“No, but after today, you will have fulfilled your community hours, and the girls thought they might not be seeing you again, so they asked to surprise you with this goodbye party.”
She’d been so caught up in everything else in her life, she hadn’t counted how many hours she had to go to fulfill her community service, something she’d done every single day when she’d first started volunteering.
“And we also saw you get arrested on TV,” another girl said, “so we figured we’d better have the party now in case you end up in juvie.”
“Fool,” another girl chimed in, “Miss Copello’s too old for juvie.”
Carolyn made a settling motion. “This is a party, girls, so let’s keep it light, okay?”
“Yeah,” Takira said, throwing a hip-hop move, “let’s just marinate, not agitate.”
Amber, who had been sitting solemnly at the end of the couch, stood. “And let’s appreciate the one who effectuates people like us,” she said quietly, “because we may never see her again.”
The girls grew silent, their eyes all turned on Cammie.
The looks on their faces unraveled her. Not so long ago, she’d been angry that, on top of having to pay fines, she also had to fulfill seventy-five hours of community service to regain her license. And yet, if she hadn’t had this experience, she never would have met these girls and learned their stories. She’d had it tough growing up, but her survival was a fairy tale compared to what many of these girls had experienced. They’d taught her that, despite what life has dealt, a person can still laugh and dance.
She opened her arms wide. “Get your behinds over here, ’cause I’m big into group hugs these days.”
The girls morphed into a thriving mass of bodies and giggles and tears in her arms, and she hugged them all, grabbing loose arms and hands, kissing wet cheeks.
Looking over the heads of the girls, she saw one girl off by herself, standing awkwardly, her arms wrapped around her middle.
“Amber,” she said, “we’re not complete unless you’re with us.”
Amber blinked as though surprised to be called out. “I’m...not...”
“We got a thinning ozone layer over here, Amber-D,” said Takira. “We need your skinny booty to save our girl planet.”
At first, Cammie didn’t realize Amber was smiling. The girl pulled back her lips, exposing bright shiny teeth, but otherwise her face didn’t change expression. Then her eyes turned bright, like glass, and seemed to melt a little.
“For sheezy, Amber-D!” another girl called out. “Shake it over here!”
She walked stiff-legged to the group. Hands reached out and drew her in, and as they all held on to each other—laughing and joking and sniffling—Cammie realized that they might think this was a going-away party, but she wasn’t going away. These girls were going to see her again because she was going to re-up as a volunteer. She wanted them to know that there were people who stayed with them not because they had to discharge a commitment or earn a paycheck, but that they remained because they chose to stay.
But her realization went deeper than that. Like a bright penny cast into deep waters, the understanding glinted and sparkled as it sifted through the depths of her consciousness. This wasn’t about their needing her.
She needed them, too. Maybe more so.
Many minutes later, everyone congregated in the kitchen. Some girls were setting the table, others were filling pitchers with Kool-Aid and iced tea. Takira commandeered several girls who were retrieving foil-covered casserole dishes from the oven.
“We know you’re Italian,” she said to Cammie, “so we figured you’d like lasagna, and if you don’t, tough. Hey,” she called out to one of the girls across the room, “put some trivets on the table for these hot dishes.”
“What the hell’s a trivet?”
“Watch the language,” warned Carolyn, carrying glasses to the table.
“What the H is a trivet?” the girl corrected.
“Those iron plates with little feet,” said a familiar voice.
Emily, a strawberry-blond braid draped over her shoulder, stood in the doorway of the kitchen, smiling shyly. Wearing a pink-and-lavender dress with matching pink sandals, she looked nothing like the bullhorn toting, riot-inciting leader of the revolution from yesterday.
Takira raised a fist. “To our sistah!”
“Boo yeah!” yelled another, raising hers.
“You took the power!” Amber raised both fists.
After the whooping and clapping subsided, Emily looked at Cammie. “I wanted to see you, but I didn’t mean to interrupt a party.”
Cammie looked over Emily’s shoulder, but didn’t see Marc. When she looked back at Em, the girl shook her head slightly.
“It’s our goodbye party for her,” Takira explained, setting a serving spoon next to the lasagna.
Emily’s eyes widened. “Are they sending you to jail?”
“No,” Cammie said casually, not wanting to trigger discussions of jail and prison, which were too real for most of these girls, either for themselves or their family members. “I’ve completed my community service today, so the girls surprised me with this party. Now’s as good a time as any to share that I’d like to continue volunteering at Dignity House, so maybe this can be a goodbye and welcome-back party?”
The girls hollered and laughed.
“Do we still get cake?” one of them asked.
“Hush, she don’t know ’bout that,” chided another.
“When you come back,” Takira said, “you’ll have to tell us some sleuth stories ’cause you’ll have your bad P.I. license back.”
Cammie and Emily exchanged a look.
“Em,” Cammie said, “how about we step outside while the girls finish setting the table? I’d like to talk to you alone for a moment.”
