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Camden hasn’t gone far. She lingers on the corner with her notebook clutched to her chest and watches me climb down the steps. She’s got that look on her face again, like the gears in her brain are turning a mile a minute. I don’t like games so if she has something in mind I wish she’d just spit it out.
“You waiting for me?” I ask her.
The bus rolls away from the curb with a groan of its old gears and Camden gives me a broad smile.
“Hey, Ben. I was just thinking about how it’ll just be the two of us at work today.”
She’s acting like this is an exciting development. I don’t know what the hell this girl is so cheerful about. The gas station isn’t exactly a hotbed of good times and usually when we’re there at the same time we kind of stay out of each other’s way as much as possible.
A harsh gust of wind slices through the fabric of my sweatshirt. It sucks to be without a jacket all weekend and I don’t even have a guarantee that mine will turn up on Monday.
“Great,” I tell her. “We can sip hot cocoa and share a peppermint stick.”
Her smile fades. “Your sarcasm is not required.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Camden.”
“Nothing.” She blushes and tightens her arms around her notebook. “I was just thinking it would be nice if we stopped acting as if we’re enemies.”
“Okay. We can fuck in the stockroom if you want.”
Her mouth falls open and her cheeks redden. “Oh my god. Screw you, Ben.”
There are plenty of things I could say but they would all make the situation go from bad to worse. I can’t explain my perverse urge to cut her down to size by making filthy remarks. Maybe it’s because being attracted to her is annoying. In any case, I turn and start walking across the street toward Dee’s. Camden has no choice but to follow along in the next few minutes or else she’ll be late for work.
Diane Cushing is behind the counter and even though she smiles when I walk in she then rubs her eyes, issues a loud sigh and shouts, “BRIAN!”
There’s a loud clatter from the back and her nephew trudges to the front. “Yeah?” He wipes his red nose with the sleeve of his grubby flannel shirt and runs skinny fingers through his wild hair.
His aunt frowns at him. “Ben is here. You can take off for the day.”
Without comment, Brian shuffles out the door, nearly colliding with Camden as she arrives. He’s kind of a charity case; in and out of trouble with the law, not trustworthy enough to handle the register and useless when it comes to neatly stocking the shelves. There’s only so much the Cushings can do to help him straighten out his life but family means something real to them. I can’t say the same thing. I love my mom but the rest of my family can smother in a sand trap for all I care.
Now that her wayward nephew is gone, Diane is more upbeat, fussing over both me and Camden. She asks us about school and reminds us that we’re allowed to choose snacks for free during our shifts. Anything we want, no arguments. Diane Cushing is probably one of the top five nicest people in the state.
Diane doesn’t stay long. She says Dee is waiting for his dinner at home and she doesn’t want him trying to get out of bed more than necessary. Before leaving she hugs Camden.
“Happy birthday, sweet girl,” Diane croons as I pull on my work vest and wonder if I’m the only person in Devil Valley who does not have Camden Galway’s birthday marked on the calendar.
When Diane finally leaves there’s an immediate void filled with awkwardness amid the overhead bleat of Christmas music from the speakers.
Camden’s lips press together and she looks toward the back. “I guess I should go see what kind of a disaster Brian left.”
“I’ll do it,” I say because I know Brian probably really did leave a disaster behind and because sometimes I’m not an asshole.
She shakes her head. “No, I’d rather do it. I have a method of organizing the stock. First I count all the existing inventory and record it on a spreadsheet and then I compare this to the sales record in case there’s any discrepancies and then-“
“Fine, you do it.”
She looks miffed and stalks away but if I hadn’t interrupted her then she probably would have kept going on about spreadsheets for twenty minutes.
After Camden disappears into the stockroom there’s a flurry of activity. A couple of guys from Korbell’s Garage stop by for gas and to load up on hot dog dinners. Some kids roll up on their bicycles, carefully browse the candy aisle and then slowly count out their change to pay for their goods. Two tenth graders try to get away with buying a forty ounce bottle of liquor. The six gas pumps are active as everyone fills up for the weekend. Diane mentioned that the tanks were just filled last night so I don’t need to worry about any of the pumps running out. Customers drop in to buy gum and beer and corn nuts and chocolate bars. A few of them search through the racks of cheap Christmas gifts in case anyone on their list needs a rhinestone keychain or a pleather bible case or a Devil Valley t-shirt. The brisk business makes the time fly by and the only time I see Camden is when she visits the hot food counter to add more hot dogs on the rolling heater. The next time I look up she’s nowhere in sight.
And then the evening takes a rotten turn because Dirtbag walks in.
“Ben,” he says and tries to give me a fist bump, which I ignore.
“What the hell do you want?”
