The Superstitious Romance

by Anastasia Alexander

  “I like Camille a lot. It’s been great to talk with someone who can understand what I went through when your mother left me.”

  His son let out a big puff of air. “Whatever.”

  * * *

  Early the next morning, Camille had just cracked three eggs into a hot skillet when she heard a knock at the door. She pulled the skillet off the stove, tied the belt of her robe tighter, and answered the door. To her surprise, Jackson stood in the doorway, his head lowered and his arms wrapped around his crutches.

  “Ohhh,” she said.

  “Hi,” he mumbled, looking faint and weak.

  Leaning into the door, Camille whispered, “What are you doing here? Didn’t the doctor say you were supposed to be down for the next two months?”

  “Mr. Westguard was kind enough to help me.” He nodded toward Mr. Westguard, who sat on a rusty tractor a couple of yards away.

  “You came by tractor?” Camille said. “Oh, what am I thinking. Come in and let’s get you off your leg.” She opened the door and rushed to move anything remotely in his path. When he lowered himself onto the couch, she stood with cushions in hands. “Lie down so I can prop up your leg.”

  “That’s all right,” he said. “I want to sit up, but one pillow would be nice.”

  She helped him get situated before sitting in the chair kitty-corner from him, waiting for what he might say. She thought of the note she’d thrown into the fire, and her heart thudded painfully in her chest.

  “I need to . . . um . . . I need to talk to someone.”

  “All right.” She settled in her chair, taking the pose she usually opted for when one of her students came to negotiate about a grade. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you talk to Mr. Westguard? He’s a guy, after all. He’d probably understands your problem better than me.”

  “Camille, I don’t know how to say this, but Mr. Westguard is a happily married man. He doesn’t understand the problems that go along with divorce.”

  “I wouldn’t call myself an expert in that area either,” Camille said, shifting weight in her chair, “unless you want to know how to goof up.”

  “Would you give yourself credit and let me talk to you? I need some perspective, and I trust yours. Besides, I don’t know anyone else I’d feel comfortable talking with about such personal matters.”

  He seemed to watch her carefully, so she tried to put on a compassionate face. It was hard to do when she kept thinking about Maggie kissing him and how she wanted to be the one doing that.“It’s about Maggie—”

  A jolt shot through Camille. How could he come to her to talk about his wife?“I know it seems strange to come to you with this, but I really don’t know what to do.”

  “About what exactly?” Her throat felt tight.

  “Well, you see, I have this problem . . .”

  He seemed to be searching for the best way to explain. “Just blurt it out,” she prodded.

  “Fine. Before Austin’s grandma, my mom, died, she set up a trust for Austin to help him with his college and to get started in life. Before we got all the paperwork done, my mother went into the hospital with ovarian cancer. She wanted the trust to be in place before her passing. I was so caught up in helping her get through chemo and keeping my job that I asked Maggie to get it arranged with both our names as custodial guardians. She had me sign papers, and I trusted her.”

  “You mean you didn’t read them?”

  “I was so exhausted.”

  “Besides, she was your wife, and why would you have any reason to doubt her intentions?”

  His gaze connected with hers. He looked at her a long time before saying, “Yeah.”

  “What happened with the trust?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said, their eye connection lost, “but I found out yesterday that the money is all gone.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t really know. She says she put it in an ironclad investment that is going to make us all a ton of money.”

  “But you don’t believe her?”

  “She always says things like that. It’s hard to put any merit in her words. When she wraps her hands around a dime, it’s gone forever. Once she filled out a credit card application on the Internet in my name and spent a fortune before I ever knew about it. It took me forever to pay off.”

  “What did she buy?”

  “Clothes, makeup, bathroom salts, furniture, girl stuff.”

  “It’s illegal to do that.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Did she help you pay it off?”

  He laughed hard. “McDonald’s would go out of business before that would ever happen.” He ran his hand through his curls. “It’s okay that she took my money, but it’s not okay to take my son’s.”

  “What? Why is what she did okay to do it to you and not your son?” Anger rolled through Camille on his behalf. “Let me get this straight. She goes on the shopping binge of a lifetime, using your good name, and you have to work for years to pay it off? She basically enjoys all the loot and you do all the work.” Camille waited for him to answer. When it was apparent he wasn’t going to, she spoke to him in a soft, low voice. “I fell into a codependent-rescuer trap for years also. It’s rough and exhausting to try to save people from themselves with not so much as a thank you. Actually, my husband kept doing the same stupid things over and over and I kept cleaning up his messes.”

  Jackson nodded.

  “What I didn’t notice while I was in the middle of it,” she continued, “was that the problem kept growing bigger. I didn’t realize that by doing the nice thing and cleaning up after him, I wasn’t helping. I made it possible for him to keep up his bad behavior and, if that wasn’t bad enough, I was losing myself in the process. I knew what he was thinking and doing, I knew what he wanted me to do, but I had no idea what I was thinking, feeling, or needing. I was so caught up in his life, I had almost completely given up mine. And then he left me because he felt he didn’t know me. Well, I didn’t even know myself.”

