by Jiffy Kate
I run to the back doors, still praying the whole way that when they bring Deacon out of the ambulance he’ll be awake. It doesn’t take long before the doors open, and I stand back to give them plenty of room.
One guy jumps out, and it’s then that I finally get a glimpse of Deacon. His dark hair is a mess and partially matted down to his forehead. An oxygen mask is covering his beautiful face. And his eyes are still closed.
“Deacon?” I call out, thinking that maybe if he hears me, he’ll open them.
“Let’s go inside, Cam.” Sam once again takes my shoulders and leads me away, when all I want to do is go to him. But like when we were still at the restaurant, there are three people surrounding him, making it difficult to be anywhere near him.
“Deacon,” I say again, but this time, it’s more of a demand. He has to open his eyes. He has to be okay.
They take him through the double doors, and people in scrubs and white coats start barking out and taking orders. The entire area is buzzing with activity, and we’re told to go to the family waiting area and that a doctor will be out to speak with us shortly.
I look up at Sam, expecting him to refuse to leave, but he doesn’t, and he takes me with him. We walk out into the stark white room with blue chairs, and we both stand there. I don’t know what Sam’s thinking, but I know what I’m thinking.
How did this happen?
How did I go from feeling like I finally caught the one castle I’ve wanted my entire life—my Deacon—to being so scared I’m going to lose him?
It’s crazy how fast life can change. It’s crazy how only a few hours ago, I watched him wrestle with Carter. He was so full of life, just like always. The life of the party. And now, he’s lying on a stretcher in an emergency room, and I don’t know if he’s going to walk out of here. I don’t know if I’m going to get to marry my best friend, the love of my life.
How in the world did this happen?
Camille
Past
“WHAT’S ALL THIS MOPIN’ ABOUT?” Annie asks, sliding a batch of cookies into the oven. She thinks food fixes everything, and it usually does, but not today.
“I don’t know,” I groan, leaning over the counter with my head in my arms.
Annie walks over and pulls my hands away from my face. “You know you can talk to me. Anytime. About anything.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been goin’ through a lot of changes lately. And I know this time of year is hard, anyway.” She sighs and mimics my pose on the other side of the counter, leaning in. “I think about her too, you know?”
“I know.”
“I think about her all the time, but I especially think about her this time of year. It’s hard to believe she’s been gone ten years.”
The sad look in her eyes makes me wonder if that’s what mine look like. It also reminds me that I’m not the only one who misses her—my daddy misses her, Tucker misses her, Annie misses her—and something about not feeling alone in my grief makes it easier to bear.
“I do miss her, and I am sad, but I don’t think that’s what has me all mopey,” I tell her, sifting through my feelings.
“Then what is it?”
I shrug and then let out an exasperated sigh.
“I’m just . . . I don’t know.” I huff, letting my shoulders slump. “I can’t paint. I try. Every day after school, I pull out a fresh canvas, but I end up sitting there and staring at it until it’s time to cook dinner. I can’t see anything in my mind that’s worth painting. Normally, I have, like, visions or something of a painting. I can just see it. I see the shapes and the colors and that transfers from my brain to the canvas, but lately . . . nothin’.”
“I know what you need,” she says.
I look at her with a quizzical stare. “What?”
Something tells me she’s going to suggest cookies or pie, but I’ve tried all of that, and it hasn’t worked.
“You need to go to the barn.”
I look over my shoulder in the direction of the barn. “Am I in trouble?” I ask, looking back at her.
Sometimes, when we were little, if we were all arguing, Annie and Sam would send us to the barn to hash out our disagreements and get an attitude adjustment. Sam would put us to work sweeping or something.
“No,” Annie says, laughing as she walks around the counter. Grabbing my shoulders, she forces me to look at her. “I think you need a change of scenery.”
“You think I need to take my canvas to the barn?” I ask, still not following.
“No, I think you need to pick back up on your mural . . . use the barn as your canvas.”
Memories of a younger me hit strong. I remember the year after my mama died, my daddy didn’t know what to do to help me get out of my head and let my feelings out. Annie had given me some paint and brushes and dressed me in one of her old shirts and sent me to the barn. She told me to paint whatever I wanted, anything that was floating through my head, I could put it on the wall of the barn. And I did. And it was the best therapy money couldn’t buy.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “I’m gonna go get my paints.”
“That’s my girl,” Annie says, her face beaming.
With a quick kiss to her cheek, I head out the back doors and practically run to the barn.
When I push open the heavy door, I’m instantly hit with nostalgia. I’d forgotten how much fun the boys and I had in here as kids, minus the chores, of course. I open the other door as far as it’ll go, letting the natural light shine through. The sun will only be up for a couple more hours, and I don’t want to waste another minute.
As I take in the large wall that I used to stand at for hours, I remember. I can almost see the seven-year-old me in my oversized shirt and hair in a ponytail. My piece de resistance was the castle done up in pinks and purples, but even it is smaller than I remember. There are a few random hearts, rainbows, and a horrible-looking unicorn painted around the castle, but nothing that makes a complete picture. It just shows what a dreamer I was, even at a young age, and I have to smile because I haven’t changed that much. I still love to dream. My dreams are just more realistic now. Well, realistic in the sense that they’re no longer about castles and fairytales.
