Remarkably Bright Creatures(44)

Cameron glances up at the framed diploma behind his desk. Summa cum laude. Terry’s more than a fish geek, apparently. He’s some sort of fish genius.

“So you . . . want to give me a chance?”

“Not really.” Terry eyes him, hard. “I expect you’re the sort that’s had plenty of chances. Opportunities you don’t even realize. But you throw them away.”

Ouch.

“Anyway, I’ll give you a chance, but not because I think you deserve one. I’m throwing Ethan a bone. I beat the pants off him in a poker game a while back and he won’t shut his trap about it.” Terry lets out a chuckle.

“Thank you, sir,” Cameron says, sitting up straight. “You won’t regret it.”

“Don’t you want to know what the job actually consists of?”

“I thought it was maintenance.” Surely Ethan had mentioned Cameron’s experience in construction. He’d pictured himself patching roofs and fixing leaky faucets.

“Well, yes. Chopping bait. Cleaning buckets. That type of thing.”

“Okay.” Bait. How bad could it be? And anyway, it’s only until his luggage shows up, or he finds Simon Brinks, whichever comes first. Of course, he doesn’t mention that to Terry.

“Twenty bucks an hour, twenty hours a week.”

Cameron’s optimism sinks as he runs through the math in his head. After taxes, and gas for the camper, it’ll be the end of summer before he can pay Aunt Jeanne back, even if he can save some cash by eating the expired groceries Ethan brings back from the store. End of summer is too late for her cruise deposit.

“I mean, I would take more hours if you offered them,” Cameron says.

Terry steeples his fingers and, after a thoughtful pause, says, “You clean, kiddo?”

Reflexively, Cameron glances down at his shirt, which maybe he should have thrown in the laundry back at Ethan’s place. Then he realizes what Terry must mean. His . . . record.

“Well, mostly. Got a couple misdemeanors. This one time, the bar was closing, and—”

Terry shakes his head. “No. I mean, do you clean? As in, can you mop floors?”

“Oh.” Cameron considers this. “Uh, yeah, totally.”

“I can give you more hours, then. Evening hours. But,” Terry holds up a prohibitive finger, “this part is temporary. I need someone to fill in for my regular cleaning lady for a few weeks.”

“Not a problem.”

“And, know this, Cameron Cassmore. Ethan Mack might not be very good at giving advice on job applications, but he is a very good friend of mine. I’m giving you a chance on his word.”

“Understood.” Cameron nods.

“Don’t let him down.”

WHILE HE WAITS for Ethan to pick him up, Cameron wanders down the pier. High noon sun throws flashy streaks of silver over the water’s surface. A group of paddleboarders sends little ripples toward the dock.

In his pocket, his fingers find the key card. He’s never had a boss who trusted him with a key before. He takes it out and snaps a pic of the key card with the water in the background, then texts the photo to Aunt Jeanne.

As he hits send, a call comes in. Cameron recognizes the number immediately; it’s the one he’s called about a thousand times this week. Left a half-dozen voice mails. His heart speeds up as he taps the green button.

“This is Cameron,” he says, putting on a businesslike air.

“Hello. This is John Hall from Brinks Development, Sowell Bay office.” The voice sounds tired. “You’ve left several messages here. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah!” Cameron draws in a bracing breath. “I mean, yes. I’d like to make an appointment to meet with Mr. Brinks.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible at the moment.”

“Why not?”

“Mr. Brinks works out of his office in Seattle most of the time. I’d recommend you try to reach him there.”

“I tried!” As if Cameron wouldn’t have tried. It’s the number listed on their damn website. “They told me he was unavailable.”

“Well, then I suppose he’s unavailable.” John Hall’s voice is flat.

“But he can’t be unavailable!” Cameron hates how his voice is trending whiny, like it did when he was begging Katie not to throw his shit out the window. “Please. It’s important.”

John Hall is shuffling some papers or something on the other end of the line. In the distance, a train’s horn sounds, and Cameron can swear he hears the same train, right here on the pier. How could he get so close, yet still be so far?

Finally, Hall asks, “Who did you say you were again?”

“Cameron Cassmore. I’m . . . family.”

“I see. Well, then.” There’s a long pause, and then Hall continues, his voice careful, “You might know, Mr. Brinks can often be found at his summer home this time of year.”

“Summer home? Where?”

Hall laughs. “I can’t just give out his address. Perhaps someone in your family can tell you.”

By the time Cameron has processed this, the line has gone dead. He sinks onto a bench, slumping. How the hell is he supposed to find some vacation mansion?

Before he slips his phone back in his pocket, he sees Aunt Jeanne’s reply: a champagne emoji followed by I’m proud of you, Cammy.