Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

Chapter Thirty-One

As the sand flew by under Cami’s feet, her mind returned to last night’s conversation with Mongoose. A part of her soared with gratitude that the whole Andrews family cared enough to call him. But some resentment stirred also. She was used to her solitary life and didn’t like others questioning her decisions. Wasn’t she showing faith and trust? She’d been intimidated enough to abandon her home for Paige’s but that was it. She wouldn’t be bullied into suspecting innocent students of stalking, too.

Grant made it clear he wanted to talk some more today. He’d let her off easy last night because of the rotten day she’d had. She turned at the tide pools and slowed to a cooling off walk as she headed back to her Tahoe in the parking lot.

A familiar silhouette appeared down the beach. She could see Petey straining at the leash. Grant shifted it and a bag to his left hand as they waited.

“Good morning,” she said to Grant, while patting Petey. “Hi buddy. How’d you know where I was?”

Grant answered for the dog. “Paige told us you’d gone for a run.” He hefted the sack. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m starving. What did you bring?”

“Juice, granola bars, and string cheese. All portable.”

“Perfect. Do you want to sit in my car?”

“Let’s go down to the sand. You’ll be more comfortable if Petey’s not trying to sit on your lap in the front seat.”

They reversed, walking in the direction she’d come from, the dog still pulling at the leash. Cami held him back and offered to take the bag from Grant.

“I’m okay.” He slung the bag over his good shoulder, and then paused. “On second thought, here.” He handed her the food and sprinted across the parking lot, returning with a blanket.

“No sling?” she asked as he spread the denim patchwork quilt over the chilly sand.

“I’m trying it a few hours at a time.” They settled themselves as Petey flopped down next to Cami, inching his head onto her knee. Grant handed her a stick of cheese and a foil-wrapped granola bar. With his teeth, he pulled the orange strip off the lid of a juice bottle then passed it to her.

“Cheers.”

She took a gulp. “Thanks.” The silence lengthened. Was he waiting for her to say something?

Grant broke the quiet. “I want to talk to you about two things that happened last night.”

Another lecture. She swirled the plastic bottle, watching the waves of orange coat the inside. “What?” she asked.

“Before I tell you my news, we should discuss Mongoose some more. He called after I got home.”

She set her jaw to hide the dismay rushing in like the tide at their feet. She placed the juice bottle on the sand, twisting it down a little, making sure it was stable. Then she pulled a long string of cheese out of its plastic casing, making sure she could keep her voice even before she started to speak. “It was nice of him to come by, but I - ”

Grant interrupted. “He’s a professional, he does this kind of work all the time. If he says you’re in danger, we have to listen to him. I’m more concerned now than I was before he talked to you.”

“Why?”

“Just the fact he paid attention to your story is enough to scare me more than any doctor I’ve seen this spring.”

Resentment simmered. So Mongoose was one more person to guard against. Not only a rapist and a stalker, now this… this PSYOPS was trying to run her life too. Her anger won the battle and she stood. “I didn’t ask for his advice. I didn’t ask your father to call him. And I don’t have to listen to him.” She looked at Grant, expecting to see his usual expression of concern and tenderness. The raw anger there instead shocked her into silence.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice tight. He got to his feet, too. “I’ll drop Petey’s things off at your house later today.” He turned and strode down the beach.

Cami opened her mouth to call after him, but shut it without saying anything. Fine, let him be mad. He might stop nagging. She gathered up the scattered plastic and foil wrappers from their snack and folded the blanket, shaking out the sand with crisp snaps of her wrists. “Come on, Petey.” She pulled the dog toward the parking lot. “We don’t need him or his meddling family. And especially their smug friend.” She walked a little faster now, her steps keeping pace with the building anger. Some people were so arrogant.

“What kind of name is Mongoose, anyway? Makes him sound like a rodent. And what do rats know about profiling?” she muttered, as she reached her Tahoe.

She put Petey in the SUV, and then noticed Grant sitting in the Volvo in the next aisle. He was gripping the steering wheel and it looked like he was talking to himself. She turned around and climbed into the car.

Within a few minutes she pulled into traffic. In her rear view mirror, she watched Grant leave the parking lot, but he turned in the opposite direction.

Fine, let him be that way. How childish to strut away from her like that.

Okay. She squared her shoulders. Time to get to work. She needed to look at some model homes and submit a bid for finishing some of the rooms.