My mind wanders to Deacon, and I let out a deep sigh. I miss him every day. Even though he’s been home a few times since his parents’ anniversary party in October, it’s just not the same. Even at Thanksgiving and Christmas, he was around, but he spent most of his time with Micah and Tucker hanging out at the creek and helping Annie around the house.
It might sound crazy, but I know the reason I haven’t been painting lately is because Deacon isn’t here. I guess I’ve always thought of him as my muse in the same way he’s always thought of me as his good luck charm. Sometimes a conversation with him would be the spark for a painting, and I’d have to run home to get it onto canvas before it escaped me. He’s always encouraged me to dream big and out loud and, because of that, I was never without fresh ideas. With him gone, there’s a huge void.
Gathering my paints and brushes, I pull up an old stool and stare at the wall for a while, trying to decide on something and finally inspiration strikes.
I spend the next hour and a half painting, and I’m not at all surprised that Annie was right. This is exactly what I needed. Not once did I think of my mom or Deacon or anything else as I worked. My mind was clear and I felt like an athlete who gets in the ‘zone’ during a game and can’t be distracted.
Standing back, I take in the swirls and abstract strokes. It’s mostly greens and blues, shades that represent this time of my life. The blues remind me of the sky and the clouds I love to get lost in while I’m daydreaming. The greens represent newness and a fresh start. As a whole, it will make a very pretty background, leaving my options open for what I decide to paint next.
After cleaning up my supplies, I close both barn doors and walk home, relaxed and exhausted, but more content than I’ve felt in months.
A w
eek later, I’m standing in the same spot, looking over my work I’ve done so far on the mural. I finally decided to show Stacey, because she wouldn’t leave me alone, always asking what I’m doing and why I can’t hang out. And now, I’m waiting for her reaction.
“So what is it?” Stacey asks, sitting on a blanket on the floor of the barn, staring up at my work.
I can’t help but laugh. For some reason, it just strikes me funny. I feel like a little kid who’s made a drawing at school, and the parent is too afraid to make an assumption. “Tell me about your picture, Timmy.”
“I’m serious,” Stacey whines.
“Well,” I start, clearing my throat. “The blues and white are supposed to be clouds. And the greens are supposed to represent the fields and grass.” I motion with my hand, and Stacey follows with her eyes, nodding.
“Okay, I see that,” she says, tilting her head.
“I wanted to leave the original castle and all of the other smaller paintings I did when I was younger. So, I decided to make the fresh paint more abstract. I’m thinking about painting some large trees that resemble the ones that line the lane in front of the plantation.”
“Oooooh, that would be pretty,” she gushes. “You’re so talented.”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious. I do good to draw hearts,” she says, laughing. “One of these days, someone is going to pay a lot of money for a Camille Benoit original.” I laugh, shaking my head at her. Only your best friend has that kind of belief in you.
“Thanks, Stace.”
“I only speak the truth.” We sit on the dusty wooden floor for a few more minutes, just taking in the painted wall and listening to the outside world filtering into the barn.
“I think I’m gonna have sex with Bryan,” Stacey blurts out.
My head does a slow turn in her direction, and I try to school my facial expression so she doesn’t see my disapproval. Bryan Vincent only likes her for her boobs. He’s not v-card material. But I know Stacey, and if I make my disapproval known, it’ll make her want to do it with him that much more. It’s the same reason why I stopped telling her how Tucker wasn’t worth waiting around for, besides the fact that Tucker was never going to ask her out.
She’s my best friend and in his book, best friends are off limits. That especially applies to Deacon and me. Well, in Tucker’s eyes, there never could be a Deacon and me.
“Bryan, huh?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent.
“Yeah, I mean, we’ve been goin’ out for over a month, and I’m tired of waitin’.”
I can’t help the chuckle that escapes and the eye roll that follows.
“Don’t give it up to Bryan just because you’re tired of waitin’. That’s the worst reason ever. Besides, what happened to roses and moonlit nights? You can’t abandon your dreams of the perfect night yet.”
Stacey sighs and leans back on her elbows, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Do you think you’ll graduate a virgin?” she asks. I swallow, wishing I would’ve just told her about Deacon and me when it happened.
“Uh . . .” I can’t lie. She’s my best friend. Best friends don’t lie.
Instead of lying or admitting guilt, I stand and begin to pace in front of the wall, pretending like I’m examining my work, avoiding her stare and her question.
“Camille Benoit.”
I stop pacing, but I don’t turn to look at her. She’d see right through me.
“What are you not tellin’ me?” she asks, standing up behind me and I can almost hear her hands land on her hips.
Finally, I decide to face the music and rip the band-aid off. I turn in her direction, but my eyes stay glued to the wooden plank beneath my feet. “I had sex with Deacon.”
The laugh that erupts is half incredulous and half hysterical. “Right. And I had sex with Matthew McConaughey.”
When I keep my head down and don’t laugh or say anything in response, she takes a step closer.