The skies were overcast, the air still. Occasionally a breeze limped past like a bedraggled relic from yesterday’s storm.
Looking over her shoulder to ensure no one could overhear, Emily said quietly, “I thought you’d lost your chance to be a P.I. again.”
“I have, but they don’t need to know that. They want me to have my dream, and for today, I want them to be happy believing I’ll get it. Now, let’s talk about you. How did you get here?”
“Took a taxi. I’d talked to Amber earlier and knew you’d be here.”
Cammie groaned.
“I had enough money on me, so what’s the problem?”
“You’re too young to be hopping into taxis in Vegas. They’re not safe for young, innocent women. Promise me you’ll never do that again.”
“Maybe I’ll never be in Vegas again.”
“Then promise me you’ll never do it again in any large city. If you need a ride, talk to whatever parent is around. If you’re stuck somewhere and frightened, call 9-1-1. Now, aren’t you supposed to be on a flight back to Denver tonight?”
Emily nodded. “Eight o’clock. There’s plenty of time to get to the airport.”
Cammie waited for the other shoe to drop.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Okay. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“I guessed as much. Where does he think you are?”
“In my room at the hotel?”
“Emily,” Cammie chided softly, putting her arm around the girl. “You have to let him know you’re here. Has he called you?”
Emily hesitated, then nodded.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and shifted from foot to foot. “I’ve had the ringer off.”
Cammie hesitated, then decided to dive in. “I’m one to talk about being obstinate because I have a problem myself with being a little, oh, stubborn at times...”
The corners of Emily’s
lips twitched a smile.
“But since that gives me the right to call the kettle black, now isn’t the time to be willful. Get out your phone and call him, tell him you’re here, let him know you’re okay. He’s your father, and he’s probably worried sick.”
“He’s going to be pis—”
“And rightfully so, but I have a feeling he’ll also be overjoyed to know you’re safe and with friends. Now call him.”
“I’ll text him. I don’t want to hear a lecture.”
“Okay, text him. And add that I’m happy to drive you to the airport. The girls would be disappointed if we didn’t stay for dinner, so tell him we’ll leave at six, and I’ll have you to the airport by six-thirty. That’s plenty of time for the flight.”
Emily took a few moments to type the message. “It’s sent.” She looked at Cammie. “What did you mean by ‘calling a kettle black’?”
“It’s a saying that means because someone’s done something, they have no right to tell someone else it’s wrong to do.” Or something like that.
“Sheesh,” Emily said, looking down at her cell. “He must have been watching his phone nonstop because he’s already written me back.” She read in silence for a moment. “He says that’s fine.”
“Okay. Do me a favor?”
“What?”
Cammie wasn’t one of those people who found relief in confession, but lately she seemed to be changing that habit. “Yesterday, when you said you wished I were your mother, my heart soared.” She looked around, giving herself a moment to settle a rise of emotion. Meeting Emily’s gaze again, she continued softly, “If you can find it in your heart, call him Dad. And say it with love, not anger.”
Blue eyes fastened on Cammie. “It’s hard to call someone Daddy when you rarely see them.”
“Is that his fault?”
She seemed to mull it over, but her single-word answer still reeked of resentment. “No.”
“He told me he’s wanted to see you more, but you always seem to have other plans.”
“Maybe.”
“Emily.”
“Okay, I’ve turned down trips to visit him because I don’t like not knowing where I belong.” She sucked in a shaky breath and released it in a torrent of words. “When my mom gets married again, where am I supposed to go? Like, does Bernard, or whatever his name is, even want me around? Her last husband didn’t. I was younger then, so my mom could ship me off to my dad whenever it was convenient for her lifestyle. I’d just get to know him again, feel comfortable and stuff, and bam! She’d have problems in her marriage or she’d be lonely and she’d want me back. I’d start to feel like a real daughter to her, then she’d work things out with her husband and I’d be invisible again.”
It took a moment for Cammie’s mind to catch up. “But your dad was always there for you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So...why be angry at him?”
“Because...he let this happen.”
Cammie mentally connected the dots, which created a picture in her mind that she’d known too well as a kid. “He left you with your mom and a life of constant upheaval.”
Emily turned her head to the side, as though looking at the distant mountains, but Cammie caught her peering back from the corners of her eyes.
“In your case, he and your mom divorced, but he could have also abandoned you by one day walking out the door and never returning...or by dying. Whatever the reason, it was still the same result.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Something like that.”
“You told me your mom doesn’t always say nice things about your dad. That you feel in the middle. Here’s something you can do when you’re feeling stressed. Shut out whatever is going on that’s bugging you and imagine something wonderful—your favorite sunset, a painting by a favorite artist, Tolstoy’s face.”
“But that’s not me. When something bugs me, I can’t just forget about it.”
Cammie realized that she was giving her the kind of advice that worked for her, helped her bottle up her feelings and keep from exploding. But Emily was different. More honest with her feelings. Willing to march in an Eco-Glitter rally and pick up the bullhorn when it fell to the street. “You’re right. You have to do what feels right to you.”
