Such are the secrets the sea holds. What I would not give to explore them again. If I could go back in time, I would collect all of it—the sneaker sole, the shoelace, the buttons, and the twin key. I would give it all to her.
I am sorry for her loss. Returning this key is the least I can do.
Not a Movie Star, But Maybe a Pirate
At nine in the morning, Cameron pulls on the front door of Dell’s Saloon, half expecting to find it locked. But the door swings wide open. He blinks, adjusting to the dim light.
Old Al, the bartender, pokes his head out from the back. “Cameron,” he says, sounding mildly surprised. His thick voice is like something out of a mob movie, so Italian and Brooklyn that it sounds almost comical here in central California.
“Hey, man.” Cameron slides onto one of the stools. In the back corner, covered right now in stacked liquor crates, is the tiny stage where Moth Sausage plays. Used to play, that is, before Brad went and blew up the band. An ancient radio sits on the rail next to the pool table, its crooked antenna aimed at the bar’s only grungy window. Talk radio blares, a man and a woman going at it, arguing about interest rates and the federal reserve or some other boring shit.
“The usual?” Old Al tosses a cocktail napkin down on the bar.
“Nah, that’s not why I’m here.” Cameron clears his throat. “I’ve got a proposal for you. A real estate proposal.”
Old Al leans on the bar sink and folds his arms, lifting a brow.
“That apartment upstairs?” Cameron sits up straighter. “The vacant one?”
“What about it?”
“I want to rent it. I’ve worked it all out. I’ll be able to get first month’s rent by next week, and—”
Old Al holds up a hand. “Stop, Cam. I ain’t interested.”
“But you haven’t heard the rest!”
“I ain’t interested in becoming a landlord.”
“You don’t have to be a landlord! I’ll . . . lord myself. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Ain’t interested.”
“But no one’s living there!”
“I like it that way.”
“How much do you want for it?” Cameron pulls the black drawstring bag from the pocket of his hoodie and dumps the jewelry on the bar. “I can pay. See?”
Old Al’s gaze lingers on the heap of tangled jewels for a moment, then he shakes his head as he picks up a gray rag from the sink. “What’d you do, rob an old folks’ home?”
Cameron huffs. “I just need a place for a couple of months. Please?”
“Sorry, kiddo.”
“Come on, Al. You know I’m good for it.”
“Let’s get real, Cameron. I could write the next great American novel on the back of your tab here. And you still haven’t paid me back for that table you broke last year when you pulled that little stunt. Hurling yourself from the stage.”
Cameron winces. “That was performance art.”
“It was vandalism, which I graciously forgave, because people seem to enjoy that noise you play, and because your aunt’s a good friend. But I’ve got my limits. Look, you can’t spit ten feet in this town without hitting a dumpy little apartment building. Why don’t you take your family jewels to one of them?”
“Well, because.” Cameron lets this stand on its own as an explanation, as if it should be obvious that the whole background-check-and-credit-history thing is a problem.
“Suit yourself.” Old Al shrugs, swiping circles on the bar with his rag, pausing every so often to wring dusky water into the sink. He finally stops, tossing the rag back into the sink. “That was your old lady’s stuff, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Your aunt gave it to you?”
“Yep.”
The bartender picks up the gold tennis bracelet and holds it up. “Some of this ain’t half-bad.” Then he picks up the Sowell Bay High School, Class of 1989 ring and says, “Huh, look at that. No one buys these as graduation gifts anymore, do they?”
Cameron shrugs. How would he know? He never graduated high school, a fact Old Al is surely aware of.
“Sowell Bay. That’s up in Washington, ain’t it?”
“I think so,” Cameron says. He knows so. He Googled it, of course. So what? That ring is some random thing his mom stole to pay for one of her bad habits, for all he knows. Maybe the guy in the photo was her accomplice.
“You know, I remember when Jeanne went up there to get her.”