Chapter Eleven
A father was a good thing, so whoever’s father the man from next door was looking for, Camille hoped he found him.
As much as Camille had always wanted a big family with tons of kids like the Dixons, she’d settle for just a daddy to go with the mommy she already had. A real daddy was one of the best things she’d never had. She figured a daddy would be even more fun than living with Grammy the last few months, and all Grammy’s flowers and quilts and bubbles, and Mommy’s old toys from when she was little.
A daddy would be better than anything Camille could think of.
One who’d be there when the other kids’ daddies were. And he wouldn’t do things to make Mommy decide to leave. He’d love Camille more than his job. He’d make Mommy laugh and smile, and he’d want to go to the playground and play games. And he would never make Mommy cry, not like Parker had, or the way Mommy looked like she might cry now, while Camille looked between her and the man from next door. The one who’d smiled and waved at Camille from the Dixons’ kitchen window.
“Just tell me the truth.” He sounded like someone was in trouble or something, the way Parker did a lot of the times.
“I . . .” Mommy was shaking, the trouble kind of shaking Camille felt when she’d done something wrong, like eating Karen’s M&M’s when Camille had known they were bad for her. “I am, Oliver. I don’t know. I couldn’t . . .” Mommy made that sound with her throat, like when she and Parker had fought and she’d been crying—only she didn’t want Camille to know. “I don’t know how things got this far, but I promise. I never meant for anyone to get hurt.”
The man looked at Camille again, smiling now, at least at her. Camille remembered Grammy saying he was part of the Dixon family, too. Even though Camille had never seen him before yesterday.
Camille’s stomach rumbled, like it wanted to be sick again. She swallowed, not wanting to make Mommy worry again. Her mommy looked so sad.
“Don’t cry.” Camille patted her mommy’s cheek and smiled at the man. “You’re not mad anymore, are you, Oliver?” Mommy had said his name was Oliver. “Say sorry, and Mommy will get you lemonade like she’s going to get me because I’m sick. Grammy makes the best, Mrs. Dixon says. And Mrs. Dixon makes the best chocolate chip cookies, and she brought some over awhile ago, and we saved them in the ’frigerator so they would last. So, say sorry, and we can have cookies and lemonade.”
Oliver smiled at her again. He had green eyes, almost as dark as hers.
“She’s been sick?” he asked Mommy.
Camille’s mommy headed up the steps, hugging her again. “Come on, Cricket. Let me get you out of this heat.”
“I’d like to come in.” The man stopped Mommy from opening Grammy’s screen door so she could get to the wood one behind it, the one Camille couldn’t get open on her own.
“Please, Oliver,” Mommy whispered.
“It’s okay,” Camille said. “I don’t feel so bad now. He can come in. He’ll be nice. Won’t you?”
Oliver agreed, and Mommy sighed the way she did when she agreed to do something for Grammy that Camille knew her mommy really didn’t want to do. She nodded her head, and Oliver held the screen door open while Mommy unlocked the wooden one.
Grammy’s shady porch felt so good after being in the hot sun. Camille wished she could just take her nap on the old metal swing in the corner. It had Grammy’s pretty pillows all over it. It was where Camille’s mommy snuck off to late at night when she couldn’t sleep.
“I’ll be nice,” Oliver said to her mommy. He smiled at Camille again. “And I’d love some lemonade and one of my mother’s cookies.”
“Mrs. Dixon’s your mommy?”
“Since I was thirteen.”
“That’s so cool.”
Mommy put Camille on her feet and got down in front of her.
“It’s rest time, honey. You can barely keep your eyes open since Nurse Mallory used your EpiPen. And your doctor said it was important that you take things slow if you don’t want to end up right back in his office. So let’s get you cleaned up. You can lie down for a while. And then we’ll try a snack.”
“Cookies?” Camille wrapped her arms around her mommy’s neck, really tired, and not really sure if she ever wanted another snack ever again.
“Toast.” Mommy held Camille’s hand as she stood and opened the door to the house.
