The sea, too, is very good at keeping secrets.
One in particular, from the bottom of the sea, I carry with me still.
Baby Vipers are Especially Deadly
The box sits on Cameron’s kitchen counter, untouched, for three days.
Aunt Jeanne had schlepped it out of the trailer herself. Toss it if you want, but at least look through it first, she’d said. Family’s important.
Cameron had rolled his eyes. Family. But when that woman truly wants her way, arguing is pointless. So the box traveled home with him. Now, Cameron eyes it from the sofa, considering turning off SportsCenter to take a look. Might be something in there he could take down to the pawnshop. Katie will need his half of July’s rent soon.
Maybe after lunch.
The microwave hums and rotates his noodle cup while he waits. Cooking by magnet-blasting radiation, causing food molecules to beat the shit out of each other: Who comes up with this stuff, figures out how to market it? Whoever that guy is, he’s probably swimming naked in a pile of cash somewhere, surrounded by supermodels. Life is unfair.
Ding.
Cameron removes the steaming cup. He’s carrying it back to the sofa, careful not to let it slosh, when the apartment door creaks open, startling him.
“Shit!” Scalding liquid spills over his hand.
“Cam! Are you okay?” Katie drops her work bag and runs over.
“I’m fine,” he mutters. What’s she doing home on a Tuesday afternoon? Then again, she might ask him the same question. His mind spins. Had he told her he was working today? Had she asked?
“Hang on,” she says, ducking into the kitchen, her perfect little butt twitching under her gray skirt. Katie works at the front desk of the Holiday Inn by the freeway. Good thing she’s been working day shift lately. He would’ve been busted by now if she were still on nights.
She hurries back, carrying two damp rags.
“Thanks,” Cameron says as she hands him one. Its coolness is welcome relief on his hand. Then she squats down to wipe up the spilled broth with the other.
“So, you’re home early,” he says, bending to help, forcing his voice to be casual.
“I’ve got a dentist appointment this afternoon. Remember? We talked about it last week.”
“Oh yeah. Right.” Cameron nods, vaguely recalling.
“I don’t remember you mentioning you were off today.” She plucks a stray noodle from the carpet and drops it into her rag, looking up at him through narrow eyes.
“Uh, yeah. I’m off today.” He doesn’t add: and tomorrow, and the next day, and the one after.
“Weird they’d give you a day off. It’s only your third week.”
“It’s a holiday, actually.” Shit, why did he say that?
She stands. “A holiday?”
“Yeah.” It’s a slippery lie. “International Contractors’ Day. Everyone gets the day off.” Really, what is he going to tell her? The truth? He just needs time. A few days to land a new job. Then it’ll be all good.
“International Contractors’ Day.”
“Yep.”
“Everyone gets the day off?”
“Everyone.”
“Bizarre they’re still working on the roof next door, then, isn’t it?”
Cameron opens his mouth, but the bang-bang of a nail gun echoes from the rooftop of the next building over, cutting him off.
Katie’s face is cold, blank. “You got fired again.”
“I mean, technically—”
“What happened?”
“Well, I was—”
“When were you going to tell me?” she interrupts.
“I’m trying to tell you now, if you’ll give me a chance!”
“You know what? Never mind.” She picks up her work bag and stomps toward the door. “I don’t have time for this. I’m late for my appointment, and I’m done giving chances.”
CHANCES. IF LIFE kept a tally of chances, Cameron would be owed big-time. What would Katie know about having an addict parent? What would Katie know about this gnawing hatred inside him that never goes away?
Katie, with her parents who bought her a car when she graduated high school. Katie, with her tight gray skirt and straight white teeth, which right now are being polished by some needle-dick dentist. They’ll give her a free toothbrush on the way out. She’ll toss it, still wrapped, in the bathroom drawer because she uses some fancy electric toothbrush anyway.
He’s stretched out on the couch, watching some low-budget action movie, when she finally returns. It occurs to him that it’s been a while. Hours and hours; it’s nearly dark outside now. Way longer than a dentist appointment should take—not that he’d actually know; he hasn’t been to a dentist in years. Maybe Katie had a bunch of cavities or something. A root canal. Aunt Jeanne had a root canal last year and complained about the pain for a week. The thought of perfect Katie getting poked in the mouth with a pointy drill is vaguely satisfying, and this makes him feel like a jerk.