To Get Me to You

by Kait Nolan

  She sank into a fencing stance. “I am not left handed.” Tossing the rod to her right hand, she lunged forward.

  Hooting with laughter, Tucker stumbled back, grabbing another rod on the fly and bringing it up to parry. Having spent half his life on the stage in one community theater production or another, Tucker was given to theatrics. He let them fly with flashy swordsmanship and more quotes from The Princess Bride as the pair of them circled around the refreshment tables.

  Cam watched as Norah steadily drove him back, her movements tight and controlled compared to Tucker’s dramatics. “She actually knows how to fence, doesn’t she.”

  “Yep. Three years of fencing club in college.”

  Cam chuckled, waiting for Norah to hand Tucker his ass.

  “Be careful, cousin.”

  Cam pretended not to hear the warning in Miranda’s voice. “Mmm?”

  She looked up at him. “Look, I’m not blind. I see how you are around Norah. You aren’t obvious, like Mitch, but you watch her when she walks into a room. You’re into her.”

  He should’ve known Miranda would notice something. She knew him better than almost anyone. “Well, yeah. Last time I checked, I do have a pulse.”

  “It’s not a good idea.”

  Right, because he’d proved he couldn’t make good choices in the relationship department on his own and needed to submit the candidates for review. Cam chained down the surge of temper and kept his voice even. “Are you warning me off for her sake or for mine?”

  “Both. I don’t think she’s in a good place right now. I know something’s going on with her that she hasn’t told me, and I’m worried about her. But quite apart from that, you know exactly why I think she’s a bad idea for you.”

  Cam scowled. “It’s not the same.”

  “Don’t get pissy. I just don’t want to see either of you get hurt.” She shot a glance back at Norah, who handily disarmed Tucker. “You’ve both been hurt enough.”

  “Thanks for the warning, but I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

  “Surrender, McGee! You’re bested!” Norah shouted in triumph.

  Tucker dropped to his knees, the tip of her impromptu sword at his throat. “I yield, milady. Do with me what you will. Only tell me you’ll come back and do the fight choreography for our summer production of The Pirates of Penzance.”

  She mimed cutting an N in the air, then bowed to enthusiastic applause. “Acquire me marshmallows, and I might consider it.”

  “As you wish.” Tucker scrambled up as Norah turned to join Cam and Miranda by the fire, her cheeks flushed from cold and exertion.

  “You seem quite cheerful,” Cam observed.

  “Winning agrees with me.”

  “Your marshmallows, milady.” Tucker presented them with a flourish.

  “Thanks.” She threaded one on the rod and held it into the fire.

  Tucker made a sound of protest. “I thought you remembered how to do this.”

  Ignoring him, Norah lifted the marshmallow free of the blaze, watching it burn for a minute before she blew out the flame and tipped the rod toward Miranda. “Perfectly charred, exactly as you like it. A peace offering because I know you didn’t want to come out tonight.”

  Miranda plucked off the marshmallow, tossing it from hand to hand to cool before chomping in. “Your tribute is appreciated. Make me another, and I might even forget I’ve already stopped feeling my ass.” She rotated so her backside faced the bonfire.

  “It’s not that cold.” Norah stuck the second marshmallow into the flames.

  “You haven’t been below the Mason-Dixon long enough to lose your tolerance yet. One summer down here and you’ll be back to freezing at forty degrees, like the rest of us.”

  Faint strains of music limited Norah’s retort to, “Wimp,” as she dug out her phone. One look at the display had her smile fading. “Excuse me.” She passed the roasting rod to Miranda and strode toward the line of cars parked at the edge of the pasture.

  Cam gave her five minutes’ lead time before he headed in the same direction on the pretense of grabbing a blanket from the truck for his cousin. He found Norah leaning against the wheel-well of his truck, hidden from view by a Suburban. Her hands were empty.

  “Who was that?”

  She grimaced. “My dad.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “No. Because I’m a coward. He just wanted to check in since he’s finally back from Saint Bart’s.”

  Cam leaned beside her. “Have you told anybody else?”

