I’m touched by his concern. “I will. Thank you.”
He shuts the door and stands there, unmoving, while I drive away. I’m not sure why, but my hands tremble against the steering wheel and the air feels heavy. I turn on the air conditioning despite it being plenty cold in the car, and the blast of frigid air against my cheeks seems to calm me down.
I take the curvy drive slow and careful, turning on my brights to see the edge of the road. The entrance widens, and I veer right and down the hill to my secluded cabin. The area is well lit, but I still feel the hair lifting on my neck and arms as I turn the last corner. It’s then that I’m not so touched by Dillon’s concern. His comment about strangers is making me paranoid, and I nearly jump when my headlights fly over a car parked where I normally do. The panic doesn’t last long, especially when I see who’s sitting on one of the rocking chairs.
I park next to Cameron’s vehicle and cut the engine. He stands up when I exit my car and shut the door. “I thought you were hanging out with the guys tonight.”
“I was . . .” He sighs and meets me at the bottom of the steps. Dance music from the reception barn fills the silence while I wait for him to explain. “And then I just drove and found myself here.” The sadness in his voice makes my heart squeeze. As much as Cameron is different from me, this part of him I understand. The questioning of choices, of life direction, of purpose. “Sorry to pop in uninvited.”
“You don’t have to apologize. You’re welcome here anytime.” That gets a tiny smile from him at least. “What happened?”
“Darrel didn’t want to go to the movies, so we stayed home and worked on some songs instead.” He stares up at the night sky. “I’m still completely blocked. Everything I did sounded like a commercial jingle.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” I bite back a smile, feeling pretty sure that Cameron isn’t trying to be funny right now.
“Oh, believe me, it was that bad. Worse than that bad.” He steps forward and laces his hand through mine. “So here I am, because somehow, you make everything better.”
I squeeze his hand in assurance, the two of us bonded in a way that Dillon and my aunt just don’t understand. Cameron isn’t falling for me, the person. He’s clinging to a feeling of hope and escape, just like I am. We’re two floating souls, and yet together life feels grounded, at least . . . a little.
We walk up the steps in tandem, and I release his hand only long enough to unlock my door. He follows in behind me as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not the first time he’s ever actually stepped foot past the threshold.
“If you’re hungry, I have leftovers.” I set my purse and the Tupperware on the kitchen counter while Cameron walks around the small cabin, perusing my aunt’s artwork choices. He pokes his head in my room but doesn’t go in.
“There’s not much of you in here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Not even a family picture.”
I shrug. “I guess I haven’t thought about it.” Not totally true. The fact is, my time here is temporary. Pictures and artwork and even small touches like replacing throw pillows all feel like too much of a commitment.
“Well, I’ll have to remedy that.” He leans his forearms on the counter opposite me and grins. “You did tell me I was a good photographer, if I remember correctly.”
“That I did.” I lift the barbecue, but he shakes his head, declining. I’m slightly relieved since I’d planned to eat this brisket for the next several days.
“Do you get cable out here?”
I shut the refrigerator door and watch as he looks for a remote. “It’s in the drawer. And no. But I have internet, so you can watch just about anything you want.”
“Perfect. Do you like The Office?” He flops down on the couch and pats the seat next to him.
I hesitate for a second and then scold myself for doing so. Cameron isn’t professing his love or getting on one knee. He simply had a hard day and wanted an escape. Not only is that okay, but I’m glad. I want to be that person for him right now.
Pushing the last of Dillon’s warnings out of my head, I toss my coat and shoes aside and curl up next to my new boyfriend. “I love The Office.”
He leans down and kisses me. It’s sweet and simple. More like a thank-you than anything sensual. I press in, ready to take it further, when my phone blares a song from my purse.
“Oh . . . crud,” I say, jumping from the couch. I get to the device just in time to slide my thumb across the screen before he hangs up. “Sorry. I’m home safe and sound. No stragglers from the wedding reception.”
“It would have been nice to know that five minutes ago,” Dillon says, an edge in his voice. “Next time I’ll just follow you there and save myself the headache.”
“Ah, but then I’m the one who would get the headache,” I tease.
“Doubtful,” he says, and I imagine him shaking his head.
“Good night, Dillon.”
“Lock your doors.”
“I will. Bye.” I press the end button and bring the phone with me to the living room. “Sorry. I totally forgot I was supposed to call when I got home.”
Cameron rubs the back of his neck, and I can’t read his expression. “Dillon was at the barbecue?”
“Yep. He and his dad.” My voice turns somber. “It was the anniversary of, well, you know about his mom.”
All the tension leaves his shoulders. “Oh, man . . . I knew it was coming up, but I didn’t realize it was today. I can’t believe it’s been a year. How are they doing?”
“Okay on the outside. I’m sure things are much different on the inside.”
Cameron’s eyes soften as he brushes his thumb across my cheek. “You’re pretty incredible, you know that?”
I pull his hand away, feeling a blush coming that brings both pride and guilt. “Hardly. I just really like brisket.”
He scoots back into the corner of the couch and tucks me up against him, his arms tight around me while we watch the show.
