost my bag!” He doesn’t mean to shout it so loud. Several of the tourists pop their heads up at him, and the group edges away, scandalized.

Aunt Jeanne clicks her tongue. “So what? You need socks and underwear?”

“More than that. I have, like, four dollars total.”

“What happened to the jewelry I gave you? I thought for sure you’d have pawned that by now.”