  “Just you.” She flashed a humorless smile. “Somehow, you’ve become my official secret keeper. I don’t know if that’s because you’re circumspect or because you’re one of the secrets.”

  “The sneaking around we’ve done the last two weeks isn’t what’s putting those shadows under your eyes.” He skimmed a thumb down her cheek. “Honey, you’re not built for keeping secrets. Hanging on to this is eating you up inside.”

  “I can’t come clean about it until I’ve figured everything out.”

  “Have you actually been working on that?”

  She dropped her gaze. “I’ve been trying to figure you out.”

  He tipped her face back up. “I’m a simple guy.”

  She frowned. “You want people to think you are. You’ve got this easy, good ole boy, Zen gardener thing going on. But really you’re hanging out behind the scenes taking care of everybody around you, all quiet-like, so most of them don’t even realize it. Me included. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Nobody takes care of me, Cam.”

  He braced himself, scrambling to think of some response that would make her see that it had nothing to do with him thinking she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself.

  She laid a hand over his heart. “Most people assume I don’t need anything or anyone. I’ve got years of experience proving exactly that. It means a lot to me that you see that I’m not invincible, that you’d do what you can to lighten the load in such a way that it’s supportive rather than overbearing. But until I figure out some direction, I’m kind of stuck in the stewing portion of the process.”

  Because her fingers felt like ice, he took them between his hands and began to rub. “Has it occurred to you that coming clean might help you figure it out? That holding on to this secret is keeping you from moving forward? You’re so focused on the dread, you can’t look beyond it to what’s next.”

  “I don’t know what’s next.” Frustration sharpened her tone.

  “Maybe you don’t. And that’s okay. But I’m gonna make some observations. You’re happy here. You’re among friends and family. I haven’t seen you look anything but stressed out and unhappy whenever Chicago comes up. That ought to tell you something.”

  “I haven’t been happy in Chicago for a long time.”

  Cam could tell the admission was grudging. “Well there you go. Seems like a pretty big sign from the Universe. If your life isn’t making you happy, you change it. Period.”

  Norah stared at him as if he’d just started speaking ancient Greek. “I can’t just change everything without a lot of careful thought.”

  “That’s fine, if that’s what you need to do. You take your time, consider all the angles. Just be sure to factor this into the equation.” He pressed her back against the truck and lowered his mouth to hers.

  She rose to meet him, hungry, heated, her hands sliding up his chest and into his hair. God, he loved how responsive she was, loved knowing that beneath that calm, collected exterior, she was a fever.

  Still waters…

  With considerable effort, Cam eased back, waiting a moment for his breath to even out. “You matter, Norah. I didn’t expect it, wasn’t looking for it. But there it is.”

  “This was supposed to be a vacation for me. Downtime and a chance to think. You were supposed to be a distraction. I didn’t expect…more.”

  Neither had he. And thank God for defied expectations. “Life would be pretty boring if we always got what w
e expected.”

  “Cam! I’m freezing my butt off. Did you get lost?” Miranda’s shout came from somewhere down the line of vehicles.

  They untangled themselves in a hurry, and Cam pulled open the door to grab the blanket from the backseat. “Go do your analysis, Wonder Woman. I’ll still be here when you’re through.”

  ~*~

  “Get in here and give me a hug.” Lisbet Campbell opened the front door to Grammy Campbell’s house and pulled Norah in for a good, hard squeeze. “It’s so good to see you.”

  “You just saw me last week.” Norah hung on, nonetheless, basking in the feeling of momness in her embrace.

  “Yes, but we don’t know how much longer you get to stay, so every time I see you is like a fresh visit,” Aunt Liz said.

  Since Norah had no answer to that question, she searched for a new topic. “Grammy painted.”

  “Oh my goodness, yes.” The woman herself came bustling in from the kitchen, a vintage half apron tied around her slim hips. “Hello, sugar.”

  Grammy was the only member of the Campbell clan shorter than Norah’s 5’4”. Norah could only presume that Grammy’s statuesque children were rocking some of her late husband’s genes. He’d passed before Norah had a chance to meet him. Grammy’s hug was like being embraced by a stick of summer-scented dynamite. How she managed to smell like honeysuckle in the dead of winter, Norah had no idea.

