by Gerri Hill
“And the shotgun?”
“Just for my amusement. Actually, there’s an electric current that protects the rig. It’s low voltage but enough to knock you back on your ass.” Cameron grinned. “Your very lovely ass, of course.”
Andrea returned her smile then went to pick up the kitten. “Hi, Lola,” she murmured.
“We will not name her Lola,” Cameron said.
“Then what name have we come up with?”
“We’re still working on it.”
Andrea went into the kitchen area, trying to find the source of the enticing smell. “If I had to guess, I’d say Juanita made us dinner,” she said, opening the oven and finding the platter covered in foil. “Fajitas?”
“Yes. So tell me, is there really a Juanita?”
“I have no idea. I just know it’s the best Mexican food in town.”
“Well, I’m actually starving. Is it too early for dinner or can you manage?”
“Oh, I can always manage fajitas,” she said. “Do you need help with something?”
“There’s a bottle of sangria in the fridge. You can open that,” Cameron said as she placed utensils on the table.
Andrea found the corkscrew in the first drawer she tried, noting the large variety of spatulas and spoons there. “Do you cook?”
“Some. I enjoy cooking. This current job is really the first time I’ve had the time to cook.” She shrugged. “Unfortunately, old habits are hard to break.”
“Meaning it’s easier to eat out?”
“Yeah. But now that I’ve got Lola here—and she’s not keeping that name—I’ll probably spend more time at the rig, so I’ll most likely cook more,” she said as she opened the oven door and took out the foil-wrapped platter of fajita meat.
Andrea pulled the cork out of the wine bottle, inwardly smiling at Cameron’s insistence that she didn’t like Lola. She suspected the poor cat was stuck with the name now.
“Excuse me,” Cameron said as she pressed against Andrea in the small space, reaching around her to the refrigerator to get the sour cream and guacamole dish Juanita’s had supplied.
Andrea felt her pulse quicken immediately at the contact, and she moved to the side, giving Cameron room.
“Let me get the tortillas, and we’re all set.”
Andrea filled their wineglasses and sat down, waiting for Cameron to join her. When she settled across from her, she picked up her glass and held it up. Andrea did the same, lightly touching hers to Cameron’s in a silent toast.
“Thank you for coming,” Cameron said before taking a sip.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Cameron handed Andrea a tortilla, then took one for herself. “Should I apologize for what happened earlier today?” she asked unexpectedly.
“You mean in Jim’s office?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you have anything to apologize for. I seemed to be a willing participant,” she admitted.
“Does that scare you? Or upset you?”
“No. Well, a little, yes.”
Cameron nodded, but thankfully didn’t continue with her questions or pursue any more answers. Instead, she piled her tortilla high with both chicken and beef then lathered on sour cream and guacamole. Andrea looked at her more modest fajita and added another strip of chicken.
Cameron gave an audible moan of pleasure after her first bite, her cheeks puffed out as she chewed. “This is fabulous,” she said around a mouthful.
“Mmm,” Andrea agreed.
Cameron put her fajita down and picked up her wineglass instead. “So, tell me about—”
“No, no,” Andrea said, interrupting her. “It’s my turn.”
“Your turn? Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“Okay. Go for it,” Cameron said as she returned to her fajita.
Andrea took a sip of wine first, flirting with a number of questions. She settled on perhaps the most dangerous, but it was one she was dying to know the answer to.
“How many times have you been in love?”
“Well, there’s love and then there’s love,” Cameron said. “The...I-thought-I-was-in-love-but-it-was-only-lust-kind. And the real stuff—the madly, deeply in love.”
“The latter.”
Cameron seemed to consider the question and Andrea saw a hint of sadness in her eyes.
“Once,” she said.
Andrea debated the merits of asking more questions and decided she would. Cameron could always decline to answer.
“Tell me.”
“Another tragic ending, I’m afraid,” Cameron said. “I’ve suddenly realized I have a lot of those in my life.”