  “But you don’t understand,” he protested, adjusting himself to sit higher on the couch, “Austin needs that money. It will crush him—”

  “What is she after?”

  “Say again?”

  “What does she want you to do? How does she plan for you to save her?”

  “Replace the money in the trust as he needs it, so he won’t know it’s gone.”

  “He’ll be cheated of the interest,” she said.

  “What would you do?”

  “Stop saving her. Let her feel the consequences of her actions.”

  “You mean bring it out in the open?”

  “Why not? Maggie has no problem using the information against you whenever she wants.”

  “But Austin. It will affect his future. Besides, what am I supposed to do? Tell him his mom stole his money?”

  “I’m not telling you what to do. You just asked me what I would do.”

  “But—”

  “I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m saying it will be the best thing. It will help Maggie be accountable for what she’s done. She won’t stop what she’s doing if you always bail her out.” She stood. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  When she returned from the kitchen after grabbing two pops, he took one and drank deeply. After he finished, he said, “Did you get my note?”

  She twisted her fingers. “Did.”

  “Well?”

  She cleared her throat, where hundreds of short prickles of pain jabbed her lungs. “I’m not going to serve as an obstacle.”

  “It’s not going to work with her. But you, Camille . . . you . . . you have the ability to understand.” He looked at her, eyes full of tenderness, vulnerability, and affection.

  “Oh, don’t do this,” she said. “You belong with her, and she’s willing to work it out. I can’t come between you.” Tears filled her voice.

  “But—” His brown, pleading eyes glistened.

  She stood and wa
lked out of the room.

  * * *

  After two days of storming around the house on his crutches, Jackson admitted perhaps Austin and Camille were right. He needed to forgive Maggie for what she had done. He searched deep inside until he crashed into a cement block of anger. Maggie had betrayed him. He had been a good husband, but she, with a wave of her hand, had dismissed him. “How can I forgive her?” He paused, clenching her jaw. “I’ll find a way.”But to what extent? That was the real issue.

  More long, slow days passed. Jackson’s leg ached. His son withdrew into silence, leaving Jackson to his thoughts. Camille and Austin, both good people, thought he should focus on his relationship with Maggie, but she had stolen Austin’s money, the money that was his son’s future. She gave no accounting for what she had done with the money. That had been the theme throughout their whole marriage—no accountability.

  Where did all the money go? That was the message he had emailed her, since he wasn’t sure where she had gone. Every couple of hours he checked the computer mailbox, but nothing came until the third afternoon.

  He read the short note and everything became clear to him. He sent off a response, which came back immediately. He answered it again, but this time there was no reply, and he hadn’t expected one. He printed off the entire conversation and asked Austin to take him for a drive in their car he’d rented so Austin could return the one he’d borrowed from his friends.

  Once they were driving, Austin asked, “Where to?”

  “Camille’s.”

  “I should’ve known,” Austin whispered between gritted teeth.

  “Pull over.”

  “Why?” Austin questioned.

  “Just do it. We need to talk.”

  His son sighed, steering the car off the plowed road and into the muddy snow. The Ford jerked to a halt. Austin gave him an irritated look before asking, “What do we need to talk about?”

  Jackson wished he could wait until Austin found himself in a better mood before he told his boy what he had to say, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. He knew that. “Son, I don’t know how to say this, so I will say it flat out. Your mom came to visit me, not because she wanted to get back together but to—”

  “Yes, she did. I know—”

  “Will you please hear me out? Then you can say anything you want.”

  Austin folded his arms and pressed his lips together. At least he was quiet. Taking another deep breath, Jackson tried again. “Your mother wanted me to help bail her out of another financial problem she found herself in. You know how she likes to spend?”

  Austin said nothing but kept looking through the windshield with a clenched jaw. “Well anyway, your mom has formed a nasty addiction to spending money, and I have always jumped in like your local Superman. But this time . . . this time I can’t. She needs to be held accountable for her own actions.”

  “What’s your point?” Austin asked.

  “Your trust fund—from Grandma—it’s gone.”

  “Gone?” Austin looked at him now, his face turning pale. “What do you mean? What happened to my money?”

  Jackson swallowed the lump in his throat. “Your mom spent it all.”

  “What? How? You’re lying. She wouldn’t . . .” Austin stopped, obviously realizing that Maggie would. “How am I going to go . . . I need that money! Now my whole freaking future is blown up. What am I supposed to do?”

  “I know this is hard.” Jackson reached over to comfort him.

  Austin jerked away. “What do you know? You’re just blaming this all on Mom. I don’t believe you.”

  “Whether you believe this or not, I am going to help you get your education. I should have known better. I knew she was untrustworthy with money.”

  “How are you going to get enough money?”

  “For starters, I’m going back to Denver and getting my old job back. I figure I can earn enough to pay for your tuition, semester by semester. We’ll work this out, you’ll see.” Austin listened. “I’m really sorry. I had no idea she would go after your money. What belonged to others, yeah, but I didn’t think she would do this to you.”