  “She has us rearranging something every other weekend.” But Uncle Pete softened the gripe with a smile. Tall and broad, like Mitch, Uncle Pete’s blond hair had silvered completely since Miranda had first brought Norah home. “Come on over here, honey.”

  Norah moved from one to the other, giving in to the urge to press her cheek to the aged flannel of his shirt. He smelled faintly of sawdust and motor oil.

  She eased back. “You’ve been out on your motorcycle.”

  Aunt Liz grinned. “We had a date for lunch. Rode up to Little Mountain for a picnic.”

  “Wanna go for another ride?”

  Grammy intervened. “Not until after dinner. It won’t be long. I just need to make the gravy.”

  Norah sniffed, drooled a little. “Is that country fried steak?”

  “And mashed potatoes, homemade biscuits, and the last of the purple hull peas from the freezer.”

  All of her favorites. Norah mimed a kowtow. “I’m not worthy.”

  “Of course you are. It’s not every day I get to cook for my other granddaughter. Come on back to the kitchen.”

  The kitchen was a wide, spacious room with windows that overlooked what Norah knew was a long slope of yard. Not that she could see any of it now in the winter dark. Cherry cabinets stretched all the way to the top of the ten-foot ceiling and dark granite countertops gleamed. Mitch hunched over one, gingerly lifting a cloth napkin in a basket.

  “Mitch, get your hands out of that bread basket!”

  He jerked his hand back as if she’d slapped it. “But Grammy…”

  “You can wait fifteen minutes without starving to death.” Grammy picked up a spoon and waved him away.

  From the kitchen table Aunt Anita, Reed and Ava’s mom, waved hello. Several shoeboxes and photo albums were spread out across the surface.

  “What’re you working on?” Norah slipped off her coat and peeked.

  “Torture,” Reed said, a bouquet of silverware in his hand. “She’s organizing family photo albums, meaning she’s accruing blackmail material.”

  “I’m doing no such thing.” Anita shooed him into the dining room to finish setting the table.

  With a roll of his eyes, Miranda’s dark-haired cousin disappeared into the other room. Norah slid into a chair and reached for the nearest album. “May I?”

  “Knock yourself out, hon.”

  The first page was full of pictures from their childhood. A gap-toothed Miranda, maybe five or six, sat beside another grinning, tow-headed boy. “Is that Mitch? No, he’d have been much bigger than you at that age. Cam?”

  Miranda came to lean over her shoulder. “Yeah, back then, people often mistook us for twins. We’re only three months apart.”

  “I can see why. He looks so much like his mom.”

  Miranda flipped the page and pointed to another shot, this one of Sandra and Cam, identical smiles beaming at the camera. “Check her out.”

  “She looks so young.”

  “Younger than us.”

  And already a mom of a six- or seven-year old. Norah couldn’t fathom that. In the next photo, he wore a baseball uniform and mugged for the camera beside another man.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Cam’s dad. May he rot in hell.”

  Norah lifted a brow. “Is he dead?”

  “Officially, no. As far as our family is concerned, he might as well be.”

  Studying the photo, Norah thought she could see something of Cam’s build in his father, but nothing more. Everything else was pure Campbell. “What happened?”

  Grammy picked up the thread. “He and Sandra were high school sweethearts. Got married straight after graduation. It wasn’t an…easy marriage.”

  “It was a mistake,” Uncle Pete said with an uncharacteristic scowl.

  “It wasn’t a mistake because it led to Cam,” Grammy corrected.

  “She should have dumped his ass right after Cam was born,” Uncle Jimmy put in.

  “Well now, that may be. But that’s not how it happened. Waylan was the kind of guy who’s never satisfied with what he’s got. Always wanting something more, admiring the greener grass and all that. He took keeping up with the Joneses to a whole new level. When Cam was eleven, Waylan left in pursuit of his grand ambitions, abandoning them on the verge of bankruptcy. Just got up one morning, told Sandy he was leaving. No discussion, no argument. And he left. Without even telling Cam goodbye. The divorce papers arrived a few days later.”