Grant had said he wanted to talk to her about two things that happened last night. Wonder what the other one was. She shrugged. It must not have been important. Quit thinking about Grant. Think about work.

She should clean up a little. And be dressed in something other than workout or paint-stained clothes to make proposals. And probably not take Petey.

Her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. How dare Grant think he could treat her like this, like a possession instead of a thinking person? Stop it, Camille.

She headed toward Agua Vida and her cottage. She’d only stay long enough to clean up. But Petey could stay home while she looked at the new job. Then she’d get him and go back to Paige’s. As much as she hated to admit it, she did find the idea of going home alone to an empty house unappealing. So maybe Grant was right about this one thing. She’d stay with Paige a little while longer.

As she turned the corner onto Sierra Vista, she must have been going a little fast. The stack of file folders, sample boards, and catalogs shifted in the passenger seat. She glanced over and the corner of a demo cd from Kennie caught her eye. She fumbled with it as she started up the freeway onramp. She gave the Tahoe a little more gas and merged, ignoring the angry looks from other drivers. Kennie wanted an opinion about this group she was thinking of signing. Since Cami was nearly tone deaf, the rationale was that if she liked them, they must be good.

The only class Cami ever came close to failing was glee club in the seventh grade. Her teacher finally accepted an extra credit report on the life and death of Glenn Miller that edged her final grade up to passing. Kennie knew the story and liked to use it to back up her trust in Cami’s ability to pick groups and songs with commercial possibilities.

The first track started slow, an instrumental intro, then the verse. Oh yes, In Christ Alone. They sang this in church sometimes. The melody was familiar even if the arrangement was a little different. She listened, relaxing into the seat and stretching her shoulders. The words about Christ alone being her hope, her light, her strength washed over her.

Did she really find her hope in Jesus alone? Check. Through the dark time after the rape, she never complained or asked any “why me?” questions. Paige begged her to open up, and accused her of hiding her true feelings. But Cami had dealt with the emotions during her follow-up counseling.

And did she find her strength in God? Check again.

She was doing better than she thought. Correction: better than Grant and Paige thought.

This was a good song. She pushed the repeat button on the cd player.

Twenty minutes later she pulled into her driveway. A corner of her consciousness noted the red station wagon parked across the street, so she turned to get a good look at it as she let Petey out of the back of the Tahoe.

The driver’s side door of the wagon opened and a man got out and headed across the street. Toward her. What was he doing here? She gripped Petey’s leash. Could she make it to the front door? Should she jump back in the Tahoe? Could she run him over?

God, help me. It’s Patrick.

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

 

Grant’s house is based on my friend Kathy’s home in Fullerton, California. It’s in an average neighborhood, not especially fancy nor humble. But inside … it’s gorgeous. The view from the family room is amazing, looking at the pool and then down to a golf course nestled in the hills below.

 

Chapter Thirty

“Let me show you the view,” Grant said to Mongoose as they all rose and stretched. The two men moved to the terrace as Cami, her gaze vacant, rubbed Petey’s ears.

“Give it to me straight,” Grant said, as soon as the French doors closed behind them. “Is this guy dangerous?”

Mongoose nodded once. “Yeah. He is.”

A knot formed in Grant’s gut. “How can I get her to see it, too?”

“She’s listening, she’s not acknowledging it yet.” Mongoose leaned against the railing and looked out over the golf course. “We’ve got her attention and she’ll come around.”

Grant joined him and pretended to scan the horizon. “Are you sure?” Grant wanted to grasp at Mongoose, beg him for reassurance.

“As sure as I am that you’re a goner.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only to a professional like myself. And your parents. And the stalker.”

The knot tightened again. “You’re right.” Grant said. “I am a goner, but what can I do to protect her?”

Mongoose clapped a hand on his shoulder and directed him back to the doors. “Let’s go figure it out.”

They returned inside to find Cami holding her purse and ready to bolt.

“Thank you, Mongoose,” she said. “It was nice of you to drop what you were doing and come so quickly when Cap asked.” She then thanked Dad and hugged Mom good-bye. Everyone took the hint and got ready to leave too.

Mongoose stopped at the door, shook his hand and looked at him, hard and right in the eyes. “I’ll be in touch.”

Grant nodded his thanks, closed the door behind them and turned to Cami. “Let me drive you to Paige’s,” Grant said.

She didn’t answer, just shook her head.

