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Cameron pinched the textured paper, throat constricting.
Briefly, he closed his eyes as he folded the letter away into the envelope, and then he headed determinedly inside.
* * *
To: Henrybatilney @gmail.com
From: Cameron17Morland @gmail.com
* * *
Dear Henry,
Thank you for your letter. It arrived today, which was an unexpected joy after the showing.
I felt immediately guilty when I read how much you were looking forward to our walk. For the record, you could easily have gotten away with the shot of vanilla.
But we’re putting that behind us. I’m thankful you are so patient, understanding. Being around you is supremely comfortable. I felt it the evening you convinced me to come to the manse, and again at the theatre when you quoted Shakespeare.
Quoting is something my brother and I have always done since I was ten and he was fifteen and he read The Wizard of Oz to me chapter by chapter every night.
It became a thing between us to quote Baum’s work and guess which book it came from, over muesli, in the back of the car, shopping. Even after Brandon left for university. Every time we meet, we play the game again. A secret language. Our way of saying “Are we good?” and “We’re good.”
The Oz books became . . . ours.
That night with you in the kitchen, quoting Austen felt like letting you in on the secret language. A way of asking “Will you get to know me?” It was nerve wrecking, because I went straight to the books that meant most to me. The ones I read when Brandon was gone and I was lonely and craving a mum.
God, I don’t know. Is this revealing too much? Am I embarrassing you right now?
I could be. But for once, I’m not embarrassed myself.
I felt an urgency to let you know, and it feels good to share.
I like you quoting with me. No matter the book. I love learning what words shape(d) you.
And with that, I’ll sign off.
Yours,
Cameron
Henry: Sorry, still at dinner. I’m in a bathroom cubicle but I had to respond.
* * *
Henry: Thank you for your words.
* * *
Henry: My most meaningful book is the same one I wrote my dissertation on. The Charioteer.
* * *
Cameron: The book you didn’t want to talk about?
* * *
Henry: Some things need time.
* * *
Cameron: I understand.
* * *
Henry: I need to see you again. Are you free tomorrow?
* * *
Cameron: Yes.
* * *
Henry: I’ll pick you up at half past nine. We’ll spend the day together.
* * *
Cameron: Henry?
* * *
Henry: Yes?
* * *
Cameron: Is this a date?
Sunday morning, Cameron swam laps in an effort to shake off sleepiness. He might have slept longer, but electrical shivers had taken his body hostage, and the only thing he was accomplishing in bed was improving his right-hand grip.
In half an hour, Henry would pick him up for the day.
He pushed out of the pool to shower and brush his teeth again.
Cameron: What do I wear?
* * *
Lake: Is this a guessing game? Short-shorts and jandals?
* * *
Cameron: Funny. No.
* * *
Cameron: I’m choosing clothes for a date.
* * *
Lake: Send me pics! I’ll tell you what looks best.
Four outfits later, they settled on a dark long-sleeved T-shirt that brought out his eyes, jeans that Lake said were insanely hot on him, those boots, just because, and Henry’s hoodie. That was why he’d left it here, right? He liked Cameron in it?
He climbed himself into comfort and shot through the house at the sound of the doorbell.
With the slap of her sequin-topped ballet flats on the wood floor, Isabella pushed inside. A wave of perfume followed her as she turned, lifting an empty duffel bag. “Ours are packed in the car already. Let’s get this stuffed with clothes—and books!—and we’re off.”
“Off?” Cameron shook his head. “You can’t seriously think I’m up for another spontaneous adventure.”
Isabella laughed that off. “It’ll be different this time. Better. We checked, and the road has been cleared, so it’ll be a smooth five-hour drive. This time we booked two rooms in a hotel. John’s idea after Brandon said he’d given everyone Monday off. Better, isn’t it? We’re picking your brother up on our way.”
“Does he know about this trip?”
“He will soon.” She grinned and headed into his room.
“This is déjà vu.”
“You can never have enough fun, Cameron.”
“I will have fun. Henry’s picking me up any minute now.”
“Him again?” Isabella piled clothes out of his drawers and stuffed them into the duffel bag. Cameron immediately took them out.
“Yes, him again. We’re spending the day together.”
“He lives here, Cameron. We’re only here another few weeks. Can’t you postpone it?”
“No. I don’t want to, and definitely not after Friday.”
Isabella dropped more clothes onto the bed and approached him, smiling softly. “You are too kind. You worry about letting anyone down. Hurting any feelings.” She cradled his cheeks with her long, cool fingers. “I get it. But this is a special opportunity. I’m sure if Henry is as nice as you think he is, he’ll be fine with the change in plans.”
