Page 81 of Chasing Clouds

The way he speaks, there’s no inflection in his tone; he almost sounds bored. I get that stuff like this is probably commonplace in his world, but it’s not for me, and I’m appalled by the audacity of his family members.

“Who are you people?” I lean back to move a few more inches away from him and grip the fabric of the chair’s arms.

“I can assure you we are not all bad. I apologize for my son, and Patrick has been dealt with, but Camille, that poor girl—she’s innocent in all their scheming. None of this is her fault.”

I try to let this sink in. My original gut reaction was that there was no way she’d sign those papers, and I was right. The Camille I left in Savannah would have never had those papers drawn up and sent. Guilt digs in a little as I realize I didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt when I should have. I should’ve taken a moment to call her, to hear it straight from her, but then again, Patrick gave an impressive performance with some very important details purposefully left out.

“Reid, I’ve spent some time with Camille over the last couple of weeks, and I have to say, she’s completely transformed from the girl she was not too long ago. I don’t know what you two did during your time together, how you treated her, or the things that were said, but she came home so different than when she left. Pieces of the old Camille—the younger Camille—were shining through, and I can’t thank you enough. She’s always been the light of my world, and I just want to see her happy. You did that.”

“A murderer is the light of your world?”

His eyes widen just a bit before he narrows them. The words taste wrong on my tongue, and I didn’t mean to blurt it out that way. I realize I’m being disrespectful, but I don’t care.

“Who told you she was a murderer?” he asks, tilting his head.

“He did. She did.” I shrug my shoulders as if this is common knowledge, and I start jiggling my leg with pent-up energy.

He leans forward and adjusts his tie so it’s sitting straight. “Oh, that girl. What happened to Clare was an accident. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not her fault.”

“So, what happened?” I ask, wanting him to tell me the truth—the truth no one has bothered to mention to me yet.

“If she didn’t tell you and you haven’t looked it up, I think that’s a story for her to share—that is, if you really want to know. Remember, Reid, things aren’t always as they seem. All of us have been dealing with Clare’s death the only way we know how: one day at a time. Admittedly, we all know Camille took it the hardest. I can’t imagine what being a twin and losing that person would be like, would feel like. So, show her a little grace. If anyone deserves it, she does.”

He stands and fastens the top button of his three-button suit jacket. I follow, feeling bereft. He can’t be leaving; so much more needs to be said.

“She lied to me,” I state, clinging to the anger I’ve used as fuel for the past couple of weeks.

He pauses, studies me, and asks, “Are you sure about that?”

Just like that, I’m not.

“I will take this.” He picks up the ring and slides it into his pants pocket. “Although, I still feel like it’s yours. I guess if you want it, this time you’ll have to earn it. If you decide to pursue Camille, be prepared to have your socks knocked off. You haven’t seen her light yet, but when you do, you’ll be in awe.”

With that he gently claps me on my good shoulder, gives me a small squeeze, and then he’s gone.

Sitting back down in the chair, I let the silence of the condo surround me while an eerie feeling settles over me. I think about the fake divorce papers—well, not entirely fake—and how they were used to once again make Camille a pawn in their game. When will it stop for her? I mean, this is just ridiculous, but I can’t help but wonder, does she know now? Someone had to have told her, right? Wouldn’t she have reached out to tell me? I’d like to think so, but with sharp clarity, I know the answer is no—not after the way I talked to her. I wouldn’t want to communicate with me either.

Oh God. I rub my chest as it’s started to ache.

Then I think about how I might have misjudged her based on Patrick’s claim of her being a murderer. Granted, she didn’t argue with me when confronted, but I never should have taken her word for face value. She started closing in on herself the minute I mentioned her sister, something she kind of did every time the subject was brought up during our time together. Clare was spoken of in passing, but we never talked about her, not really.

Her grandfather’s wrong—I have seen her light. In those rare moments, I was awed, and I went out of my way to see if I could get her to shine again and again.

Leaning forward, my elbows land on my knees and my head drops down. A heavy remorse capsizes my heart.

What have I done?

For so long, I’ve had this mentality that I had to be in charge—in charge of my family, in charge of my career, and in charge of me. No one controls me; I make my own decisions based on what I think is best, and I determine my own destiny.

What I don’t do is leave things to trial and error. I don’t expose any vulnerability or weakness in myself, and I don’t allow myself to be in situations where I could get hurt. These things come from being unprepared or entering an unknown, like a relationship, and look where I am now: on my ass at home, brokenhearted and miserable.

All of this mess is because I let Camille in. I let down walls that have been erect for so long, I thought they were impenetrable, but apparently they weren’t. Those walls were there for the sole purpose of protecting my heart—my seven, ten, and thirteen-year-old heart.

I always firmly believed marriage was not for me. I never wanted to get married, never had the desire to become so attached to someone. My mother, on the other hand, chased, revered, and wanted love so badly. She’s a hopeless romantic who’s never stopped believing her person is out there, and I always ended up the casualty as someone new would come and then eventually go. No one stayed.

As her son, I’ve never considered her life beyond being a mother. That was her role, and looking back now, I see a woman who was trying to enjoy her life and get through it the best way she could.

Mothers aren’t supposed to have a lot of boyfriends coming and going. In traditional families, there’s supposed to be a husband, a dad, and for us, there wasn’t, but the terrible thing I realize now is, as much as I hated what felt like her revolving door of men in our life, I’ve never thought about exactly how many that was. No, I don’t remember my father—he left after he found out she was pregnant with Nate—but all through my childhood, she only dated three guys.