I lean my head against his shoulder and close my eyes. I don’t care what Dillon says. There’s no way that Cameron and I are wrong for each other. Everything about him feels far too right.
twenty-four
I’m starting to think that the dividing up of Ralph’s duties was determined entirely by what tasks Eric did not want to do. Which has of course left me tending to all the “special projects” that appear to be on life support. Supposedly, Ralph is in the process of assessing which ministries are still viable, and, lucky me, I get to sustain them while he’s on vacation—which is now at two weeks, I might add.
It’s hard to complain, though, especially when Margie told me that Ralph and Victoria are exploring every bed-and-breakfast from here to Fredericksburg, something she’s always wanted to do but never had the luxury to make happen.
So, for their sake, I will grit my teeth and bear today’s lovely task—the thrift store on Third Street.
And yeah, I expected some problems, but I had no idea it would be this bad.
Casting the trash bag of clothes aside, I stare at the mounds of donated goods in front of me. Two rooms. No, I’m not exaggerating. Two rooms, easily two hundred square feet filled with clothes, housewares, toys, yard supplies, and knickknacks, all of which are supposed to be sorted, tagged, and moved to the storeroom. Worse, my on-the-job training this morning consisted of a quick thirty-minute walk-through with Eric, who admitted he hadn’t stepped foot in this place in over a year.
The thrift store is only open on Saturdays, so Mondays are spent doing inventory sorting and restocking, a task Ralph has taken over since five of the ten volunteers have quit in the past six months. Sheesh. Is there anything that man doesn’t do?
I move back into the storefront area and breathe a sigh of relief, even though it smells musty and old in here. Eric explained that the church bought the old downtown building eight years ago, and, based on the cracks in the walls, mold in the bathroom, and buckling floors, I’d say i
t’s one inspection away from being condemned.
Probably the only saving grace is the interior layout. It’s fun and organized, reminding me more of a sophisticated vintage store than a donation center. Faceless mannequins wear sample clothes and hold handbags like they’re ready for the town. There’s a three-way mirror in the back and a couple of fitting rooms.
I bypass the children’s section and move to the women’s area, fingering a few tops as I walk past and land on a section of boas and wide-brimmed hats. The shelves are sparse, as are the racks, reminding me that I’m supposed to be finding inventory that’s sellable in all the piles of castoffs, yet I can’t seem to force myself back into that overcrowded dungeon of chaos. My brain hurt just walking through the door.
What were Eric’s words again? “Just do enough to get them by until Ralph gets back.”
Not exactly the most inspirational of speeches.
I wrap two of the feathered accessories around my neck and pick a pair of shades that cover half my face. Arm lifted, I stick my tongue out like a panting dog and snap a photo. It’s silly and stupid, especially when I’m twenty-nine and a half, but I need some of that right now.
A few picture filters later, I text the shot to Cameron.
Bored. I need to be put out of my misery.
Lovely. I especially like seeing your taste buds.
I was going for fashion diva meets poetic tragedy.
Interesting combo.
I grab my phone, dial Cameron’s number this time. It rings and rings until I get his voicemail.
A second later, his text pops up.
In staff meeting going over yesterday’s service. Can’t talk.
I take another picture of me in the boa, this time with the end held up so it looks like a noose, and send it to him.
Torture . . . pure torture.
I can picture Cameron in the room, trying not to laugh while he hides what he’s texting.
Stop. You’re going to get me in trouble.
Good. Then maybe you’ll be exiled like I’ve been.
Call Darcy. She’s been bugging me too.
I scowl at the message. Okay, so yeah, I’m still a little jealous of their friendship. Anyone would be. Still, I dial her number, because at this point I’m willing to do just about anything to keep procrastinating.
“Hey!” Darcy cheerfully answers. “Cam said you might call. Are you working?”
“If you define the life being sucked from my body as working, then yes, I guess I am. I’m stuck at the thrift store all day.”
She laughs, and I hear a dog bark in the background. “That sounds like fun, not torture.”
“Maybe for you. I, on the other hand, cannot stand disorder.” I look toward the back area, where I’m supposed to be working. “And this place is like a dumping ground for every piece of reject clothing in town.”
She laughs again. “Sounds like a perfect setting for a preteen moment.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see. I’m on my way.”
“Don’t you have pet appointments?”
“Two this afternoon, but I’m free for the next few hours.” Darcy is a dog groomer and trainer at a ritzy place called Pampered Pup Salon and Beauty Parlor. They’re the kind of high-end establishment that serves dog treats on silver platters and paints doggy nails to match their owners. A trim there costs more than three times what I used to pay my hairdresser. But then again, I didn’t get diamond-studded bows put in my hair. “Besides,” she continues, “now that you and Cameron are official, we need to get to know each other better.”
“Okaaay,” I say with some trepidation, because this will be the first time the two of us hang out by ourselves and it’s starting to feel a little like a setup. “If you’re sure you don’t have anything else to do.”
“Not at all. See you in a minute.”
When I hang up, I can’t help but think back on Dillon’s warning. “Dating Cam, best friends with Darcy. Kinda risky, don’t you think?”
“Stop it,” I say out loud and shake my head. Dillon Kyle does not know everything, nor does he get to dictate my choices.
