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“There’s a high school football game this weekend. A big rivalry. The whole town turns out for this one. Would you like to go?”
She hesitated only an instant, thinking about Zack and how he would react. “Yes,” she said eagerly. Why should she care what Zack thought about her having a date? She was an adult. He certainly had no claim on her, nor she on him.
“Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Rick bounced off the front porch, did a ridiculous jig on his way to the truck, and reduced Camille to a fit of giggles with his antics.
Friday afternoon found her on her hands and knees working in a corner of the parlor when Simon brought in a pitcher of cold lemonade.
Rick came over to her and pulled her to her feet. “Take a break why don’t you, lady,” he teased as he drew her up. “Look at that face! We’re trying to stain the floor, not each other,” he laughed, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping the stain from her face.
At that moment, when Camille was playfully dodging Rick’s ministrations, Zack stepped under the arch that separated the parlor from the hallway. His face was stony, his eyes dark with a brewing storm of temper as he viewed the sight before him. The muscles in his jaw twitched with tension and Camille saw that he was clenching his fists at his sides as if forcing control over them.
“Hello, Zack.” Her statement was simple enough, but it intentionally held a warning in it for the innocent Rick. He turned and saw Zack standing in a militant stance and looked back quickly toward Camille with a puzzled, quizzical expression on his face.
He recovered himself and crossed the room with his hand outstretched. “Zack, long
time no see, you ol’ son of a gun! Here I’ve been working in your house all week and haven’t seen the lord of the manor yet. How are you?”
“Fine, Rick, how are you?” Zack’s words were clipped as he shook hands with Rick. “I see your work here hasn’t been too boring. If you’ll excuse me.” He nodded at Rick and Sean O’Malley, but ignored Camille. He turned abruptly toward the hall and bumped into Rayburn, who had witnessed the entire scene.
“Hello, son. How was your trip?”
“Beneficial, I think,” Zack answered curtly.
“Good. We’re glad to have you back.”
“Really? It appears to me that my arrival may have put a pall over all the fun everyone seems to be having.” With that he stalked upstairs. Rayburn followed his son’s angry back with his eyes and then looked at Camille. She wished the floor on which she had been working so hard would suddenly open up and swallow her.
Then she was suffused with anger at Zack. Why should she feel ashamed? She hadn’t done anything wrong, and even if she had, it was none of Zack Prescott’s concern. She raised her chin and proclaimed, “I would think that a few days away from home would improve one’s humor. It just goes to show how wrong one can be.”
If she expected a censure from Rayburn, she was surprised when he threw back his head of white hair and laughed out loud.
Rick looked nervous and wiped his sweaty palms on his jean-clad thighs. He had known Zack Prescott since grade school and recognized that look in Zack’s eyes. It meant trouble, and anyone with good sense steered clear of him when his blue eyes took on that particular glacial quality. “I’d better get back to work,” he muttered, guiltily shifting his eyes away from Camille.
Before he left that day, Rick pulled Camille aside and whispered anxiously. “Listen, Camille, I didn’t mean to trespass on someone else’s territory. Are you and Zack… I mean, is there…?”
Because he was finding it hard to put his question into words, Camille interrupted. “Rick, I’m looking forward to our date tonight. There is no reason for me not to go out with you.”
He wiped a few beads of perspiration from his upper lip and sighed. “Well, I’m glad about that. I wouldn’t want to make anyone mad at me.” He laughed nervously then socked her playfully on the chin. “I’ll see you around seven. Okay?”
She agreed and he left.
* * *
At their early dinner, Zack was sullen and uncommunicative, which was what Camille had expected, but Rayburn seemed bent on having a good time. He told Camille stories about his growing up. His adventures on the Mississippi River sounded every bit as colorful as those of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. In spite of her annoyance over Zack’s brooding mood, she laughed at the tall tales Rayburn was spinning. She noticed that the more she laughed, the more surly Zack became. Well, let him sulk, she thought defiantly, and laughed even harder.
When the meal was finished, Rayburn leaned back in his chair expansively and wiped the tears of mirth from his eyes. “Yes, that summer of ’12 was one to remember.” He paused a moment before asking, “What time is Rick picking you up, Camille? Don’t let us keep you. She’s going to the football game with him tonight,” he added in way of explanation to Zack. Camille glanced at him quickly, but he only shrugged indifferently and took a drink of his iced tea.
“About seven,” she answered Rayburn, stung by Zack’s apathy to his father’s announcement.
“Well then, you’d better go get ready—not that you don’t look beautiful now.” He pushed his chair back and said, almost as an afterthought, “Zack, why don’t you take Camille to the plantation tomorrow? She’s worked hard this week, and I’d like for her to take the entire weekend off.”
“I don’t know—” she started, but Zack interrupted her.
“Okay. I didn’t have anything else to do.” He pushed back from the table. “I’ll see you in the morning. Dress casually.” Without another word, he stomped out of the dining room.
Of all the nerve! Camille screamed silently. She faced Rayburn and noticed that his white eyebrows were raised almost to his hairline in a nonverbal query as he studied the doorway recently vacated by his son.
Camille excused herself soon after that and went to the dowager house to dress for her date with Rick. More than ever she was determined to have a good time tonight. But she was torn between anticipation and dread for the next day.