Her earlier outburst seemed to have drained her. Well, it had been a long day. The luncheon at Ellen’s, the dead bird, then Mongoose’s questions all left her with dark circles under her eyes. She seemed to be shrinking under the burdens she carried. He had never seen her so … he searched for the right word. She was tired, yes, but it was more… defeated. He wanted to put his arms around her and hold her close, to tell her it would be okay. But he was getting better at reading her. She was brittle right now and barely holding herself together.

“Cami.” Grant touched her hand to stop the rummaging for her keys. She continued looking down. Her shoulders sagged as she sat, waiting for him to continue.

“I want to drive you.” No way was he letting her drive anywhere by herself.

“No.” For someone who looked so exhausted, her voice had steel.

Grant let go of her hand and thrust his arm into the sling. “Okay then. Let me grab my toothbrush.” He forced his voice not to show any simmering anger, but the abrupt movements as he tugged on his sleeve to smooth it inside the sling betrayed him.

“What?” She sounded exhausted.

Was it worth it? Adding to her stress? Yeah, it is. “You’re not driving alone,” he said. “I’ll go with you and sleep on Paige’s couch.”

“Grant….” The steel disintegrated as she closed her eyes, retreating into herself as he watched. What could he do that wouldn’t make things worse?

He reached for her hand again. “Cami.” Something stopped him from blurting out the words that would drive her even further inward.

He dropped into the chair next to hers, still holding her hand. He held it gently, turned it over and stroked her palm.

“I should apologize for being so insistent, but I’m scared too.”

“Of what?”

“Of seeing you get hurt. Of losing you.”

“How would you lose me?”

How honest should he be? “This guy started out in love with you, but he’s become possessive to the point that he doesn’t want to share you. Especially with me. I know he doesn’t plan to hurt you, but things happen, plans go wrong. You could be hurt. Or worse.”

“You really think so?”

“Yes, I do. But even more than losing you physically, I’m afraid of losing you emotionally. And I’m scared this will cause you to retreat from life even more than you have already. And that you’ll back away from me in the process.” He searched her eyes and was gratified to see them fill with tears. As long as he could touch her emotions, they still connected. “We were all so shocked by the bird, and then talking to Mongoose, that we haven’t had a chance to discuss it all. You don’t believe it could be Kyle. Why are you so sure?”

“I just know it.” She looked down, not meeting his gaze.

“Can I play devil’s advocate?”

She shrugged.

Maybe he could get her to see the truth herself, rather than forcing it on her. “Let’s do a round of ‘what if.’ What if it is Kyle? How would you feel about being wrong?”

Her hand immediately tensed in his. He ducked his head to look at her face and was unprepared for the anguish he saw.

“Cami?” He let go of her hand so he could tilt her chin up as her tears welled again. “What is it?”

“I…”

“Please tell me. I can tell there’s something I’m missing, help me to see it.”

“I don’t even know if I can put it into words.” Silence filled the space between them as he waited. “How would I feel about being wrong? I would be wrong!” After being so withdrawn, her vehemence surprised him. “I’ve spent years being so careful about who I made friends with, who I dated, and I second-guessed the motives of everyone I met. Except the kids. I always accepted them unconditionally.” Tears spilled onto her cheeks and she let go of his hand to dash them away.

“Really?” He had to ask. “Unconditionally? You never think about them doing drugs or having sex or being SUV vandals?” He had to poke gently there.

“I know those things happen, I’m not naïve. But-” She paused and finally looked up. “Don’t you remember what it was like to grow up in Agua Vida? It’s Mayberry in the middle of Orange County. Our kids are different.”

“You are putting your head in a paint bucket if you think AV kids aren’t into the same things as the kids in Huntington Beach or Newport.” His voice grew heated and she set her jaw.

“If I’m wrong about Kyle,” she said, “it means I have to rethink everything I’ve done and believed for the last two years. What else have I been wrong about? Patrick? Was he really as awful as I thought? And what about you? Are you as wonderful as you seem? This would change not just everything in my life, but me too, in my innermost core. And I don’t know if I can.”

He wanted to stand and cheer. She thought he was wonderful. “If you can what? Change yourself?” He kept his voice casual; the full force of his concern would scare her off.

“I don’t know if I’d be able to trust my own judgment again. If being so careful all these years didn’t protect me, how can I be safe again?”

It was obvious where her logic became fuzzy, but she wouldn’t appreciate having it pointed out. “You’re going to be angry at me, but I think…” She was telling him to do as she said, not as she did. Could he get her to see it herself?