  “This is the lowest, the meanest . . .” Austin voice trailed off in frustration.

  “Son, I know this is tough, but try not to be too hard on her. She expected me to pull my weight and play the part of rescuer like I’ve always done, but this time I am not going to play along. It’s going to be a real surprise for her. Austin, whatever you decide to do is up to you. I’m not going to hold you hostage with the money. I’ll pay you every semester whenever you go to school, and I will even figure the interest you would’ve earned and pay that to you too.”

  * * *

  While Austin waited in the car, Jackson knocked on Camille’s door. Darlene answered, a scowl coming to her face when she saw who it was. “Is your mother home?” Jackson asked.

  “She’s not available.” She started to close the door.

  He held out his hand. “Come on. Please don’t do that.”

  She flipped her head back and glared. “And why not?”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “That’s not good enough. Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

  “But I’ve got to show her this.” He held up the printed email.

  “I’ll take it.” She grabbed the paper then slammed the door. The click of the lock echoed.

  * * *

  Darlene went to the drapes to peek out the window. “Mom, they’re still out there. Should I ask them to leave?”

  “No.” Camille’s head throbbed even as her fingers tried to rub the tension from her forehead. The throb had begun the instant she’d heard Jackson’s voice. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?

  “Are you sure you don’t want to read this?” her daughter asked, waving the paper Jackson had given her.

  “I’m not sure of anything. Here, let me see it.”

  “If it’s going to make you soft on him again, then I shouldn’t let you.”

  “I’m not going to get soft. Give it.”

  “Maybe I should censor it?”

  “I’ll be fine.” She snatched the note and sat on the sofa to read it. Not a letter this time, but a series of emails. She started at the bottom of the page to follow the conversation.

  Dear Jackson,

  I was so glad to hear from you. I’m glad you are willing to forgive me.

  Camille swallowed. Was Jackson rubbing his relationship with Maggie into her face?

  Can you mail me a check to put in Austin’s trust today? I promise you won’t regret it. I still want to work things out so we can be together.

  Love you always,

  Maggie

  “I can’t believe this,” Camille stammered.

  “What?” Darlene asked.

  Camille ignored her and read Jackson’s response.

  Dear Maggie,

  I’m glad you want to help Austin. That makes me happy. As far as the money goes, I can’t do it. I made a commitment to act with complete integrity, and giving you the money wouldn’t be true to my convictions. You need to tell Austin what you have done. Good luck on that.

  Love,

  Jackson

  Jackson,

  If you don’t give me the money, we are OVER!!!!!!!

  Dear Maggie,

  I’m sorry you feel that way. I think you misunderstood me. I said I’d forgive you for stealing Austin’s money, but we are divorced, and I have no intention of renewing a romantic relationship with you. I’ve actually met someone else. Guess this is where our paths separate permanently. I wish you luck.

  Jackson

  Camille’s heart lurched and fire ran through her veins. She ran to the window and then to the door, which she opened wide. Seeing her, Jackson struggled out of the automobile, fumbling with his crutches.

  Once they were in speaking distance, she said, “Jackson.” Tears slid down her face.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to feel the same rig
ht now—it’s enough if you just give me a chance. I promise not to rush things. I know I had a lot of fault with what happened to my marriage, but I won’t make those mistakes again.”

  He reached for her, but she put up her hand. “Wait. Maggie had a talk with me. She said I was the other woman, that I’m the reason you wouldn’t get back with her.”

  “Camille, no. It’s a lie. Our marriage failed long before I ever met you.”

  Camille could see the truth in his eyes. She leaned into him, felt one of his arms go around her, the other still gripping his crutch. She looked at him and he at her with his eager, wanting eyes. Heat washed over her as his lips came down on hers.

  He kissed her for a long, searching moment. Her heart pounded, her nerves sang, and she had the strange sensation that she was flying. When they finally drew breathlessly apart, “Wow,” was all she could think to say.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next couple of days, Jackson allowed Camille to nurse him back to health. There were few things worse than having someone wait on him. Despite that, time quickly slipped away. He had talked his editor into doing a collaborative project with Camille, featuring fall in the mountains, and Camille planned to use many of the pictures that would be in her book. All in all, things were working out nicely. But Jackson wasn’t completely happy.

  “What’s your problem?” Camille asked at lunch.

  He stared at the noodles in the stew. “The soup’s missing something.”

  “I’ll get salt.” She rummaged through his cupboards. “Did you know salt is incorruptible and hence a symbol of eternity and immortal life?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Oh, great!” she muttered.

  He glanced from his bowl to see that the bag had ripped and grains of salt were slipping onto the countertop and then to the floor.

  “Spilling salt is a very bad sign.” Camille edged around the counter, peering at the salt closely.

  Was she studying it? “What are you doing?”

  She tossed a pinch of salt over her shoulder. “I’m examining the way the salt spilled.”

  “Why?”

  She threw two more pinches of salt. “If the salt scatters in the direction of someone other than the person who spilled it, the bad luck will come to either him or a person in his family.”