Remarkably Bright Creatures(58)

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.