“What?” Her voice rose, reminding him to throw softballs.

He got up and walked to the counter and began cutting the cooled figasa into strips. “Aren’t you always saying that your trust is in God?”

“Yes, and I know what you’re going to say. I do trust God, yet I’ve always felt that He gave me a mind and an intellect and judgment and that I should use them. So I have, but now I find out I’ve been wrong.”

“But there’s a difference between using the resources God has given you to the best of your ability, and doing it all yourself.”

“But-”

“I’m saying, maybe you need to follow your own advice. What was it? ‘Let go and let God.’”

“I’m tired.” Her head drooped until her chin touched her chest.

His arm throbbed in rhythm with the irritation. “Cami, wake up and smell the herbal tea. You’re in trouble. In every way – physically, spiritually, emotionally. And I’m paying the price too. Because I care about you.”

She stared at the ground. He’d gone too far, but she had to hear it. They sat in silence except for the whisper of Petey’s tail against the floor.

“How about if I follow you to Paige’s?” he finally said. “I’ll make sure you get there, then I’ll come back here.”

“Fine.” Her resigned tone hurt him deeper than any words could.

An hour later, Grant walked back into his house after following Cami to Paige’s. They’d driven the speed limit, observing all stop signs on the way. She’d been subdued when he said good-bye, only nodding acknowledgement that he’d call in the morning.

The phone rang as he tossed his keys onto the counter. It better be Cami, apologizing for being so stubborn. A male voice surprised him. “Hi, Grant.”

“Joe? Is that you?”

“Just wanted to say hi and see how you’re feeling. We need you on this road trip. How’s therapy going?”

Joe’s warmth reminded Grant he missed his friend. Which was weird. Was it only how long since he’d thought Joe was annoying? Days? A week?

“Pretty good,” Grant answered. “The doc says I’m making excellent progress. Right on schedule, maybe even a little ahead.”

“That’s good news.” Joe paused and Grant sat on the couch. “Ellen said Cami may have left the luncheon a little beat up.”

“So much has happened since then. I’m sure she’s not thinking about it anymore.”

“What’s going on?”

Grant recapped the events of the last few days. He rolled his shoulders as he talked, tension draining out of his body as the words left his mouth. He’d been so concerned about Cami, the impact on him had accumulated. He needed to talk about it, too. “I just got back from following Cami home when you called,” Grant finished.

“Well, there you go,” Joe said.

“There I go where?”

“That’s your answer.”

Grant sighed. “English please.”

“You’ve been wondering why you were injured, what was God doing. If you were healthy, you’d be here in Seattle with me, instead of Orange County where you can help Cami.”

Grant tossed the idea against the wall of his brain to see if it would stick. It did.

“You there?” Joe asked after a moment.

“Let me get this straight. God made that runner take me out so I fell and tore my shoulder?”

“He knew Cami was going to need you. And the only way you’d be in town was if you were injured. He’s very efficient.”

“Couldn’t He have called? Or rented a billboard? This way is painful.”

“It got your attention, didn’t it?”

“It sure did.” Grant forced a chuckle. “How’s your arm holding out?” They talked a few minutes about the upcoming game before hanging up. Joe promised to stay in touch while on the road.

Grant slipped out of his sling and leaned against the wall, preparing mentally as well as physically for his exercises. As he walked his arm up the wall, his mind percolated with possibilities and what-ifs. Would God really cause an injury to keep him nearby? What would have happened to Cami if he hadn’t been in town this week?

She might have been home the day Petey was poisoned. And if she had been there, she could have been hurt too. Or if she wasn’t there, she might not have returned in time to save Petey’s life. If Grant weren’t here, where would Petey be? Not sharing this house with him and Orca, that’s for sure. And for that matter, where would Cami be? Probably still living at home, in denial and in danger.

He sagged against the wall, letting his arm dangle, the soreness in his shoulder working its way out. Along with the tenderness, doubt and defiance seeped away as he stood motionless, still leaning against the wall, head down and all his weight on the bad arm.

The emptiness pushed down, driving him into a black void that invited him in. He stood on the edge, peering over the side.

What was down there? A life without God. Being in control, doing things his own way, no “higher power” to answer to. The abyss beckoned. He closed his eyes.

After a moment, they snapped opened, his decision made.