“I’m sorry. We can talk about something else then,” Andrea suggested.
“No. It’s okay. I’ve asked you tough questions. I think we had an agreement,” she said as she pushed her plate aside and took her wineglass, twirling it aimlessly in her fingers. “Laurie. I met her in Australia. We had been doing some exercises around the islands there and had a couple of days of shore leave in Sydney.” She nodded when Andrea offered her more wine. “She was a water nymph and full of vigor,” Cameron said with a smile. “She owned a small sailboat and whisked me away thirty minutes after meeting her. We returned to shore just in time for me to head back out with my team.”
“So your shore leave wasn’t really shore leave.”
“No. But I left that day with a lovesick heart,” she said. “Over the next two years, we got together whenever we could, sometimes for only a quick couple of days, sometimes longer.”
“How long ago?”
“A while. I was twenty-five.”
“When you told me you lost a partner and a lover, this—”
“No. Laurie wasn’t in the military.” She paused before continuing. “We were sailing. The boat capsized. I was the only one wearing a vest. We had been swimming when a squall blew in. We hurried with the boat, trying to get her turned around and back to shore. Laurie didn’t take the time to put her vest on.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, Andrea. There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s a story from my past, that’s all. I loved her. Deeply. It had a tragic ending and it took me a long time to get over it, but it was one of those lessons that you learn—live life to its fullest. Laurie did that. She never slowed down. And she died doing something she loved. It’s like a mountain climber dying on the summit of a peak he had finally conquered. Tragic, yes, but he died doing what was most passionate to him.” Cameron smiled slightly. “I hope we are all that lucky,” she said. “It beats slowly dying in a hospital bed.” Cameron stood, pointing at Andrea’s plate. “You done?”
“Yes.” Andrea got up too, helping to clear the table. “Lola doesn’t seem interested in our food. She hasn’t learned to beg yet?”
“No, thankfully. She only begs at her own bowl. But you know, I do need to get her to a vet.”
“She hasn’t had shots?”
“No. I just found her a few days before I got here. And you know, I wasn’t sure I was going to keep her.”
“There are two vets in town. I don’t know them, but I can ask. Jim has dogs. I’ll see who he uses.”
“Thanks.”
After they’d cleaned up from their dinner, Cameron brought the bottle of wine with her to the sofa, ignoring her normal spot in the recliner.
“My turn,” Cameron said, after filling both their glasses. “How many times have you been madly, deeply in love?”
It was a question Andrea knew was coming, and she still didn’t have an answer for it. Well, other than the truth.
“None,” she said.
Cameron cocked an eyebrow. “None? But Erin—”
“My guilt over Erin’s death is completely different.” She met Cameron’s eyes, seeing them filled with questions. She often thought her therapist never understood why she clung to the guilt like she did. They’d talked about it, and Andrea understood that she should let it g
o, she just was never able to actually do it. “I have this vision in my head—in my heart—of what it should feel like to be in love. I told myself it would come, but I didn’t feel that with Erin. I knew I would never feel that with her. So, that morning, the morning of the ambush, I broke up with her.” She ran her fingers through her hair, remembering the terrible fight they’d had. “It didn’t go well,” she said. “In fact, after it was over with, we both said some horrible things to each other. I agreed to talk about it. We were going to get together the next day.” She paused. “Stupid, I know. But I couldn’t handle the tears, and that was the easiest way to get past it.”
