by Nella Tyler
Why had I ever considered demonizing her mother? It had seemed logical at some point, but this morning it felt like machismo. Sure, the drama of it had made the story more interesting, but the ends never justified the means.
Gut lurching, I gripped my hair. What had I done? Was I living up to my father’s legacy? Is this what he would have wanted? Would he have done the same thing?
Like a clap of thunder, Cammie’s words echoed through my head.
This is my life, Kris! This isn’t a joke or a play. These are people who I care about, and you are hurting them. And you are hurting me. But you don’t care, do you?
Reaching behind me, I felt around under the pillows for my father’s notebook. Last night I’d spent some time rereading it, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. Or right.
Yanking it open, I flipped to the page that had seemed so promising a month ago. Yet as I read it now, it seemed callous and calculating. A way to use people’s heartache and struggle for personal profit. Or was I accusing myself of that?
My eyes were so tired, the words were blurring and jumping around the page. I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to do. Too many thoughts were hammering within my skull and my fingers clenched around the edges of the notebook. Breathing hard, I glared at it and flung it across the room. As it spiraled through the air, two photos fell loose before it hit the wall.
I frowned at the face-down photos. Where had that second one come from?
Then I shrugged. It must have been stuck inside of the back pocket folder. Probably another of me and my dad. Clambering out of bed, I picked them up. The first was of me and my father in Switzerland. Flipping over the second, I swallowed and sat down heavily.
It had been taken in almost the same spot as the first photo. Only unlike that picture, where there were two people, this one had three.
Me, my father, and my mother.
She was sitting cross-legged, leaning against my father and smiling as she gazed out at the mountains. I was hugging her from behind, wrapping my arms around her neck with my chin on her shoulder. I had to have been three years old, maybe even younger. My mother was holding one of my hands, her gesture somehow both protective and loving. Next to us, my father had his arm wrapped around the two of us, and he was smiling as well.
But his gaze was for my mother alone. His eyes were soft, and his chin was resting on his hand. All of the camera equipment, his notebooks, and even the beauty of the Alps had been set to the side. She’d always come first for him.
It made me think of Cammie, sitting across from me, her dark hair cascading around her and her hazel eyes lit up with candlelight. Above her was a sunset sky and we were sitting on a crowded rooftop. And yet every other person a thousand miles away.
I could see every detail of her in my mind. The yellow of her dress, the pink on her cheeks and the way her smile curved up slowly.
I only saw her.
Glancing between the pictures, I found myself asking the same questions that had come up last night after her words had sunk in. I no longer was confident about anything when it came to my father. Everything was a mystery. His thoughts about the business, his films, and his life choices.
Then I stopped, my heart hammering in my chest.
I’m asking the wrong questions.
Grabbing up both pictures, then the notebook, I found my phone and dialed Max.
He was the only person who would have the answers.
Reclining on the couch in my father’s office, I was rereading the page about the documentary idea and making notes in my own notebook. Dad had written extensively about how it took hard work and forward momentum to get anywhere in life. How he’d basically not slept after making his first documentary – one that focused on that very idea. And how he’d been a poor man with his eye only on the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.
How nothing else had mattered.
I’d taken that to mean nothing else but making the film mattered. Pouring your heart and soul into it. But now I was wondering if I’d misunderstood my father entirely.
“Hey, Kris,” Max interrupted my thoughts. His voice was soft and concerned. Looking up, I saw him standing over me and frowning.
“Hey, wow. Since when are you a ninja?” I joked, rubbing my eyes.
“You look beat,” he said. “Why are you here? Rough cut is done. You should be resting and celebrating with Cammie.”
“Thanks. I forgot I barely slept this week,” I retorted without thinking, then I winced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” I gestured for him to sit down.
Eyeing me, he did so. “What’s going on?”
“Cammie is upset about the rough cut,” I said, my voice short. It almost felt like I was ratting her out to Max. “We had a massive fight about the way her mother’s part of the story was handled. She thinks that we’re painting Mrs. Book as an antagonist – or worse – a bad mom.”