“Okay, God,” he said. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m tired of second guessing you. Hear that? You’re in charge from now on.” He turned and slid down the wall until he sat on the floor. He looked up, eyeing the ceiling. A cobweb sagged in a corner. At a time like this, should he be noticing what the cleaning woman missed?

“What’s next?” he said. “Isn’t there supposed to be a party going on?” He remembered hearing about the angels rejoicing when someone repents. Was that what he’d done? He’d watched enough televangelists to know he should be euphoric, pain free, and with a perfectly working shoulder. He wiggled his arm a bit and shrugged at the twinge.

Petey padded over, dropped to the floor and laid his head on Grant’s thigh. He rubbed the furrow between the dog’s eyes and minutes passed. He did feel a bit different. A new peace surrounded him. What had Joe said, that God was efficient? Grant chuckled. Maybe this injury had kept him in town so he’d release the grip he’d had on his life.

“It was a ‘two birds’ kind of thing,” he said. Petey jumped to his feet. “Take it easy, not a real bird. It’s a metaphor.” The dog gave him a baleful glare. Grant stared back until Petey sighed and flopped down again. They continued sitting in companionable silence.

Grant closed his eyes. The thought of Someone else calling the pitches felt good. He was tired of struggling, tired of watching his back for the younger, stronger players. And tired of fighting Cami. At first, it felt like he’d been fighting for her, but now…

“What are we going to do about that woman, Petey?” The dog sighed and his tail quavered. “I can’t keep forcing her. She doesn’t want to listen, she doesn’t want to see the truth.”

The phone rang and Grant jumped. He shifted Petey’s head and reached for the receiver on the nearby table. “Hello?”

“Grant. Mongoose.”

“Yes?” The monosyllabic military habits had been ingrained into Grant’s psyche since birth.

“Tell Miss Henderson to get out of town for a while.”

His earlier frustration erupted. “Did you meet the Camille Henderson that was here? She won’t listen to me!”

“Try.” Mongoose rang off, leaving Grant unnerved. Now what?

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

The plot is thickening!

Curve Ball

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mongoose settled back into his chair. The sun had dropped below the horizon behind the house. Cami looked past Mongoose and, through the windows, watched the gray shadows lengthen. Sighing, she faced him. Better get this over with.

“There’s no ‘typical’ stalker,” Mongoose began. “There are some characteristics that are fairly common, but there is no single profile. Some stalkers are obsessed with a celebrity. You hear about those in the news.” He paused and looked her in the eye. “But most harassers know their victim. Some of what I’m going to tell you is supposition, what I’ve surmised from talking to you.”

Cami nodded. “Okay,” she said, intrigued in spite of herself.

“Kyle is of above average intelligence, but a bit of a loner.”

“No, that’s wrong.” Relief washed over her. This was going to be over quickly.

“Why?”

“Kyle has lots of friends.”

“Name three.”

“Anthony Collins. And Tara. And …” her voice trailed off. “He’s on the baseball team, he must have other friends.” Think. Who did Kyle hang out with at church?

“Is Kyle the center of that group with Anthony and Tara? Or is he just alongside them?”

“Well…” She searched her memory for images of Kyle at school or church. “Kyle and Anthony have been friends for as long as I’ve known them. Tara is Anthony’s girlfriend, so I suppose mostly Kyle is just there.” A picture of the youth group Burger Bash last year flashed into her mind.

“What?” How did Mongoose know she’d thought of something?

“I’m remembering the three of them at a picnic. Tara and Anthony sat on a blanket with Kyle on a bench a few feet away. I saw Tara whispering in Anthony’s ear and looking at Kyle who was sitting and staring into space.”

“You can be in a crowd and still be an outsider. As I was saying, a bit of a loner. Also, he’s insecure, has self-esteem issues.”

“He’s a teenager.” So far, all the so-called evidence could point to anyone.

“To a larger degree than the average young adult.”

Cami shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Time to call up the pinch hitter.” Mongoose smiled at Grant. “I’m going to take a couple shots in the dark.”

“Have you always talked in clichés?” Grant spoke for the first time in this interchange.

“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” Cap said.

The room erupted in laughter. Even Mongoose leaned back again and roared. Cami wiped her eyes and continued to giggle as the others subsided. The brief hilarity broke the tension pressing on her, making her feel that she wanted nothing more than to sleep until the World Series began.

“Good one, Cap. You got me.” Mongoose ran his hand over the back of his neck and looked at Cami. “You ready to hear my ideas?”