“And lemonade?” Camille checked behind them while she and Mommy walked inside. Oliver didn’t follow them. But he kept holding the screen door, and Mommy didn’t close the wooden one. “I’m really, really thirsty.”
“Once you’re tucked in for your nap,” Mommy said, “we’ll give lemonade a try.
“I’ll take some, too,” Oliver said.
Mommy hugged Camille to her side. She looked at him, not saying anything for a long time.
“One glass.” Mommy stepped back a little. When Oliver followed, she looked at Camille. “To bed with you, my little friend.”
But then Oliver was down in front of her the way Mommy had been on the porch. And he seemed to really like her. And Mrs. Dixon was his mother. And Camille wished more than ever she hadn’t snuck a piece of Karen’s candy at school, so she could stay and listen to him and Mommy talk about whoever’s daddy Oliver had come to talk about.
“It was nice to meet you, Camille,” he said. “And I promise not to eat all the cookies the way I used to when I was your age, so you have some left when you’re feeling better. Deal?”
Parker used to promise things, too. He’d promised a lot of things that never happened. Camille was pretty sure that’s why they’d left, her and Mommy. Because Parker mostly never meant anything he promised. But Camille would bet Mrs. Dixon’s son never did that. There’d be lots of cookies left when she woke up.
“Deal,” she said. “How do you know my mommy?”
“This is an old friend of mine,” Mommy said. “He and I . . .”
“Knew each other when we were kids.” Oliver stood. “When I lived next door for a few years.”
“If Mrs. Dixon is your mommy, then you and Travis are brothers, right?” Camille liked Deputy Bryant.
Oliver didn’t answer right away.
“Travis visited Camille’s school,” Mommy said. “She’s seen him and Dru going in and out next door, and she loves the Dream Whip. Dru’s always there. Travis, too, sometimes.”
“Yes,” Oliver said, “Travis and Dru are my brother and sister.”
“That’s so cool. And the other kids, too?”
Like Teddy, who Camille wasn’t supposed to have played with, but he’d been so much fun the couple of times she’d snuck over to see Mrs. Dixon.
“They’re newer, but I’ll get to know them now that I’m back for a while.”
“That’s so—”
“That’s your last so cool for a while,” Mommy said. “Bed. Lemonade. Nap. No more eating other kids’ snacks. And I don’t care how much theirs look better than yours.”
Camille let her mommy lead her away, even though she wanted to stay and talk to Oliver. She didn’t understand why her mommy and grammy didn’t want her to play next door. Mrs. Dixon was nice. And Oliver seemed nice, too, just like Travis and Dru.
“See you later,” she said, thinking that Oliver didn’t look anything like Deputy Bryant. Or anyone else next door. Because they were a foster family, Grammy had tried to explained. They’d come from different homes that hadn’t been so good, before they moved in with the Dixons.
Lucky, Camille thought to herself as she and her mommy finally got to her room, and Camille crawled into her bed and closed her eyes.
The Dixon kids were so lucky now, she thought sleepily. No matter how bad the other families had been before they’d come to Chandlerville.
Chapter Twelve
“Snack?” Oliver asked when Selena returned from settling Camille down for a nap.
Selena grabbed two glasses from the cabinet beside the sink and the pitcher of lemonade from the fri
dge. She hadn’t taken any to Camille yet. Her daughter had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
“She’s allergic,” Selena explained.
Oliver waited patiently. He was giving her plenty of space, hanging across the kitchen while she poured their drinks and refused to look at him. But she could feel his mind working, analyzing. The emotions that had been riding so high outside, when she was terrified of what he might say . . . he had them firmly in check now.
And it was bugging her.
She crossed the kitchen, handed over his drink, and sipped hers. He stood unmoving in the doorway to her mother’s tiny living room, evidently content to wait until she said something more. She’d bet every penny she’d socked away in her savings account—in her name alone so Parker couldn’t touch it—that Oliver could wait her out all afternoon.
