by Linda Warren
“No, but I gave in because…”
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” The words erupted from deep within him.
“It wasn’t his fault,” Camila cried. “The drugs made him another person and he was so sorry afterwards. He came to my house the next day and begged for me to forgive him. He wanted us to run away and get married. I told him no and he began to cry saying I was his best friend. That made me angry and I told him his football buddies were his friends. But they really weren’t—they played a cruel joke on him and me, and they laughed about it. Patrick said he saw Vance earlier and he was eager to know what had happened. Patrick was just sick and couldn’t believe what he’d done. But I couldn’t forgive him then. I asked him to leave.”
She took a breath, pushing out the rest of the story. “He said I was never attracted to him—that I was attracted to his older brother and he knew it. I…I…told him that was true. He crashed his car a few hours later.” She drew in more air. “So you see you’re not to blame for Patrick’s death—I am.”
Tripp jammed hands through his hair feeling as if the floor had just given way and he was falling, falling…. He yanked open the door and stepped outside, sucking cold air into his lungs, letting it cool the heated emotions in him. His legs felt weak and he sank down onto the step.
How could something like this happen? In a small town like Bramble? There were good people here, good kids. How did one party get so out of control? All he could feel was anger at what had been done to Patrick. To Camila. All for a joke—a good laugh. For years he’d known something hadn’t been right, but he’d never imagined this depth of cruelty.
He said I was never attracted to him—that I was attracted to his older brother and he knew it. I…I…told him that was true.
Oh, God. He could have stopped everything that night if he’d just taken control of the situation, taken Camila home. But he hadn’t. The thought was like acid in his gut. How did he make this right?
♦ ♦ ♦
NAUSEA ROSE in Camila’s stomach and she ran to the bathroom, drawing deep breaths. After a minute, the churning stopped and she wiped her face with a wet washcloth. She’d never told anyone that story and the aftermath was almost more than she could bear. The look, the shock, in Tripp’s eyes was what she’d expected—that’s why she’d avoided talking to him. He hated her. She’d killed his brother. She’d killed Jilly’s father by not being more understanding. But she’d been incredibly hurt.
She wasn’t going to think about this anymore tonight. It was driving her crazy. She went to the kitchen to turn out the light. The door opened and Tripp came back in.
“Neither of us are to blame for Patrick’s death,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Patrick made some bad decisions by getting in with the wrong crowd. He’s to blame for that, not you. You’re the victim in all this.”
She blinked back a tear, hardly believing her ears. This was more than she’d expected. “Thank you, but if I had been more understanding, more…”
“He forced you, for God’s sake.”
Her hand touched her throbbing temple. “Please.”
“Camila, these boys wanted to get back at you for rejecting them and it got way out of control. Patrick got caught up in that. I’m so sorry for all you’ve been through.”
Words stuck in her throat.
“I think you’ve done a remarkable job putting your life back together.”
“I had Jilly. Something good came out of it.”
“She’s the best of you and Patrick.”
She looped her hair behind her ear. “I’ve always thought that.”
Their eyes clung and neither could say what they wanted to. It would take time. He reached for his hat. “I’d better go. It’s getting late and a lot colder.”
“I haven’t listened to the weather. How cold is it suppose to get?”
“It’ll probably be freezing by morning.”
“Oh no.” She grabbed a big coat out of a closet. “Could you stay with Jilly for a few minutes? I don’t like leaving her alone this late.”
His eyes narrowed. “Where are you going?”
“I lit a heater for Unie earlier and sometimes she turns it off. I have to make sure it’s still on or she’ll freeze to death.”
“Why doesn’t she light it herself?”
“The gas company turned off her gas about a year ago because she couldn’t pay her bill. I had it turned back on and pretended the gas company had done it by mistake. If she knew I was paying for the gas, she wouldn’t use it. So when it’s cold, I go over and light her heater. She won’t light it because she’s afraid she’ll be arrested. I tell her not to worry that when she’s used up all the money she’s paid in, they’ll cut it off. But she doesn’t quite grasp everything. I just don’t want her to be cold.”
She buttoned her coat and pulled her hair back into a ponytail and slipped a band around it. “I’ll be gone ten minutes tops.”
She flew out the door and Tripp stood there with his mouth open. He’d never met anyone like Camila before—giving so much of herself and asking nothing in return. Patrick had known her good qualities though, that’s why he’d been so crazy about her.
Tripp tried to sort through everything he’d learned tonight. But only one thing stood out. Camila was an incredible woman.
♦ ♦ ♦
CAMILA PARKED IN FRONT of Unie’s house, glad for the diversion. It gave her time to gather her wits, her emotions. “Unie, it’s Camila.” She knocked loudly on the door. “Open up. It’s cold.”
“Who is it?” Unie shouted.
“Camila.”
“You alone?”
“Yes.”
The door opened a crack and Unie peered at her. “You alone?” Unie asked again.
“Yes, Unie, I’m alone. I came to see if your heater works. It’s getting colder.”
Unie opened the door, Lu Lu in her arms. She had the same clothes on she had earlier in the day. “Gas company turned off my gas.”