“Yes, sir.” She forced her mouth into a straight line and willed her amusement to stay bottled up.

“You’ve known Kyle for a long time, years you said. You’ve always been nice to him, friendly like you are to all your students. But when the fall semester started, he began reacting differently.”

“Different in what way?” Cami asked. “As far as I can recall, he’s been the same as always.”

“When you point out something he’s done right, say an excellent hit or a nice drawing, instead of accepting the compliment, he obsesses over it. He’ll come up to you after and ask if you really meant what you said, that his was the best still life sketch or whatever that assignment was.”

Cami’s breath expelled but no new air came in. She was suspended in space as another memory surfaced.

Kyle had stopped her after church one day and asked if she really liked his pencil drawing of the beach. She said she could see the sand swirling in the wind. His face glowed as he left.

“How did you know that?” She forced her lungs to expand and her tongue to form words.

He ignored her. “One day, he asked for some extra tutoring help and you couldn’t do it. Maybe you had an appointment, a legitimate reason for declining. But he took it personally, and withdrew emotionally for a while. Then gifts started showing up. Some candy one day, a little clay figurine the next.”

The jellybeans in her backpack jumped up and down, getting her attention. Trying to keep a stoic expression on her face, Cami racked her brain. When had they appeared?

“And at home,” Mongoose continued, his eyes intent on hers. “Flowers, maybe. Then the harassment started. Phone calls. A feeling you were being followed or someone was watching you. Things escalated. Your home was vandalized. Your dog threatened.”

“You told him!” Cami looked past Mongoose to glare at Grant’s dad. Cap shook his head.

“No, Cami.” Mongoose reached out and placed a beefy hand on her knee. “Cap only told me you were being harassed. I know how these things play out.”

Cami stared at him. Grant put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close as Mongoose withdrew his hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Grant murmured.

“I have to go.” She brushed him off and started to rise, but her legs decided they weren’t ready. She sat back down, bewildered by what was happening. Petey rose from his corner across the room, and placed his chin where Mongoose’s hand rested a moment ago. Petey looked into her eyes, his face a picture of concern. She rubbed his ears, feeling the velvety softness, and forced herself to be calm.

“You can’t go,” Grant said. “It’s not safe.”

A flash of irritation surged through her.

“What do you mean I can’t go? I am going. Why are you forcing me to sit here and listen to this? I thought you cared for me.”

Grant looked as stunned as if her words had physically struck him.

“I do.” His voice was quiet, but his eyes flamed.

Cami forced herself to breathe in and out a couple of times.

“This is bizarre. I’m sitting here listening to you tell me that one of my friends is crazy. And evil.”

“It’s hard to hear and process.” Mongoose stood. “Maybe we should finish this tomorrow, it’s getting late.”

Cami looked out the window again. Night had fallen. The darkness outside seemed palpable, pressing on the windows, forcing its presence into her heart.

“Maybe we should.” She grasped at the convenient excuse to stop. And she’d heard all she intended to. This Mongoose guy didn’t know her and she was letting him tell her things that couldn’t be true. They couldn’t be. But whom was she convincing? Herself or the others?



Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

Happy New Year! It’s been a whole year of Fiction Friday. We have a few weeks left of Curve Ball, then I’m not sure what will be next. Maybe another of my practice novels that will never be published…? I hope I don’t have any more of those, but I probably do. Sigh… Here’s to 2011!

------------

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Cami stared in horror, bile rising in her throat. She ran to the sink, barely making it. Mortified, she turned back to the others. Absolute silence resonated as everyone gaped at the brown and tan feathers scattered on the table around the sparrow. Grant leapt to his feet, grabbed the envelope and swept the bird into it. Petey tried to grab the package, then sank to the floor with a disgusted sigh as Grant threw it into the trash.

“Who-” Peg didn’t finish her question. They all knew the answer.

“I hate this!” Cami cried. “This is sick, just sick. What’s next?” She wanted to lay her head on the table and sob.

“That’s it.” Grant strode to the phone, and then stood holding the receiver. “I don’t know who to call. Not 911. And Detective Bermudez will have more useless platitudes.” He slammed the phone into its cradle and moved to gather Cami in an embrace. She longed to collapse and cry, to break down and wail. For a moment she relaxed into his arms. But only for a moment. Then she stuffed those emotions back into their box and spoke in a still shaky voice. “We have to get it out of the garbage. The police will want to see it.”