I furiously push open the door to the storage rooms and refuse to worry about it for another second.
Darcy and I fall into a fit of laughter, and I nearly drop to the stained carpet beneath me. She’s wearing a muumuu dress ten sizes too big, a pair of boots that are hot pink with rhinestones climbing up the sides, a child’s hat that sits on her head like Charlie Chaplin’s, and is making the face of a cheerleader in a selfie contest.
“Hurry, take the picture,” she says, then returns to her pucker face. She has the dress hiked up on one side, exposes her bare knee, and puts her thumb out.
I snap away, trying to capture her insanity.
We’ve been fashion modeling for an hour and dumped out at least ten trash bags of clothing in our quest to finish off her latest ensemble.
“Got it,” I say and text her a copy. Knowing Darcy, she’ll make it her profile picture somewhere and come out looking like a supermodel.
She tosses the hat aside, pulls the dress over her head, and kicks off the boots. Darcy has no modesty, changing in and out of clothes without restraint or embarrassment. She reaches for the jeans she abandoned. “I would have loved volunteering at a place like this when I was a kid. It doesn’t make sense that they might have to shut it down.”
“I know, but it sounds pretty inevitable.”
“Too bad.” Darcy bends over to lace her shoe. “So . . . I need you to keep a secret, okay?” Her voice matches a nosy neighbor’s, and again I feel that tug between wanting to trust her and wondering if we’re frenemies.
“Okay,” I say, suddenly flustered. “What about?”
She hops back up. “Cameron’s birthday is coming up, and his mom wants to make it a surprise party. You know, like a huge celebration because it’s his last year before the dreaded thirty hits. She’s dying to meet you, by the way.”
And there it is. The reminder that Cameron and I grew up in very different worlds. His—a perfect family with four well-behaved kids, two cats, one dog, and church every Sunday and Wednesday. Mine—well, let’s just say there wasn’t any of that.
I can picture it now: Hi, I’m January Sanders. I’ve never met my father, and my mom is likely heading toward her fourth divorce, but I’m really a great match for your son. So nice to meet you! Cue stunned silence and judgmental stares.
“Jan?”
“Sorry.” I blink out of my daydream and stand. “Yeah, that sounds, um, fun.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t realize how late it was getting. I should probably get this cleaned up.”
“I can help.” She checks her watch. “I have about an hour before I have to head back to work.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. At least I’m getting paid to be here.”
“Please. My life goal is to move to another country and work for free.” She grabs three large empty boxes from the corner and arranges them in a triangle. “Thrift-store items in this one, and the rest in these two. We’ll make a game of it. If we can fill the thrift box in forty-five minutes or less, we’ll reward ourselves with an ice cream cone from down the street.”
And herein lies my conundrum: Darcy calls my boyfriend daily, has admitted to me that Cameron had a crush on her years ago, and is unquestionably a better match for him than I’ll ever be, and yet I still genuinely enjoyed hanging out with her today.
“Well, if ice cream is on the line, then it’s a deal,” I say, pushing aside the unease that keeps wanting to pop up.
She taps her watch and sets it for a countdown. “Okay . . . ready, set, go!”
twenty-five
By Thursday I’m beyond ready for Ralph to return to the office. It’s not that the tasks I’ve been given are hard, but they become nearly impossible to finish when Eric sends me new ones every twenty minutes. No wonder Ralph can’t get anything done.
&nbs
p; At least this is my last breakfast. Ralph’s vacation has finally come to an end and he will be returning to work on Monday. Hallelujah! Now if only I could get this stupid lock to open.
Finally a click and the door swings in. I’m in full shiver mode when I close it behind me. The thermostat is down the hall, and I turn it on, even though I know it will be stifling hot as soon as the oven gets going.
I move to the dining room, fumbling through the instructions Nora texted me an hour ago. Nora’s dad was taken to the hospital late last night, so it’s up to me to get the entire breakfast started before Pete shows up, which hopefully is soon since I’m already running fifteen minutes late.
Thankfully it’s a simple meal today. A tub of yogurt, granola, fresh fruit that’s already cut up, and muffins that take less than thirty minutes to bake. I set my purse on the cooking counter and head for the pantry, where the pans and dry food are stored.
Palm over the handle, I tug and it doesn’t move. I tug and tug, but it’s no use. The pantry’s locked, the shiny chrome newness making it very clear the lock will not be opened with the only key I’ve been given.
My heart begins a slow, panicked beat as I check the time. All the supplies are in that room.
This is when a normal person could rationalize, think about obvious places to hide a key, but my mind doesn’t work that way. It’s why I barely made it through school and quit junior college after just one year. I can’t process the mundane, only the random anomalies.
Like I remember that Mike has connected earlobes that are too small for his face. Or that Nora likes to salt in a line, left to right. But I can’t for the life of me remember an essential detail like where Pete said they kept the stupid pantry key.
“It will be fine,” I tell myself and try to take a calming breath. “Call Nora.”
I dial with shaky fingers but get her voicemail. Next I try texting, then stare at the screen when it’s obvious she’s not going to answer.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 16