“Camille’s allergic to peanuts.” Selena’s throat felt raw, like she’d been shrieking.
Her whole body was silently screaming from being too close to a man she hadn’t been alone with since she was eighteen. She took another drink, flooding her taste buds with summery tartness.
“A lot of things can make her ill,” she explained. “Luckily, today it was peanuts. Camille ate another child’s candy. She wants to be like other kids so badly, between episodes she forgets how quickly her body wants to get rid of what it can’t process.”
“Luckily?” Oliver sipped from his glass, his eyes widening.
Belinda didn’t believe in indulging in too much of anything, especially sweeteners. Fresh-squeezed lemonade was supposed to taste like lemons, not sugar.
Selena swallowed her smile. “Peanuts aren’t the worst potential offenders on Camille’s list.”
“What’s the worst?”
“Milk, so far. But nuts are bad enough. And a lot of the prepackaged convenience foods kids like have them, or they’re made in facilities that process them. Other parents send things to school for lunches and snacks that could make Camille react. Even freshly baked things like doughnuts. Except for Dan’s on Main.”
Selena heard herself babbling. She tried to knock it off. But it was so surreal, Oliver being in this house again. And from the moment he’d stepped inside, Belinda’s had felt right to Selena—for the first time since she’d come back.
So she rambled onward. “DJ has nut allergies in his family. Three of his kids. He has five now. Can you believe it? Five kids in seven years? When he took over the business from his father, Dan Junior made Dan’s Doughnuts and Bakery completely nut-free. And he has a shelf just for dairy-free items. We go there every now and then as a reward, to help Camille not feel so bad that she has to be careful the rest of the time. DJ’s chocolate doughnuts are her favorite treat, just like . . .”
Selena blinked.
Just like Dan Senior’s pastries had been Selena’s. And Oliver had spoiled her rotten, buying them with his summer job money.
They’d been merely friends still when he’d caught on to the insatiable craving that was her sweet tooth, while Belinda was adamant about keeping unhealthy food out of the house. He’d teased Selena unmercifully about it for years, but never in front of anyone else. And once they started dating, he’d surprised her with her favorite treats when she least expected it. Just because. He’d said he loved the way her smile tasted after she’d eaten one. She’d let herself forget that when DJ took it upon himself to pamper Camille.
She motioned to the drink Oliver had hardly touched. “It’s getting warm.”
He drained the glass.
Good.
“Now, if you don’t mind . . .” She tried and failed to sound nonchalant. “I’m going to ask you to go, so I can get on with our afternoon here.”
She couldn’t do this yet—have the potentially life-changing conversation they needed to have. Not with Oliver once more acting as if they’d barely known each other.
“And if I do mind?” he asked
“I’ve had enough. You asked the question you came here to ask. I’ve answered it as best I can. And I have to get back to my daughter. I might need to run her to her pediatrician again if she starts to feel worse. Leave the glass on the counter when you’re done.”
He grabbed her arm before she could brush by.
“Your daughter?” he bit out, anything but in control now.
Then his head lowered, his breath catching Selena’s as his kiss erased everything but her memories of wanting to love him forever.
She’d had enough?
How could anyone get enough of something that felt as good as holding Selena?
Her lips trembled beneath his for a second, as if she were afraid. Then she was kissing him back, ripping free of his hold. But only so she could throw her arms around his neck as if she’d been dying to from the start.
God, Selena.
No other woman had ever felt like her, tasted like her, tempted him to crawl inside her and never find his way out. Since yesterday, he’d been dreaming of having her body plastered against his again. And she’d clearly been wanting him with the same desperation, while he’d agonized all this time over not letting his need for her show.
Her nails bit into his biceps, causing his hands to clench at her waist. He hauled her onto her toes and fisted a hand in her hair. Their mouths opened with identical groans. Their kiss deepened, rocketing from exploring to carnal. Their tongues mated, their teeth nipped, their lips crushed, both of them remembering and needing and demanding where this was taking them. Sprinting toward it, agreeing without speaking that—
“No.” Selena shook her head, her hair hopelessly tangled around his fingers. She was panting, the same as him, but she was pulling back. “Please, Oliver. No more . . .”