Grant stared into the trash container before pulling the envelope out and taking it back to the laundry room. He returned as Cap picked up the phone and stepped out the French doors onto the patio. Cami could see him talking, his face somber.

She looked up at Grant. “There’s no way this is one of my students, or anyone at the center. No one I know would do such a horrible, despicable thing.”

Grant stared at her. “You still don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Surely he wasn’t going to keep insisting a kid would do this?

“This is someone who knows you, and you know him. But when you see him face to face, he’s only showing you what he wants you to see. This evil is his true self.”

“If you’re right then I have to second guess my feelings about everyone I know. If I can’t trust my feelings, I have nothing left.” She looked away as she realized what she’d said. It was the first time she’d ever admitted that to herself, never mind out loud.

“Cami – you don’t mean that.” She’d forgotten Peg still sat at the table.

“If I’m so easily fooled and manipulated, then I can’t trust myself to know truth when I hear it.” Cami folded her arms across her chest.

Mr. Andrews came back into the kitchen and hung up the phone.

“I called Mongoose.”

“Do you think that’s necessary?” Peg’s tone was aghast.

“Great, Dad, thanks,” Grant said.

“Who’s Mongoose?” Cami asked.

“A buddy of Dad’s, from the Navy,” Grant answered. “He’s former PSYOP.”

Cami stared at Cap. “What do you do in the Navy?”

He smiled reassuringly. “I’m just a logistician. I make sure personnel get where they’re supposed to be when they’re needed. I’ve made a few friends along the way. Mongoose is retired, but he’s a consultant now, specializing in kidnap and hostage negotiations. I caught him between jobs, he’s on his way here.”

“I don’t think I need anyone like that,” Cami said. Did she? But it was nice of Cap to call a friend and ask a favor for her. “I appreciate the offer and I know you mean well, but-”

Grant interrupted. “Just meet with Mongoose. That won’t hurt anything, will it? At least tell him what’s going on and get his perspective on it.”

As Cami considered, her head waggled. It would be a waste of time, but if it would make Grant feel better, she could spend an evening talking with his friend. “I guess it’s okay.”

“Great.” Grant hugged her, while Cap looked at her with appraising eyes. She returned his gaze, not sure he was just a logistician.

Peg brewed more tea. The strong flavor and shots of caffeine helped them spend the next twenty minutes pretending everything was normal. The light knock at the front of the house was a relief. Cami felt the tension drop as Grant opened the door.

Cami had been wrong in her presumption about this old friend of Cap’s. Mongoose was slightly taller than she was, and had some overlap of his belt. She’d visualized someone tall and lean, the proverbial soldier of fortune. This man looked like her Uncle Manny: brown hair a little long on the collar, and a coffee stain on his sport shirt but he carried himself like a soldier. Straight back and firm hand shake.

He greeted Cap, Peg, and Grant who stepped to Cami’s side.

“This is Camille Henderson. Dad called you about her problem.”

“Yes.” Mongoose held her hand for a moment as his eyes bore into hers. She involuntarily looked to Grant for reassurance, he nodded and smiled back at her.

“Miss Henderson, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Vic Aldrich, but please call me Mongoose. Cap says you need help. Tell me about it.”

Cami sighed and looked at the others. “I’m not convinced you can do anything.”

“At least tell me what happened. To not talk after I’m here would be a waste of Cap’s phone call. If I don’t have any ideas, I’ll be honest with you.” Mongoose didn’t even look at Cap who didn’t seem insulted.

“I guess it won’t hurt.” Cami sat down again at the kitchen table. She forced herself to sip the tea, cold now, but it gave her hands something to do. “There have been some odd things happening that could be explained by a stalker if my life were a ‘Movie of the Week.’ But I don’t believe anyone I know is capable of all this.”

“Like what?” Mongoose sipped from the cup Peg placed in front of him. She seemed to know what he would want without asking. Peg and Cap leaned against the counter behind her interrogator. Grant looked from Cami to the three people across from her then pulled a chair out and sat next to her as she began to talk. His arm rested against the back of her chair. She drew a deep breath, feeling better with him beside her.

“Some phone calls at first. Anonymous cards and notes. Then my car was vandalized. Today I opened my mail and a dead bird fell out. A little sparrow.” Cami shuddered as she remembered the still form tumbling out of the envelope.

“When did the calls start?”

She knew this one. “February.”

“So three months? Give or take.” Mongoose had not changed position or moved his eyes from hers since he started asking questions.

