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Shouldn’t a part of me have felt this after it happened? Like some daughter intuition that the man who shares half of my DNA was no longer breathing. No longer walking on this earth. Guilt washes over me that for over two years I went about my life not knowing he stopped breathing.
“What…what happened?”
Her eyes soften. “After you moved away, your father became sick. He had this nasty cough that never seemed to go away and continued to get worse and after a month he finally decided to visit the doctor. He was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.” While I can sense sadness from my mother, no tears are shed as she talks about my father. “He met with several specialists, and they all had the same response: the cancer was too aggressive. He began to fall sicker until he was eventually put on palliative care. He passed away in early August. He was in no pain, thanks to the nurses and doctors.”
“That’s good,” I whisper. Though I am sure there are many words a daughter should say to their mother when they find out their father has died, none of them come to me. Words of comfort or even fond memories I have of him are the norm. Though, I have no fond memories of my dad. He was not the kind of man who taught his daughter how to ride a bike or threatened her prom date. Arnold Wentworth was a distant man.
My mom smiles at me as if she knows what is going through my mind. “You do not have to say anything. I understand. There was really no relationship between you and your father, and that is just another thing to add to the list of how wrong we were.”
Looking around the room, I take in the changes made here. Not only with the house, but with the woman sitting beside me. “What happened, Mom?”
As if she knows what I mean, she waves around to the room that, in two years, changed from being an uptight space to one that is welcoming. “After losing you and then your father, I took a harsh look at my life and myself. My eyes were open to the mistakes I made over the years and the regrets I had. One of them was staying in a loveless marriage.” She turns back to me. “Do not get me wrong, I loved your father very much, but over the years, we grew distant. He became more engrossed with his work and my need for a higher status in town overcame me.
“I was alone, Blaire. For the first time in my life, I was alone. Never have I felt sadder. You were gone and then your father. Although we were not close by any means, I felt hollow inside that my family was shattered. I knew I needed to try and fix the relationship I ruined between us. That was when I wrote you the first letter.”
She had just lost her entire family and losing us made her realize how much she and my father messed up over the years. Do I wish that the realization came a little sooner? Well, sure. I can’t fault her for eventually opening her eyes and wanting to get to know her only daughter.
“I’m sorry you lost him, Mom.”
She cups the side of my head and brings me to rest on her shoulder. It’s strange and very motherly, which I have never been used to, but nice. “I am too, sweetie. What I’m more sorry for is that it took losing him and you to open my eyes. What I wouldn’t give to come to that realization sooner and maybe your relationship with him could have become more.”
“We can’t dwell on the what-ifs,” I tell her. “My therapist at school told me that if I keep living in the past and wondering what-if, I will never be able to move forward with my life. That is what we need to focus on.”
“You have a therapist?” Her tone is curious, and I feel as though any information I give about my new life is going to be interesting to her.
I nod. “Well, I did. I haven’t seen her since the end of last semester, and even last year I only went to her once a month. Talking with her helped me a lot during my first year of college.” Chewing on my bottom lip, I pull back from where she held my head on her shoulder. This is something I need to tell my mom face-to-face. “When I got to Braxton, I was scared to get close to anyone. I didn’t have any friends, didn’t attend parties, or do any of the typical college stuff most students did. I was still dealing with everything that happened with Harvey, my friends, and you and Dad. I never worked through my issues in the two years since it had happened and when there was an email sent out to all the freshmen about a therapist that is always on call if we need her, I took them up on the offer. She said it wasn’t too late to talk with someone and helped me work through my issues and gave me the tools I needed.”
Guilt washes over my mom’s face. “We should have been there. We should have been better parents and I hate that you were fighting a constant battle for so long with no one there, especially me.”
I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “Remember, no what-ifs. I learned not to dwell on the past, and my life in Braxton has been amazing, especially these last few months. I have a great best friend, who was the first person in my new life I talked about what happened to me, and this year I have met even more people. I let them in, which is something I struggled with for far too long.”
“How about any boys? Do you have a boyfriend?”
I wince at her statement, and she notices. “Um, yeah. I mean, no.” Really, I’m not sure how to even explain this because telling her and saying the words out loud makes them too real. “Something happened before I came here. It’s what pushed me to read your letters. I still haven’t processed it and honestly, I’m not sure how to.”
She pats my hands. “That’s okay, sweetie. Love is never easy.”
Strangely, her words are comforting. They’re motherly and with everything that is going on with Camden and me, I think a mother’s care is what I need.
36
CAMDEN
Three days. Over seventy-two hours. That is how long Blaire has been…wherever she is. Each morning, I have called Emree and asked if she has heard from Blaire and the answer has never changed. No, she hasn’t. Her answer also does not change when I text her in the afternoon and call her again at night to ask the same question.
I have gone to practice and attended classes, but other than that, I sit around with my mind going crazy, wondering where she is and how I can get ahold of her.
News broke out around campus that Chloe was arrested, and the gossip queens of her sorority spread it around that I was involved. The rumors range from she broke into my house to she hired someone to kidnap me. Some of them are crazy, like the kidnapping, and make me think far too many students are watching soap operas. A few times, I have heard people talking about what actually happened and I’m not sure if I’m glad about that. While I hope no one believes the ludicrous rumors, people knowing the truth makes me just as nervous. Maddox and the guys continue to reassure me that this is nothing to be embarrassed about, but I can’t help it. Being drugged and almost raped as a guy sounds unbelievable.
Monday, the dean of Braxton U called me into his office to talk about what happened and inform me that Chloe has been expelled from the school indefinitely and is not to step foot on campus or any property owned by BU, which includes her sorority house. Tuesday, the arresting officers and prosecutor called me to inform me of the charges and that Chloe was released on bail, which her father paid for. She has been given a restraining order to remain at least five hundred feet away from me and was instructed by the officers not to leave the state while she waits for her first hearing. According to some of her sisters, her father has taken her back home to Miami after collecting her belongings.
While I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders with most of the legal stuff handled, at least until a trial, I can’t feel relaxed until I see Blaire. Until I’m able to convince her to listen to me long enough to hear the truth. I can’t imagine what has been going through her head these last three days and it kills me that she still thinks I would ever cheat on her. That I would ever break her trust like that.
By Wednesday night, I am ready to explode. I have been in the living room trying to distract myself with useless television, but I can’t help but check my phone every ten minutes to see if Blaire or Emree have called or texted. Since Sunday, after she packed up and left, I have texted Blaire a total of forty times. Not once did I tell her through text or the several voicemails what really happened Saturday night. I need to look her in the eyes when she finds out. She has to see me when I tell her to know that I would never do anything to hurt her.
The front door opens, and Conrad and Maddox come in. They drop their backpacks by the door and join me in the living room. Conrad eyes me and then my phone that is sitting on the cushion beside me. “Nothing still?”
I shake my head. “Nope, and I’m about ready to lose it. I can’t handle not knowing where she is or what she’s thinking.”
