Remarkably Bright Creatures(77)

Aunt Jeanne muffles the receiver for a second, another exchange with Wally Perkins. “Okay, Cammy. But I’d love to see you when we come through Seattle before our cruise next month.”

We?

“Sure thing,” says Cameron. Whatever. He hangs up and slams the camper door behind him before flopping back onto his mattress.





Not a Date


The following Saturday at five o’clock, Tova arrives at Ethan’s house.

It is not a date.

The glass bottle is cool on her bare arm as she tucks it in the crook of her elbow, the way one might very awkwardly hold an infant. This strikes her as a better manner of presenting the gift to Ethan than the way Barbara thrust it at her, clutching it crudely by the neck, blabbing on about how it was last season’s Cab Franc from that winery over in Woodinville and how it was so delightful, she must bring it for her date.

Not a date, Tova had insisted over and over. A million times, as Cameron might say. It’s nothing more than supper.

A quick supper. She had clarified this when she accepted the invitation, citing her need to keep packing for her move. In truth, her free time has been consumed with searching every volume the Snohomish County Public Library would allow her to check out for any information about Daphne Cassmore. But the research has stalled, and Tova has learned very little of use. What harm could come from taking an evening off to share a meal with a friend?

With a friend? Is Ethan her friend?

In any event, it would be rude to arrive at someone’s house without a gift. Tova is not much of a wine drinker herself, but this is what people do. Some small part of her is thankful for Barb’s pushiness. Without it, she might’ve committed the faux pas of arriving empty-handed, and even if she had thought to procure one on her own, she couldn’t have exactly marched into the Shop-Way and bought one from Ethan himself.

Head high, she strides up the short driveway toward the squatty bungalow. Her ankle is nearly healed now, only the tiniest hitch. An overgrown hydrangea with periwinkle blossoms encroaches upon the small porch. Tova lifts a branch out of her way to pass and, before she can change her mind, presses the doorbell.

“Evening, Tova,” Ethan says, stepping back and motioning for her to enter. His voice is strangely quiet. She hands him the bottle, and he thanks her, then offers to take her pocketbook, gesturing toward a slightly crooked coatrack in the corner.

“Thank you, but it’s no problem to keep it with me.” Tova clutches the bag to her hip like a biblical fig leaf. As if she’d be bare naked without it.

“Brilliant, then,” Ethan says.

Making her way across the natty carpet, Tova can’t help but stare at the feature that dominates the house: an entire living room wall dedicated to a record collection, the cheap shelving’s veneer peeling back from the particleboard. If this had been their house, back then, Will would’ve tacked the loose laminate down. Tova resists the urge to go pick at it, like a half-attached scab better removed, lest it snag on something.

Entering someone’s home is always an intimate act. She looks around for photos, but there are none. Instead, the walls are decorated with beautifully framed concert posters: Grateful Dead, Hendrix, the Rolling Stones. The style should befit a teenager’s room, yet somehow, it seems to match Ethan perfectly.

She follows him into a surprisingly tidy little kitchen, which smells of simmering mushrooms, while they make small talk. Tova has never cared for small talk, and she stumbles through it now. When Ethan hands her a goblet filled to the brim with Barb’s delightful Cab Franc, she takes it gratefully.

“Cheers, love,” he says.

“Cheers,” Tova echoes, clinking his class.

After several moments and several more sips, she picks up a pair of sunglasses on the counter, recognizing them as Cameron’s. “It’s been kind of you to open your home to him.”

Ethan pours a swish of red wine into the skillet, which hisses in response, releasing an enormous puff of steam. “To tell you the truth, it’s nice having a bit of company.”

Tova nods. She knows what he means. It’s been nice having Cameron down at the aquarium, too. “Yes, I should say so.”

“D’you know, I came from a family of fourteen. Eleven brothers and sisters. When I was a wee lad, I always imagined my adult self in a house bursting at the seams.”

Tova permits herself a smile. “I thought it was the Irish who were known for big families.”

“Eh, we Scots can hold our own.” He flashes her a grin, scraping mushroom sauce over two plump chicken breasts, one on each plate. To Tova’s astonishment, her mouth waters. How long has it been since anyone prepared such a lovely meal for her?

THEY’RE SAVORING THEIR last bites when a screen door bangs. A moment later, Cameron whirls into the room, darkness shadowing his face. The glower lifts briefly, replaced by a confused look when he sees Tova sitting there with Ethan at his kitchen table.

After a moment, the glare returns, although it’s pointed exclusively at Ethan. “Hey, man. Can I talk to you for a sec?” It sounds like his teeth are clenched.

“A’course. Shoot,” Ethan says.

“I was hanging out down at the paddle shop, and Tanner, that kid that works at your store, came in with his buddies. Do you know what they happened to mention?” Cameron’s tone is cool. “Said you were talking about my—”