“I’ll just check,” Camila said, walking into the house, which was dark and very cluttered. One side of the living room was piled with plastic bags filled with cans. The house felt like an icebox. Camila sighed. Unie had turned off the heater. She pulled matches from her pocket and squatted at the only heater in the house. It roared to life within seconds.
“There,” Camila said. “Now the room will get warmer.”
“Bless you child.” Unie came closer to the fire.
Unie sat in her chair close to the fire then jerked forward. “Is Bert outside?”
“No.”
“You better leave, child. I can’t have Bert stealing my cans.”
“Okay. Don’t turn the fire off. Just leave it on until you leave the house tomorrow. “
“It feels good.”
“Unie, leave the heater on.” Camila wanted to make sure Unie understood her.
Unie looked at her with a blank look.
“It’s night and no one will know but you and me.”
A thin smile touched her lips. “Good. No one will know.”
“That’s right so leave the heater on.” She’d gotten through. Unie understood. “Good night, Unie.”
♦ ♦ ♦
WHEN CAMILA WALKED IN, Tripp glanced at the clock. “Wow. Ten minutes exactly.”
Camila removed her coat. “Unie doesn’t like anyone in her house too long.”
“You do this every time it gets cold?”
“Yes.” She hung her coat in the closet. “Thanks for staying.”
“No problem.” He placed his hat on his head. “How old is Unie? I remember her when I was kid.”
“She’s about ninety. No one knows that much about her. She took care of her parents until they died, then she became a recluse.”
His eyes caught hers. “You’re an incredible person.”
A slight flush stained her cheeks and neither said a word for a moment.
“Thanks for telling me about that night. I know it was hard for you.
”
“I’d sworn never to tell anyone.”
“Because of Jilly?”
“Yes. My main goal in life is to protect her.”
He nodded. “From now on it will be mine, too. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
“Good night, Camila.”
“Good night,” she whispered, feeling as if he’d kissed her.
She walked into the living room and lay on the sofa. Tears rolled from her eyes and she didn’t know why she was crying. She felt good and she felt bad. The two emotions together filled her with sadness. A sadness that one night had changed so many lives. A sadness that Patrick was gone. A sadness that she and Tripp would never be anything more than close acquaintances.
“Camila?”
Her mother stood in the doorway—the last person she wanted to see.
Chapter Eleven
Camila sat up. “What are you doing here?”
Benita flopped down beside her. “Just wanted to talk to my chick.” She gestured toward the street. “Saw the cowboy leaving. Dare I hope you have something going with him?”
Camila glared at her. “I do not. Tripp came to talk about Jilly visiting his parents.”
“Are you allowing it?”
“Of course. They’re her grandparents.”
Benita shook her head. “Camila, chick, this is where you stick the knife in and twist. This is where you get even for the way they’ve treated you.”
Camila frowned. “Do you really believe that? Do you really believe that would be in Jilly’s best interest? Everything I do, I do for her—to make her life better.”
“Better than yours?” Benita lifted an arched eyebrow.
Camila sighed. “I’m not getting into that again.”
“I was a lousy mother. I admit it.”
Camila turned to face her. “Yes, you were. You never thought about me—just about what you wanted and a good time. You never cared how you embarrassed me. You—”
Tears slipped from Benita’s eyes, forcing Camila to stop. All her anger vanished at the sight. She’d never seen her mother cry.
“You don’t know what it was like,” Benita cried. “Papa loved me and I worshipped him. I’d dance and he’d clap and laugh and we’d sing. I was happy, then he died suddenly and I was lost without him. Madre was like a drill sergeant, don’t do this and don’t do that. Dancing wasn’t allowed anymore—it was sinful. Sometimes I was afraid to breathe, afraid of disappointing her. Then I discovered boys and they liked it when I danced. I could almost hear Papa clapping, saying, ‘Have a good time, Benita. Enjoy life.’”
Benita brushed away a speck on her pants. “I guess I’ve been looking for a man like Papa—kind, loving and with a great sense of humor, who would make me happy. I haven’t found him yet.”
“What about my father?” Camila asked, surprising herself. “Did you love him?” They’d never talked about this and she suddenly needed to know.
“Ah, Travis Holden was about the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t concentrate in class for dreaming about him. He was my first sexual experience and I wasn’t too wise about contraception and got pregnant. Travis wasn’t happy about that, but he married me—mostly because Madre had a talk with his parents. We lived together about three months, then he went away to college in Lubbock and I stayed here to have you. We talked quite often at first, then the calls got fewer and fewer. He came back when you were born and asked for a divorce. He said he was going to seek custody of you, but I think he met someone else ’cause he never followed through.”
“You’ve never talked about him before.”
“I have a picture somewhere if you want to see what he looked like.”
“Yes. I’d like that.” Like Jilly, she wanted to see what her father looked like.
There was silence, then Benita said, “I wasn’t even eighteen when you were born and I didn’t know anything about babies, about love, about life. Madre took us from the hospital and took over—and I let her. I was young. I wanted to have fun. I didn’t have those motherly instincts and I felt different and did stupid things—like getting married again, and again.” She glanced at Camila. “But I loved you, chick. You were my little girl and probably the best thing I ever did was let Madre raise you.”
