By the time he gets to the baggage office, the line is twenty people deep. Spiced Pastrami leans on the wall beside him, still gnawing on his sandwich. It just keeps coming.
“I’m Elliot, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you.” Cameron tries to look like he’s concentrating hard on his phone, as if there’s some Very Important Business happening there.
“Well, we didn’t meet, technically. I told you my name, but you didn’t tell me yours.”
Doesn’t this guy have anything better to do? “Cameron.”
“Cameron. Nice to meet you.” He holds up his insufferable sandwich. “Hungry? Happy to share.”
“No thanks. Not really a pastrami fan.”
Elliot’s eyes widen. “Oh, this isn’t pastrami! It’s a Yamwich.”
“A what?
“A Yamwich! You know, vegan? From that one place on Capitol Hill? They opened a kiosk here at the airport last year.”
Cameron stares at the oily hoagie, loaded with thinly shaved slices of . . . something. “You’re telling me that’s made from yam?”
“Yep! Their reuben kicks ass. You sure you don’t want some?”
“Pass.” Cameron suppresses a scoff. Seattle hipsters, living up to their stereotype.
“Are you sure? I’ve got a whole ’nother half here, haven’t touched it . . .”
“Fine,” Cameron agrees, mostly to end the conversation, but also to appease the nagging voice in the back of his brain reminding him he’s in no position to turn down free meals.
Elliot grins. “You’ll love it.”
As Cameron bites into the sandwich, he returns to scrolling his phone. Katie has posted a selfie with her dog. Hashtag SingleDogLady. He scowls, but it’s softened by the pleasant crunch happening in his mouth. Yam? Really? It’s actually . . . not bad.
He nods at Elliot. “Thanks, bro. This is decent.”
“Wait until you try their French dip.”
The line moves at a creep. Finally, Elliot wads up the greasy wrapper and tosses it at a nearby trash can, landing the shot without even hitting the rim, which annoys Cameron more than it should.
Elliot turns to him. “So, seems like you’re not from around here? Here for work? Vacation?”
“Family visit.”
“Oh, nice. Me, I’m coming home. Was down in Cali for my grandmother’s funeral.”
A dead grandma. Figures. Cameron mutters, “Sorry for your loss.”
“To tell the truth, she was kind of mean, but she loved us grandkids,” Elliot says, his voice surprisingly soft. “Spoiled us rotten in only the way a grandparent can, you know?”
“Yeah, for sure,” Cameron says, tossing his own wrapper into the trash. Of course, he never had a grandparent of his own. Elizabeth’s grandfather used to pinch his cheeks and give him caramel candies when he happened to drop by Elizabeth’s house while Cameron was over. The candies were too sticky, too sweet, and the pinching kind of hurt, and he always smelled like weird old man, like stale pee mixed with arthritis cream. Elizabeth said the old folks’ home where he lived was practically a morgue.
“Anyway, I guess she’s at peace now.” A sad smile spreads over Elliot’s face. Cameron drops his gaze, feeling yet again like an intruder spying on the typical human experience, an outsider looking in on the normal, which is always just out of his grasp. Losing grandparents, worrying about valuables in your suitcase: these experiences belong to other people.
Elliot pulls off his glasses and wipes them on his shirt as they shuffle forward in the queue. “Your family must be excited to see you! Are they in Seattle?”
“No, Sowell Bay. My dad.” The word feels dry and sticky on Cameron’s tongue, like one of those old-man candies.
“Awesome. Bonding time with the old man, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Sowell Bay’s nice. Really pretty up there.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Elliot’s head tilts. “You’ve never been?”
“No. I mean, my dad just moved there recently, so.” Cameron allows himself a tiny smile, surprised at how easily this lie slips out.
“Right on,” Elliot says. “Sowell Bay. Used to be super touristy, but now it’s kind of run-down. There’s an aquarium that’s still open, I think. You should check it out.”
“Sure, thanks,” says Cameron, though obviously he has no plans to waste time looking at fish when he needs to track down Simon Brinks. The line creeps forward. The JoyJet baggage office must be run by a team of sloths and snails. He turns to Elliot. “You’ve gone through this before, huh? How long are we gonna be waiting here?”