Remarkably Bright Creatures(46)
Snell nibbles her thin bottom lip and glances quickly from side to side like she’s preparing to misbehave. “Here’s the deal. I couldn’t make it to the regional convention last year.” With a huff, she clarifies: “I mean, I could have, I was even registered, but then my daughter had a piano recital, and even though the convention is the biggest trade show in the area, it’s hard to balance those things, you know?”
Cameron nods firmly as if he empathizes deeply with this particular dilemma. Looking down, he notices a ceramic paperweight on Jessica’s desk, a large and stern-looking green frog. On the base, in playful lettering, it reads: NO BULL ACCEPTED HERE. Aunt Jeanne would approve.
The agent hikes her glasses up again. Why doesn’t she adjust them to fit? It’s an easy fix with a micro screwdriver.
She continues, “Right, so this convention. I skipped it, but I’m sure Brinks went. He lives for those things, from what I hear. A fan of the open bar, so the rumors go.” She extends out her pinkie and thumb and mock-tips her hand.
Resisting the urge to run his finger along the NO BULL frog’s rounded back, which is covered in a layer of dust, Cameron nods again.
“Anyway, they send out a directory of attendees to everyone registered. I could look him up.”
“Seriously, thank you. It would mean so much to me.” Cameron’s smile widens, and Snell’s cheeks flush slightly.
“Have a seat. It’ll take me a minute to dig that directory out.”
As Snell disappears off to some back room, Cameron sits. A scene begins to play out in his mind: a gray-haired man in a well-tailored suit beckoning him toward a polished mahogany bar, summoning a barkeep. You should know the good life, son, the man says, leaning an elbow on the shining bar while patting the seat next to him, which is topped in a pouf of immaculate burgundy leather, unlike the hard stools back at Dell’s, which have grimy ass-prints permanently ground into them. The man smiles warmly at Cameron, and he has a dimple on his left cheek, the same one Cameron has, and something inside him feels like it’s bubbling up, going to overflow, and it takes him a long moment to realize it’s a heady cocktail of joy and relief. Gold liquid splashes soundlessly into two glasses; cognac maybe, or top-notch whiskey like the stuff Ethan had. The liquor cascades over oversized ice cubes, and the man is about to clap him affectionately on the back when—
Ding-dong!
He jerks his head around to see a girl standing, fists clenched, just inside the real estate office door. Her hair is soaking wet. She’s hot, easily the most attractive he’s seen in Sowell Bay. Somehow, her furious expression makes her even hotter.
The girl calls, “Jess!” in a dull, exasperated way that makes Cameron think this is a repeated occurrence. Still admiring the intruder, he congratulates himself for guessing the realtor’s nickname correctly.
He flings a thumb toward the back room. “She’s back there.”
“Okay. Any idea when she’ll be back?” Her voice is tinged with impatience. She crosses her arms over her chest, which jams her small but perky boobs toward her tank top’s neckline, and in an instant Cameron finds himself shifting in the chair. What is he, twelve years old? But, really, it has been three weeks since Katie.
He sets his jaw. “I dunno? Soon?”
“What is she doing?”
“Um, serving me? Her . . . client?”
The girl barks a laugh and steps toward him. She smells like sunscreen. “You’re a client?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because Jessica Snell sells multimillion-dollar homes? You reek worse than a stadium bathroom during the fourth quarter of a Seahawks game. Also, you have something brown—which I honestly hope, for your sake, is chocolate—smeared on your chin.”
Cameron’s hand flies up, remembering the chocolate-coated protein bar he had for breakfast. There’s hardly a goddamn functioning mirror in the camper. How would he have known?
“Okay, so I’m not here to buy some mansion, but Jess is helping me out with something.”
“Whatever,” she mutters. She runs a hand through her sopping hair, then lifts the wavy mass from her neck, revealing a pink bikini strap knotted at the nape of her neck.
The girl tilts her chin toward the back room and yells again, “JESS!”
“Good lord, Avery.” Snell strides up the hallway, her face once again set into that all-too-natural scowl.
Avery doesn’t mince words. “You messed up the hot water again.”
“I lowered the temperature on the tank.”
“Lowered it to what, subarctic?”
“I’m just trying to reduce our utility bill.”
“I’d rather give a few bucks to the gas company than freeze my ass off in the shower!”
Girl. Shower. Cameron tries to summon another image, literally anything else, and lands on the Welina Mobile Park’s chlamydia problem.
Jessica Snell plants her hands on her hips. “Well, most people don’t shower at their place of business.”
“Oh, come on,” Avery says, with a prickly laugh. “You know I paddle in the morning and rinse off before I open the store. I just froze my ass off.”
Jessica Snell juts her chin at the younger woman, who Cameron has by now deduced is associated with the shop next door. He remembers seeing a surf shop there. Snell sniffs as she says, “Nowhere does the lease guarantee an endless supply of hot water.”