“My friends Elizabeth and Brad are having a baby,” he says, although he’s not sure why, because it’s kind of out of nowhere. “Best friends, I mean. We’ve all been tight for a long time.”
“That’s wonderful,” Avery says.
“It is. It’s amazing.” Cameron nods slowly. “I mean, they have no clue what they’re doing, but I guess they’ll figure it out.”
“For sure. Billions of people have figured it out.”
Cameron smiles. “You’d like them. I mean, Brad is a dork, but he’s a solid dude. And I think you and Elizabeth would be good friends.” He runs a hand through the cold, dark water. “I wish you could meet them. I mean, someday.” He rubs the back of his neck, which is suddenly hot, flushed.
“Sure, I’d love that.” Avery rises to her knees and dips a paddle. “Let’s head back, huh? It’s chilly under here.”
An hour later, as they swing back around the tip of the jetty, that same aggrieved seagull gives them another hard glare. “Cheer up, mate,” says Cameron, chuckling to himself. Ethan is rubbing off on him.
The gull rears back, thrusts open its beak, and lets out the loudest, angriest squawk a bird has ever made.
All it takes is his one foot slipping back a couple of inches, weight shifted, and with a massive splash Cameron is in the water. Again.
Coming up with a gasp, he yells, “Holy shit, that’s still cold!”
Where did Avery go? Treading in the freezing water, he swivels his head around looking for her. He probably looks like a goddamn seal. Or a sea lion? He can’t remember which pinniped is native to the Pacific Northwest. Is the cold taking over his brain? Hypothermia?
“Need a hand?” There she is, paddling toward him on her board. She’s gasping. With laughter.
“I’ve got it,” he grumbles, attempting to hoist himself back onto his slippery board. Just as he gets a knee up, it shoots away, sending him back underwater.
When he resurfaces, Avery is letting loose a string of incomprehensible instructions. “Shift your weight, brace your knee, tighten your core, no, your other knee, that elbow, grip with that hand, no, your right hand, no, your other right hand . . .”
He manages to flop up onto the board, and is sitting there like an asshole, dripping and panting, when the seagull lifts off the jetty and glides past them.
“You feathered little jerk,” he mutters, shaking his fist.
Avery has finally recovered from her laughter. She wipes her eyes with the hem of her shirt. “So close to the shore! You almost made it.”
“Gee, thanks for believing in me.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Well, since I’m already wet . . .” He dives into the bracing water and beelines for her board. Her warnings are muffled by the water as he gives the board a solid shove. She crashes into him, squealing and pushing him under, as the board pops back out few feet away.
He surfaces, grinning. “Now we’re both wet!”
“You are so dead.” Her voice is sandpaper, but her eyes are sparkling. He winds an arm around her waist and pulls her into him, her body practically weightless underwater. She wraps her legs around his hips. It’s hot as hell, even though he’s numb from the armpits down at this point.
“You didn’t pack a change of clothes,” he says, teeth chattering. “I noticed you didn’t bring a bag.” His lips are a breath away from hers.
She whispers, “Because I never fall.”
“Good thing I’ve got blankets in the back of the camper.”
Laughing, she pulls back a bit. “Cameron, if you try some line about us needing to get out of these wet clothes . . .”
He feigns offense. “Well, we do, don’t we?”
“And if you say one damn word about how you’re glad we brought your camper here, because Marco and his friends are back at my house . . .”
“Well? Aren’t you glad about that?”
“Yep.” She draws herself close again and kisses him, softly at first. Her lips are salty, shivering, but as she opens her mouth to his, the inside is warm, sweet, intoxicating. Then, with a swoosh, she jets away. As she grabs hold of her loose board, she flashes him a daring grin that almost sends him off the edge as she says, “Last one back to the shore is a rotten egg.”
There Was a Girl
There was a girl.
Like a noxious ivy, this notion winds its way around every aspect of Tova’s daily routine. When she’s making up her bed in the morning: There was a girl. Waiting for the coffee to percolate: There was a girl. Dusting the baseboards （because it’s a Wednesday, after all, even when the world’s been tipped upside down）： A girl, a girl, a girl.