  Norah straightened in outrage. “Who does that?”

  “The weak. They were well rid of him.” Anita tugged the album over and passed Norah a different one. “Better memories in here.”

  The next album started with Reed’s high school graduation. He grinned, arms around both his parents in what appeared to be a high school gym. His cap was cocked rakishly atop a shaggy mop of hair and his chin sported a faint scruff of goatee. The camera flash glinted off the lenses of some truly awful black-framed glasses.

  The man in question wandered back in from the dining room, clean-shaven and wearing a pair of horn-rims that accentuated his hazel eyes. The hair that had looked merely unkempt back then now edged toward attractively rumpled.

  “I had no idea you were a hipster before it was cool,” Norah teased.

  Reed came to peer over her shoulder and groaned. “See, told you. Blackmail material.” At her peals of laughter, he said, “Yeah, you keep on laughing. You’re in all this somewhere.”

  “I am?” Norah immediately began to wonder which of her and Miranda’s antics they’d managed to capture on film.

  Reed flipped a few pages, bringing up a shot of Norah doubled over with hilarity, hair hanging in wet ropes down her shoulders as multiple water balloons exploded around her. “See, wet t-shirt contest.”

  “That’s a swimsuit under that t-shirt.”

  “Didn’t you end up nailing Mitch with the water hose?” Miranda slipped into the chair beside her.

  Mitch bent to look over her shoulder. “You totally did.”

  “Hey, you boys unearthed contraband SuperSoakers. It was only fair.”

  “We got our revenge.” Mitch flipped to the next page with a picture of him dangling her upside down from the knees after he’d wrested the hose away.

  Miranda chuckled. “You’re so lucky that wasn’t me. I’d have pantsed you from that position.”

  “I had no desire to be that up close and personal with your brother’s—” She could hardly say junk in front of Grammy. “—well. I was laughing too hard to retaliate by that point anyway.”

  They kept turning pages,
filling in Norah’s gaps in family knowledge with stories and jokes. Cam appeared again in the later album pages. He looked more like Mitch back then, easier and more carefree. That had to be before his mother’s cancer.

  “Ugh, somebody get a Sharpie,” Miranda said. “I need to draw some devil horns.”

  “On who?”

  “Her.” Miranda thumped a finger against the face of a red-head Norah didn’t recognize.

  Norah studied the picture. The girl was tall. A younger Cam, maybe twenty or so, stood with his arm around her shoulders, easily able to look into her laughing face. She was gorgeous, with perfect creamy skin and blue eyes that seemed to wink at the camera. And he was in love with her.

  The punch of jealousy was quick and vicious, despite the fact that this was obviously years ago.

  “Who is she?”

  “Melody.” Miranda sneered the name. “Cam’s college girlfriend.”

  “I’m getting a very powerful sense of gut-hating here. Why?”

  Aunt Anita picked up the thread. “Oh he dated that piece of work all through college. She was bright, beautiful, and always had an eye on bigger, better things.”

  “In a grass is always greener, cheated on him kind of way?”

  “Not that we know of,” Aunt Liz said. “But ruthlessly ambitious. Top of her class. She couldn’t wait to get out of the South.”

  “She was a nice enough girl,” Uncle Pete added. “Polite whenever she came to visit.”

  Aunt Liz snorted. “Polite. Sure. She had all you men practically drooling.”

  “Gross.” Miranda grimaced.

  “He was planning to propose,” Reed said. “But the weekend he came home to buy the ring was when the news broke about Aunt Sandy’s cancer. It was bad. Really, really bad. Cam quit school and came home to take care of her.”

  “And this Melody had a problem with that?” Norah couldn’t fathom the kind of person who would.

  “No, not as such,” Miranda said. “The issue came when it was time for her to go to grad school. Melody got into law school at Ole Miss and George Mason. But she’d applied before the cancer, and Aunt Sandy was in bad shape, to the point the doctors didn’t think she was going to make it. You remember how bad it was. Cam was devastated. Any decent human being would’ve stayed close to support him.”