“Why would you think that? It was the same environment that you grew up in, stern, strict, no fun, but I was completely lost when she died. When I discovered I was pregnant, I was so afraid. I don’t know what I’d have done if it hadn’t been for Millie. I needed you then. I needed a mother.”
Benita began to cry again, but Camila didn’t stop. “When I was ten, you planned to take me with you, but you gave in to Madre and left me behind. That hurt. I wanted to be with my mother.”
“Dios.”
“You say you don’t have motherly instincts. How do you know? You’ve never tried. I was so nervous when Jilly was born. What if I held her wrong? What if she stopped breathing? She weighed six pounds and four ounces and she scared the life out of me. But no one was raising my child but me.”
Benita buried her face in her hands, continuing to cry.
“You have a daughter, a granddaughter and we need you. It’s time to grow up and stop chasing after a man you’re never going to find and to be a part of this family. You always come back so that has to be a sign that there’s something here that you care about.”
Benita groped for Camila and held her tight. “I love you, chickadee.” Then she jumped up and ran out the door.
“I love you, too,” Camila whispered. But her mother was gone.
♦ ♦ ♦
TRIPP GRABBED A BEER out of the refrigerator. Everyone was in bed so he went into the den and dropped to the sofa, propping his feet on the coffee table and resting his head against the cushions. He took a big swallow thinking of what those boys had done to Patrick. To Camila. His stomach churned with familiar anger.
But something wasn’t right. It wasn’t anything Camila had said. It was something about Patrick and the last time he’d seen him that day in the barn. He forced himself to remember. When Patrick had first come in, he hadn’t been angry, he’d just seemed despondent. Tripp had been brushing down a horse and Patrick had sat on a bale of hay, watching him.
Patrick had said he didn’t do drugs and Tripp shouldn’t have mentioned anything to their parents. They would start watching him like a hawk. Then out of the blue he’d asked, “How do you make someone love you?”
Tripp had told him that it had to happen naturally. That had angered Patrick and what he had said was engraved in Tripp’s mind.
All you have to do is be you and the girls fall all over you. She doesn’t even see me for you. No girl does. It’s the same way with them, too. They used me and I know how to get even and I will.
Patrick had run from the barn before Tripp could stop him.
He hadn’t known what Patrick had been talking about and later, after they’d found out he’d crashed his car, Tripp had thought that he’d meant suicide—that he’d kill himself. But now that didn’t sound right.
I know how to get even. That didn’t sound like a person intending to commit suicide. It sounded like Patrick had wanted revenge. That was what Tripp wanted now in the worst way. But he’d bide his time and soon he and Vance and Wallis would meet. It wouldn’t be at night and it wouldn’t be an ambush. He would get some straight answers and he’d settle the score.
For Camila.
He took a big swig of beer, letting himself think about Patrick and what he’d done to her. His actions didn’t resemble the softhearted, intelligent boy Tripp had known, but then, Patrick had been swayed by other influences, and of course, his unrequited feelings for Camila. He’d wanted her to love him and she didn’t.
That didn’t excuse what he’d done. It only made it worse.
She doesn’t even see me for you.
He’d been talking about Camila.
Here came the guilt. Tenfold. Camila had been
looking at him and he’d been looking back. And Patrick had known. Tripp would never have done anything about the way he felt about Camila—and never would. She’d been hurt enough. Good God. What a mess.
And the worst part of all—he’d believed the rumors like everyone else in this town. He went to bed wondering how he could have ever done that.
♦ ♦ ♦
THE NEXT MORNING, Camila felt disoriented from the night before. Too many revelations, too many heartaches, yet it had felt good to share the past with Tripp. She’d carried that night with her for so long, her secret pain. Now Tripp knew and she felt lighter, understanding the past a little more—if that were possible. She didn’t think she’d ever really understand how that night had turned into a nightmare. But it was over and she had Jilly. That’s how she’d handled the past—by loving her daughter.
She dropped Jilly at school and drove to Bramble’s small grocery store to talk to Fred, the manager, about a cart for Unie. He had a broken one and said she could have it. She gave him five dollars for the cart and made him write out a bill of sale to Unie so Bert couldn’t take it away from her. She talked Slim into welding it together.
“Benita’s back,” she said, knowing it would be all over Bramble soon.
“Hot damn.” Slim wiped his hands. “That ought to liven up this town.”
Camila looked down at her sneakers. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Slim grinned. “Benita is Benita. And that’s not going to change.”
Normally she’d want to crawl away in a corner when anyone spoke of her mother, but Slim was right; Benita was Benita. Maybe it was time Camila accepted that.
Camila painted Property of Eunice Gimble in red on the cart, just in case Bert tried to pull a fast one. Then she pushed it down the street and into the bank.
Thelma Boggs watched her. Camila rolled the cart up to Bert’s desk.
“Why the hell did you bring that in here?” Bert asked, his brow knotted together.
Camila pointed to the name on the cart. “This cart is property of Eunice Gimble and if you take it away from her, I’ll have you arrested for theft.”