Emily nodded.
Cammie continued, “You need to find a way to take control of your attitude, which sometimes is all we have.”
“How?”
“You can always call me. I promise to answer.”
“You’re the best.”
“And I’m not the only person who cares about you. Your dad wants nothing more than to love you. One day, you might discover your mom is just a person, too, with failings and strengths like everybody else, and you can forgive her.”
Her breath caught in her chest as those last words left her lips. In her mind’s eye, she saw her mother’s face—long and narrow, a fragile look in her eyes—and realized she’d been there all along, whenever Cammie wanted to remember her. Always waiting for her in memories.
She’d balked at going to that place, those special remembrances, not because she hadn’t forgiven her mom, but because she hadn’t forgiven herself.
* * *
TEN MINUTES LATER, all the girls were sitting around the dining room table chowing down on lasagna, salad and hummus, the latter a dish Amber had insisted on making.
“Miss Copello,” Takira said, “we’d like to hear about what happened yesterday.” The girls grew quietly solemn, staring at Cammie with curious eyes, like kids at story hour.
“I’m pretty sure all of you saw it on the news,” Cammie said knowingly.
Heads bobbed.
“You’re our hero,” one of the girls said.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Cammie answered.
“The way you went up to that officer,” Amber said, “and put your hands on his chest...”
The girls murmured words of praise.
“Awesome.”
“Really sick.”
“Boom ting.”
It was starting to feel like a hip-hop revival meeting. But Cammie wanted to get something straight.
“Thank you for your support, but I’ve thought a lot about what happened, what I did, and in some ways, I’m still not sure if my actions were...appropriate.”
“But you were so cool.”
“It was for the cause.”
“You did it to protect Emily.”
Cammie looked around the table at the girls. “It’s true, I did it for Emily. But I also did it for Marc. He’s a lawyer, as you all know, and he has some critical cases coming up. He was arguing with a police officer about his daughter’s right to free speech, but it was a volatile situation, and the police officers were getting itchy—I mean, c’mon, protestors were threatening to blow up a tractor!—and I thought any moment that police would arrest and charge Marc with obstruction of justice, impeding an investigation and maybe more.”
“That’s not fair!” Amber said, her eyes blazing.
“All I knew,” Cammie said gently, “is that if he were arrested, news of his arrest and charges would have become known by the Attorney Disciplinary Agency because they’re watching Marc so carefully—they check him out for problems every week or so—and they would’ve suspended him immediately. In that instant of understanding, I decided to take the legal bullet.”
“See,” Takira said, “you were a hero!”
“But my arrest had repercussions I hadn’t taken into consideration, so I can’t say what I did was correct.”
“But Marc gets to remain a lawyer, right?” one of the girls asked.
Cammie nodded.
“Then you did the right thing, Miss Copello.”
She took a moment to phrase her thoughts. �
�Girls, sometimes it might seem okay to take a bold action. You might even believe you’re helping someone or standing up for what’s right, but feeling impassioned isn’t always a suitable reason for doing something. Especially when you’re breaking the law. Take it from me, what I did yesterday has had serious consequences...without realizing it, what I did also hurt people I love.”
A motion caught her eye. Emily, standing in the doorway, was waving Cammie over.
“I told Emily I’d drive her to the airport, so I need to leave, girls, but I’ll be back. Let’s call this our goodbye and hello-again party.”
After bumping fists and hugging a few girls, Cammie joined Emily in the hallway. Together they walked into the living room area.
“He’s picking me up,” Emily said quietly.
Cammie looked out the window. Marc stood in the street, next to his parked car. He glanced at the window and she smiled, although she doubted he could see her clearly behind the glass.
“Go talk to him,” Emily pleaded.
Cammie put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Emily, you two need to get to the airport. It doesn’t help either of us to cram in a last-minute conversation with the clock ticking.”
The girl nodded. “When will I see you again?”
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Will you two ever be boyfriend and girlfriend again?”
“No, that’s over, but I’ll always be your Cammie, and you’ll always be my Emily. That sounds pretty good to me.” She looked into the girl’s eyes. “Remember the favor I asked?”
“I’ll keep my word, too.”
They hugged and Emily left, walking slowly down the sidewalk to the car. Marc hugged her, then opened her door. Emily paused, looked back up to the window and drew a crisscross over her heart.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
AS THEY DROVE AWAY from Dignity House, Marc debated with himself on what he should say to his daughter. She needed to know that running off without telling him wasn’t okay, but she knew that. It was why she’d texted him. And he was so damn glad to see her that he couldn’t bring himself to scold.
“I wish you’d told me ahead of time that you wanted to see Cammie, Amber—I mean Daearen—and others, but I’m not mad at you. I’m glad you’re safe.”
The Next Right Thing (Harlequin Superromance) Page 23