“Well…” Max made a face. “Cammie’s not wrong. Her mother was convenient for that role. However, I do think liberties were taken on how Mrs. Book’s interviews were handled.”
“Yes, Cammie agrees with you. She said we, well, I, was using it to make the story more compelling.” I grit my jaw. “Suffice to say, I didn’t handle that feedback well. I don’t know if I was tired or if I didn’t want to hear it, but I snapped. Said a lot of things I shouldn’t have.”
“Couples fight, Kris,” Max said patiently. I could tell he was probably foreseeing this turning into a counseling session and wishing he’d brought Simone along.
“Did I do that, though? Was I more focused on making a good film than ensuring Cammie’s story was told delicately and with compassion?” I sighed. “I don’t know anymore. I’m questioning everything. And she doesn’t want to see me. Nor, I imagine, partake in the documentary.”
Max’s eyebrows shot up, and he rubbed his forehead. “She said that? Uh, Kris, you do know she’s under contract, right? I’m not sure your girlfriend would appreciate us suing her.”
I groaned. “I know, I know. This is why I called you.”
“To help you figure out how to get Cammie back on board?” he asked. “From what I’m hearing, I don’t think that’s possible with the documentary as it stands now.”
“No, I know.” I paused. “Max, I need you to help me figure out if this is the right story to tell. If we’re doing right by Cammie. By my father, his company and his legacy…
“If this documentary is one that should even be made.” I hesitated and then pulled out the photo of my mother. “Then there’s this. Something about it is so familiar, but I can’t quite remember… I don’t know if I blocked it or I’m tired or what.”
“Oh, yeah,” Max smiled softly as he took it. “I remember this. Your dad was regaling us with old legends and myths. Mostly about the goddess Iris.”
“Mom’s name,” I said softly, watching his face. He seemed to be back in Switzerland.
“Ah, this was a great day.” Max gazed at the picture for a long moment before handing it back to me. “We were working on a new documentary, Bold Pictures was solvent, and everyone was happy.” He sighed and made a face. “Then your mom and dad got into a huge fight. I still get uncomfortable thinking about it.”
“A fight?” I almost wanted to ask Max if he was certain he was remembering it correctly. From what I knew of my parents, they did not fight.
“Yes. Your mom wasn’t happy with how your dad was going about getting some of the footage and how the story was coming together. He was taking stupid risks, not getting enough sleep and pushing the crew way too hard. Not really paying attention to anything but work. You were too young to realize this – but we were shooting footage for two documentaries back then.”
“What?” I asked. “What was the second one?”
Max gave me a sad smile. “It was about your mom and her painting.”
Staring at him, I was speechless for a good minute. “But what happened to it?”
“It didn’
t get made. There was some film, but not enough. At the time, your mom made the call to stop shooting for that one and just focus on the climbing expedition one. She thought everyone was spreading themselves too thin, especially your dad.” He laughed. “Iris even said to me, I’ll never forget it, ‘I’m pretty sure that’s why Lukas decided to throw a tantrum the other day.’ Your dad agreed eventually, albeit grumpily. Soon everything was peaceful and productive again. We even wrapped earlier than we’d planned to. But after that film took off, your mother’s film kept getting pushed back. See, that was a personal project, and Lukas was very particular about it.”
“How come he never made it?” I asked.
Max shook his head. “Too painful, I think. After your mom died, he even thought about burning all the film – he didn’t,” he said quickly, “but I don’t know if he ever watched it again. And…”
“And?” I prompted.
“I don’t have proof for this theory, Kris,” Max said, sounding worried.
“Come on, out with it. You knew him forever, Max. Whatever it is, I’m sure you’re right.”
He gave me an affectionate look. “Kris, I think he was waiting to make it with you. When you fell in love and would know how to make it. The pictures and the notebook – I think that’s why all this stuff was in the safe. One day he wanted you to have his love story – so you could treasure your own. In that regard, too, the documentary with Cammie does feel like it’s not the right direction.”