“You had sex with Deacon.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.
I nod, finally raising my head to look at her. “Yep.”
“When?”
“The night of the bonfire before he left for college.”
“Where?”
“The back of his truck.” I realize now that the back of an old pick-up truck probably isn’t the most romantic place to lose your virginity, but it was perfect. For me, anyway.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks, and I can see the slight hurt in her eyes.
“I don’t know,” I tell her, shaking my head. “I guess I felt like I was betrayin’ Deacon somehow . . . like I had to protect what we had, but . . .” I trail off because we don’t have anything. He’s Deacon, and I’m Cami, but we’re not Deacon and Cami.
“So, are y’all like secretly datin’ or somethin’?” she asks, her voice going higher as she tries to mentally put it all together.
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, I wish, but no.”
“Why not? You two are perfect for each other. Everyone knows that, including the two of you.” Stacey’s pointed stare makes me squirm. I don’t want to talk about this. It still hurts.
“Because it’s just not in the cards for us.”
She groans her dissatisfaction and rolls her eyes until realization dawns on her. “That’s why you wanted to go to Baton Rouge a couple of months ago.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I just needed to talk to him. I felt like he was avoidin’ me and I couldn’t let that be how things ended.”
“So, did you ever get a chance to talk to him?”
“At Sam and Annie’s anniversary party. Well, later that night. He walked me home, and we talked.”
“And?”
“And, we’re just . . . friends.”
Closing the distance between us, she wraps her arms around my shoulders and hugs me tight. “Are you okay?”
This is why Stacey and I are best friends, because she gets me and even when I haven’t told her about the biggest event in my life, to date, she forgives me and wants to know if I’m okay . . . because she knows how much I want to be more than friends with Deacon Landry.
“I’m fine,” I sigh into her shoulder, not letting go.
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”
“It’s okay.”
“Do you regret it?” she asks, pulling back to look me in the face.
“No. I can’t imagine it happening any other way; everything was perfect, except for how it ended, but it’s not the end of the world. Deacon and I are still friends, and that’s all that matters.”
“Well, shit. Now, I’ve gotta get laid.”
I laugh. Hard. I laugh so hard there are tears in my eyes. “Please don’t have sex with Bryan. He only likes you for your boobs, and I’m not just saying that because I don’t like him. So, don’t do that reverse psychology shit and go have sex with him just because I say not to.”
“Fine,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “Who’s Tucker into these days?”
I laugh again. “You don’t wanna know.”
“I refuse to be the only girl who graduates a virgin.”
“Just look at it this way, you can graduate being the girl who has her v-card and her heart still intact.”
A sad smile pulls at her lips before she gives me another hug.
“You’re gonna be just fine, Camille Benoit.”
Even though I’m sad things didn’t work out for Deacon and me, I realize Stacey’s words are right.
I am gonna be okay.
Camille
Present
“SAM!” ANNIE’S VOICE RINGS OUT across the mostly-empty room, and Sam and I both turn in its direction to see her pushing her way through the door of the ER. “Where’s Deacon?”
“He’s in good hands,” Sam says as his arms wrap around Annie and he pulls her to him. Unlike me, she doesn’t hold back. She clings to Sam and cries.
“How did this happen?” she sobs. “What happened?”
“All I k
now is that there was a fire. It broke out toward the front of the restaurant. Could’ve been electrical or something. They don’t know.” Sam’s voice is also thick with emotion now, and I feel the tears trickle down my cheeks.
“Yeah, but why was Deacon still in there? Why didn’t he get out?”
Sam shakes his head and rubs a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know. They said the side door was jammed. They broke it open and found him in the kitchen. They think he probably passed out from the smoke.”
“Oh, God,” Annie says, her hand going to her mouth, and I feel myself do the same. “Can I see him?”
“Not yet,” Sam says as he continues to rub her back. “The nurse said a doctor would be out to talk to us soon.”
“Did you call Micah?” Her voice sounds so small and pained. I can’t imagine what she must be going through. I love Deacon with every fiber of my being, but she’s his mother. And as mothers, it’s our job to protect our children, no matter how old they are.
“I called him. He should be here soon.” Sam’s eyes gaze out over the top of her head as she buries her face into his chest. “Deacon’s gonna be fine.”
“God, I hope so.”
Me, too.
It’s my prayer, the only thing that’s on repeat in my mind right now.
Please, God, let him be okay.
I’m to the point I’d make deals, sell off part of my soul, just as long as he makes it. There was a time in my life when I thought the most painful thing that could happen, concerning Deacon, was losing him to someone else. But I was wrong.
The thought of Deacon not being in this world, with me or anyone else. That’s the most painful. And right now, it’s ripping my heart right out of my chest.
Camille
Past
“TWO MORE DAYS, CAMI. TWO!” Stacey squeals, rolling onto her back and kicking her legs in the air.
“Damn, Stacey, I think you’re more excited about my birthday than I am.”
We’re in my room pretending to study, but I don’t know why we’re bothering. My daddy is outside working on the tractor and Tucker hasn’t been home in months since he went out on the road with his band. So, we pretty much have the house to ourselves.