“Andrea, you can’t—”
“I know, Cameron. I know I shouldn’t,” she said. “I wanted to love her that way. She said she loved me. She begged me to stay with her. I want to grieve for her like I loved her.” She took a deep breath, trying to keep tears away. “But it’s my fault. She was upset. She was the lead, the first one in. Because of me, she was upset, she probably wasn’t totally focused on the job. She was distracted.” Andrea closed her eyes, feeling her composure slipping. “And my team died and I grieve for them, I grieve for...for Mark,” she said, the name of her best friend finally causing the damn to break. Cameron reached for her but she shook her off. “He was...he was my buddy, he was the brother I never had,” she said, sobbing. “I grieve for him, and I feel guilty that I don’t grieve for Erin that way.” She stood, needing some space from Cameron. “I told Mark I was going to break up with her, and he said I should wait until the weekend, that I shouldn’t jack with our team right now.” She wiped at her nose, hating the tears that wouldn’t stop. “I meant to wait, I really did. But Erin was talking about taking a trip together. She wanted us to go to San Francisco. She had the phone. She was calling to make reservations, and I just couldn’t take it. I couldn’t let her make those plans, knowing I wasn’t going with her. I...I just couldn’t wait until the weekend,” she finished. “So I try to pretend that I loved her, and I hold on to my guilt because I didn’t love her. Not that way.”
She closed her eyes, remembering the horrible scene that ensued, the yelling, the accusations. She heard Cameron move, felt her approach. This time, she didn’t pull away when Cameron touched her. This time, she let herself be comforted. Cameron didn’t say anything, perhaps knowing that any words she spoke would be hollow. Andrea had heard them all before. So she slipped deeper into the embrace, feeling safe, feeling a little of the weight lifted from her aching shoulders. When Cameron finally spoke, her voice was soft, soothing.
“No one can tell you how you should feel, Andi. No one can judge your guilt or your grief. Only you. And I think you’re still judging yourself pretty harshly.” Her arms tightened, pulling Andrea even closer. “When you’re ready to let it go, you will. Whether it’s next month or next year, only you know. But eventually you’ll let it go.” She loosened her grip and Andrea pulled away, meeting her eyes. “I’ve been there. I know how heavy the feelings can be. I know the toll they take.” Cameron touched her cheek, and Andrea’s eyes slipped closed again. “But it will pass. I promise,” she whispered.
Andrea often felt like she hung on to the guilt as punishment for living. She felt she didn’t deserve to be happy, she didn’t deserve to get her life back. They were gone. Erin, the woman who professed to love her. And Mark, her best friend and confidant. And here she was, still hanging on to her guilt and her grief, nearly three years later.
She cleared her throat. “Bathroom?”
“Of course.” Cameron pointed just past the kitchen area. “First door on the right.”
Andrea closed the door behind her, then immediately splashed water on her face, washing the traces of tears away. She reached for a tissue and blew her nose, feeling somewhat back to normal. She was surprised by what she was able to confess to Cameron, but then again, should she be? Since the day they’d met, Cameron had been able to pull things from her, willingly or unwillingly. She did admit that it felt good to purge herself. Maybe Cameron was right. Maybe it would pass. Eventually.
She returned, trying to salvage what was left of the evening. She gave a tentative smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize,” Cameron said. “If you ever need to talk, I’ll listen.”
“Thank you.” Andrea took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, feeling some of the awkwardness dissipate. “The bathroom was quite roomy,” she said. “It’s like a real-sized bathroom.”
“Most of the bigger rigs have nearly full-sized ones. Did you peek into the bedroom?”
“No. Should I have?”
Cameron gave a quick smile. “Only if you’re curious.”
Andrea was. “Okay. May I?”
“Of course.”
And again, Andrea was surprised at the roominess, the slide-outs giving nearly eight more feet of floor space. The bed was large and neatly made, the room tidy. One wall consisted entirely of drawers. The back of the room was obviously the wardrobe, with two full-length mirrors for doors, giving a more wide-open look.
“It’s huge,” she called.
“I wouldn’t say huge but more than enough room for me,” Cameron said when Andrea joined her again. “I don’t even use half of the drawer space in there.”
“So you live in this full time?”
“Yes. It suits me. I’ve never really put down roots. Not as a kid, certainly not in the military.”
It was the opportunity Andrea had been waiting for. Cameron seemed to know it as well. The new bottle of wine sat on the small table next to the sofa. She filled both of their glasses, waiting for the eventual question.