Eyes burning, I nodded and picked up the notebook. I was trying to hide how upset I was from Max – I didn’t want to make him feel bad for telling me all of that.
It opened to the page with my father’s big idea, and I stared at it. Then I frowned, tracing my finger down it. Rereading it with those stories in mind, I know could see that my father’s notes in a completely different light.
A quote by Vincent Van Ggoh, one that thrown me before, now made perfect sense.
“It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.”
What is done in love is well done. That part had been underlined.
The rainbow, the pot of gold – he’d been thinking about my mother.
I’d read this all wrong.
“Oh my God,” I said out loud and laughed. “I’m such an idiot. That’s why he had that picture there. But he must have forgotten the other was in the pocket…”
“Earth to Kris,” Max said, raising his eyebrow at me. “What are you talking about?”
“I was all wrong about how to make this film. You were right. I know what Dad’s idea truly was.” I grinned at Max and winked. “And it’s golden.”
Chapter 32
Cammie
Waking up slowly, I curled even more tightly into a ball and squeezed my eyes shut. I was cold, and my head was aching. For a while, I drifted, falling into half-dreams, and then I rolled over, cracking open one eye. The clock read 11:24 and I wondered if Anna would let me sleep all day.
But the smell of bacon and eggs was now on the air and I was starving. Dragging myself out of bed, I pulled on a sweatshirt and padded into her kitchen.
Anna was standing there, trying to act casual and sipping from a coffee mug. “Mornin’ doll,” she said and gestured at the counter. “Made you breakfast.”
“Thanks, Anna,” I murmured, shuffling over. Picking up the plate she pointed to, I went and sat at her table. In another moment, Anna had handed me cutlery, a cup of coffee and sat down across from me. “You’re not eating?”
“Already ate. I’ve been up for hours.” She was quiet while I picked at my food. “You sleep?”
I shrugged, both wanting and not wanting to lie. “A bit.”
“You ready to talk about last night?” Anna asked. Her eyes were worried. “Cammie, you’ve been so happy, and now you’re like a little ghost. You’re scaring me. What went wrong?”
“I trusted someone I shouldn’t have,” I said bitterly.
“Kris? With what?”
My heart. I wanted to say, but instead, I explained, “My story. The documentary was supposed to be about overcoming struggle and family. But Kris made it into a Southern soap opera and made my mom look like a deadbeat too lazy to do anything but boss me around.”
“Woah, what?” Anna put down her mug shook her head. “Are you sure? Kris? Kris Boldin did that? That doesn’t sound like something he would do. He adores you!”
“Yes, Anna, that Kris. I mean, what other Kris do we know who is currently shooting a documentary about my life?” I retorted, more sharply than I meant. “I saw the rough cut last night. And it made my stomach turn inside out. In fact, I still don’t feel good.” I put down my silverware.
“Cams, are you sure?” Anna’s eyes were getting bigger by the moment. “Walk me through it.”
I didn’t answer her, as my mind was piecing together another part of the film that had upset me. “Oh my God. He kind of did it to you, too, Anna.”
Last night I’d been so furious about how my mother was portrayed, I didn’t realize Anna had been cast in the same negative light. It was less obvious, but now that I was thinking about it, I could see it so clearly. My God, had Kris left any of my friends or family alone?
Looking up, I saw Anna staring at me. For once, she was at a loss for what to say.
“Don’t worry, Anna, none of that will be in there,” I assured her. “He will redo it. Or I’ll quit.”
Suddenly my sweatshirt pocket began to buzz, and I groaned. Pulling out my phone, I saw that it was my mother calling. Disappointment mingled with relief. I hadn’t thought Kris would call me, but I couldn’t deny I’d been expecting to see his name on the screen.