Scraping together his sanity, he licked her lower lip a final time. A tender rasp of his tongue, while the rest of him throbbed in tempo with his thundering heartbeat. Then he let Selena slip away.
She stumbled backward, catching herself against the kitchen counter, bracing both hands behind her on its edge. She was breathing so heavily she could have been running wind sprints. And he couldn’t watch anymore. He picked up his empty glass from where he’d set it on the tiny Formica dinette table—he needed something to do with his hands besides grabbing her again. He headed into Belinda’s cramped living room, thinking, Not smart.
Nothing about what had just happened had been smart. It was the least smart thing he’d done yet. But Selena had been brushing him off, and before he walked away again . . . He’d needed her there, right there, next to his heart.
Damn it, focus.
Focus on something besides yourself this time.
He looked around the living room. To him, the Rosenthal place had always seemed like a dollhouse, with its grand total of five rooms and a single bath down Belinda’s short hallway. He’d always worried about bumping into something or accidentally knocking things over. He’d never known what to do with himself here. He still didn’t.
He flexed his shoulders. He went to take another sip of lemonade and curled his fist around the empty glass. Stay cool, man. Like Selena, who was ice-cold now, staring at him from the kitchen as if their meltdown hadn’t happened. But he’d felt her shock, felt her shaking. She’d gasped. And the soft sound of her wanting him had pulled him deeper into the kiss she’d been returning with abandon.
He’d envisioned several potential outcomes to him showing up on Belinda’s doorstep. He’d considered each one while he’d waited for Selena to come home. But his grabbing her like he still had a right to, and her grabbing back, had been nowhere on his list. Instead of getting her to see reason, her barriers were even more firmly in place.
And damn if he wasn’t spoiling for another chance to rattle her cage.
But he needed to make some kind of amends. There had to be a speck of common ground left for him and Selena to build on, so they could discuss Camille sensibly.
“It still feels like I’m going to catch hell,” he said, “if your mom comes home and finds me alone with y
ou.”
“We’re not alone.” Selena glanced down the hallway, finally joining him in the living room.
She paced back and forth. Then back again. She sat on the love seat Belinda used as a couch. The thing sported the same plaid tweed fabric as years ago. The same drooping cushions. The recliner beside it looked different, but it was just as faded. Both faced what looked like the same TV, rabbit ears perched on top. It was an almost self-righteously primitive setup compared with the state-of-the-art entertainment center Oliver had covered the cost of next door.
“If my mother could see us,” Selena muttered, “Belinda would definitely have something to say about this one.”
“This one?”
Selena looked like a queen amid the midcentury ranch’s fraying décor, with her silky length of mink hair and pale skin. She was wearing a sundress like yesterday. This one was made of a filmy lemon-yellow material that had him thinking of sherbet—and sipping every inch of Selena’s smooth skin while she melted all over him.
“You know my mother,” she said, yanking his attention back to their conversation. “She means well these days, but she can’t help but obsess over my running list of poor life choices. No degree. No husband for much longer. No savings. No baby daddy. No success keeping any of it from dumping back into Belinda’s lap, no matter how welcoming she’s been. She’d say I deserve better than to be hitting rock bottom with you again.”
“Camille deserves better, too.” At least they could all agree on that.
Selena winced. “Better than me?”
“Better than not knowing my family, even if your mom’s not going to be wild about you associating with me again. I’m assuming you haven’t told her about any of this.”
“I haven’t told anyone. Not even Parker—not the details, at least. That was the deal breaker for me when we got married. He wanted to know more about my past and who Camille’s father was. I wanted everything that had happened before New York to be over and done with. He either took us as we were, or not. My child deserved a fresh start. A clean slate where my mistakes couldn’t hurt her the way . . . the way they will now.”
Let Me Love You Again (An Echoes of the Heart Novel Book 2) Page 11