“Tell me about your parents.”
“It’s not a happy story,” Cameron warned. “But I don’t dwell on it anymore.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s okay. I won’t ask again.”
“No. We had a deal. Share.”
“Quid pro quo.”
Cameron nodded. “My father was a pilot. Helicopters. It was during the first Gulf War. His missions were classified. We didn’t really even know where he was. My mom and I, we weren’t real close, so I didn’t hang around the house much.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen, nearly seventeen. I just kinda did my own thing and she did too. Anyway, my father came home unexpectedly. He picked me up at school. He had two backpacks. He said we were going on a survival training exercise.”
Andrea wondered how often Cameron told this story. Her sentences were short, to the point. Just the facts and little else. “Did you know he was back?”
“No. He’d been gone a couple months, I guess. He just showed up at school. But I went with him. I thought it was cool. I got to miss school and hang with my dad for a few days. Only a few days turned into a few weeks. We went into Canada and ditched the car and went up in the mountains.”
“Oh, no. Like you were kidnapped?”
“Well, yeah, only I didn’t know it at the time.”
“What about your mother? Did she know?”
Cameron glanced at her quickly, then away. “My mother... no, she didn’t know,” she said, her voice thick. “I started asking him how long we were going to be gone, what about Mom, my school. He got crazy. Mean. It was no longer a game. No longer fun. I was afraid, actually,” she said.
“How long?”
“It was a month by that time. I will say I learned an awful lot about surviving on your own. But I noticed anytime we’d see evidence of people, he’d head in the opposite direction. Anytime I mentioned going back down for supplies, he would freak out. He turned into this monster, really. He quit bathing. He didn’t shave. His eyes were that of a crazy man.” She took a deep breath. “I stopped asking questions. I stopped talking. I knew I had to get away from him. I didn’t know what was going on with him. I didn’t know if something had happened on his last mission that sent him over the edge or what.”
“He didn’t abuse you, did he?” Andrea asked softly.
> “No. No, he didn’t. Not like that.”
“I’m sorry.”
Cameron shrugged. “Just part of the things in life that shape you, I guess. Anyway, where we were camped, I could hear highway noise off in the distance. I didn’t know how far it was, but I thought that was my only opportunity. We moved every three days or so, and I was afraid he’d take us farther back into the mountains.”
“You were in tents?”
“Yes. We each had one. That night, after I was sure he was asleep, I left. The moon was high, so I had some light.” She smiled. “And thankfully I didn’t run into a grizzly or a pack of wolves. I just kept heading in the direction of where I thought the highway was.”
“Oh, Cameron, that was so dangerous. You were just a kid.”
“That wasn’t my first survival training exercise, Andrea. He used to take me out once a year, at least, but only for a weekend. That’s one reason I knew something was wrong. That, and the fact that we’d crossed into Canada. I mean, obviously, he was AWOL.”
“So you found the highway?”
“Yes. Took me four hours at a fast pace. I flagged down a trucker. I started telling him my story and he stopped me and said, ‘Wait, are you the kid of that army dude who’s on the run?’” Cameron pulled the sleeping Lola into her lap. “Apparently, we had been on the news for weeks. There was a manhunt.” Cameron met her gaze head on. “He’d killed my mother and her lover, a navy lieutenant.”
“Oh, no.”
“He shot the navy officer, but he stabbed my mother twenty-something times. I guess he wanted to make sure she knew what was happening.”
“Okay, stop. Enough. I’m sorry. I had no idea—”
“Andrea, you’ve got to quit apologizing. If I didn’t want to tell you the story, I wouldn’t have.”
“But I’m still sorry. Did you have to go through that alone or did you have any siblings?”
“I had an older brother. He was in the Marines at the time, but he wasn’t deployed.” She absently rubbed Lola’s ear, her fingers moving back and forth slowly. “He hung around for the funeral, then left. I went to live with my grandmother and finished high school, then enlisted.”