“Hi, Mom,” I answered, then got up and moved outside to Anna’s porch. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, I thought I’d just call and check in on you.” She sounded happy and mellow. “I’m gonna be gone for most of the rest of the day. Didn’t want you callin’ here and wonderin’ where everyone was. But the boys are all off at their friends’ and me and your Gramma are goin’ out.”
“That sounds nice,” I said, my voice straining in my throat.
“Oh, Cammie,” she clucked. “You don’t sound so good. You okay? You get enough sleep?”
“Yeah, well, no.” I forced a laugh. “It was busy yesterday, so I’m exhausted.”
“Hm, I see,” my mother said, sounding affectionately suspicious. “And how’s the documentary? How’s your boyfriend? Y’all comin’ down to visit next Sunday, right?”
I swallowed. “Oh, right. I forgot about that.”
“Camilla Book, you best not be canceling on me!” my mother said reproachfully.
“No, no, nothing like that,” I said quickly. “Kris might not be able to come.” I hesitated, then asked in a rush, “Mama, if I decided not to make the film after all, how mad would you be?”
“I wouldn’t be mad!” She laughed. “I’d be surprised. Why you askin’ Cammie? Everything alright? Wait a moment now, are y’all not makin’ it anymore?”
“No, nothing’s been decided yet,” I murmured.
“Oh, shoot, there’s your Gramma. Honey, I’ve got to run, but you know you can call me tonight or tomorrow after church. And let me just say this: I’m proud of you. No matter what you do, you bounce back. You want to make this documentary – fine. If not, that’s fine too. Anything you do, Camilla, I’m your mama, and I’ll back you, one hundred percent.”
“Unless she becomes an Ole Miss fan!” I heard Gramma yell in the background. “Roll Tide!”
“Good to know,” I laughed, for real this time. A weight seemed to have loosened in my chest.
“Alright, we have to go, baby. You take care now. Call me soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mama,” I replied and smiled.
Taking a deep breath, I turned and went back inside. Anna was sitting there still, but now she was frowning. “Who
was that?” she asked.
“My mother,” I said. “Didn’t you hear me answer the phone?”
“Cammie, I have to tell you somethin’ and I’m not sure how you’re gonna like it, but please hear me out,” Anna responded as though she hadn’t heard me.
Nodding, I sat back down at the table and eyed her. She was jittery and pale. “What is it, Anna? Since when do you hold back telling me anything?”
“Cammie, I get family loyalty, I do.” Anna leaned forward. “But doll, maybe Kris wasn’t too far off in tellin’ your story.” Her accent got thicker as she got more nervous. “I mean, bless your Mama’s heart, but she’s a small-town woman. And I don’t think she wanted you to leave.”
“Of course not,” I said stiffly. “She wanted to keep our family together.”
“But Cammie, I mean, I was there for that first interview. She didn’t want to talk about it at all. I think she knew she hadn’t been very fair to you growing up. Maybe she feels guilty about leaning on you too much, but she hasn’t gone about handling it in the best way.”
“She was a poor widow with four mouths to feed,” I snapped. “Are you seriously taking Kris’s side? Did you not hear me mention how he didn’t exactly portray you in the most flattering light? I have no interest in losing all my friends and family so that he can ‘tell the truth as he sees it.’ Besides, he’s over-exaggerating things – that’s how he’s making it more exciting.”
“Is he over-exaggerating?” Anna asked quietly. “Cammie, you’ve told me yourself, quite often I might add, how your mother has a habit of doubting you. The things she’s said over the years.” Her eyes were shining now. “How people like to point out what you can’t do.”
“Yes, but, no one is perfect…” I trailed off, unsure of how to fight back when Anna looked so upset. “You know what, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to hear it. Even if people made mistakes in how they treated me, Kris was in the wrong. I’m not sacrificing family and friends so that I can make some money. That’s wrong. I’m not that kind of person. I get that people are human. And if that’s how Kris wants to make his living – that’s fine. But I won’t be a part of it.”