“I guess so.”

“And the notes?”

“Definitely Valentine’s Day. I thought, and still think, they were anonymous students.” She had to look away, he was so intense.

“You’re a teacher?”

“I‘m actually a painter. But I do teach art enrichment at the Agua Vida rec center.”

“Has anyone ever boxed you in?”

“What do you mean?”

“Obstructed your way out of a room, so you felt trapped. Or blocked you inside a parking space.”

“Well….” A few weeks ago, she took Petey to the beach for a run and returned to her car to find it hemmed in by an old wreck. She’d waited an hour for its owner to return and move it. Just as she gave up and called the police, two kids from church had showed up and pushed it out of her way. She’d thought nothing more of the incident. She told the story now, her earlier fear returning. She folded her arms across her chest, to hide the shaking.

“Which kids?” Grant asked.

Mongoose’s eyes narrowed as she breathed in and debated whether to evade the question. Something in that dark gaze compelled her to answer with the truth.

“Kyle and Anthony.”

Grant’s left hand gripped her arm. “And you’re just now remembering that?”

“I never connected it with the phone calls. And I still don’t.” She shook her head and looked at Mongoose. “I will not accept that this is one of my students.”

“I understand.” He leaned back in his chair and took another sip from his mug. “Let’s talk about something else, get acquainted. How long have you known Grant?”

“Years.” She forced a smile. “We went to Woodrow Wilson High together. But we met again a few weeks ago. And you?”

“Since he could toss a ball up in the air. He’d stand in the backyard for hours, throwing and catching. He missed a lot more in those days than he does now.”

Cami unfolded her arms and leaned back in the chair. She glanced at Grant who was looking at Mongoose with a mystified expression. Cap and Peg still stood behind their friend. Cap’s arms were folded across his chest, while Peg’s hands were on her hips. They exchanged a glance before Cap raised his chin at Grant.

“What’s going on?” Foreboding crept up Cami’s spine.

Mongoose frowned before answering. “Grant doesn’t like to be reminded of those days before fielding grounders became second nature.”

“Cap said you retired from the Navy.” They weren’t simply getting acquainted, but she would play along.

“I do consulting work now, mostly in the area of negotiations.”

“Like ransom demands?”

“Sometimes. Usually it’s boring corporate contracts.”

“What’s PSYOPs?”

“Psychological Operations.”

“Was Cap?” Maybe the change of subject would distract him.

Mongoose smiled at her. “Cap’s a pencil pusher.”

“I resent that.” The pencil pusher spoke up.

“You can resent it, but you can’t deny it.” Mongoose’s eyes never left Cami’s as she shifted in her seat, exposed and raw. Could Mongoose see into her soul? Looking like he could read her thoughts, he leaned in his chair, tilting so far back he looked at Cap and Peg behind him.

“How much longer are you gonna sit behind that desk anyway?” Mongoose asked his friend.

“Two more years. You know that.”

“Tell me about Kyle and Anthony.” The legs of his chair hadn’t touched the floor when Mongoose’s question snapped Cami’s attention back to him. She jumped.

“Is this a negotiation?”

“You tell me about your students, I’ll tell you anything you want to know about the Andrews family.”

Cami considered. Kyle and Anthony weren’t stalkers, so this could be a way to persuade Grant she was right. And she’d learn a little more about him and his family in the meantime. “Deal. You go first.”

“I asked you a question. You answer and you get to ask one.”

“They’re both seniors at Woodrow Wilson High. Kyle is smart, he’s applying to PAC-Ten schools, and he plays baseball. So does Anthony, but he’s not in Kyle’s league. Where did you meet Grant?”

“Okinawa. He was three and partial to a droopy, dirty stuffed animal he called Mr. Bear.”

“Hey.” Grant stood up from beside Cami where he’d been watching their interplay. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“You’re collateral.” Mongoose’s eyes never left Cami’s. “Do you know Kyle’s and Anthony’s families?”

“Kyle goes to my church. I met Anthony’s mother at a Christmas party at the rec center.” She cast her mind around for a topic to distract him with. Then she saw her mail still on the table and the corner of the collectibles catalog gave her an idea. “Who was Grant’s favorite super-hero?”

“Peter Parker. Is Kyle’s family intact?”

“Are his parents still married to each other? No. Is there a sport Grant isn’t good at?” Cami relaxed a little.

“He can’t bowl and he stinks at croquet.” Mongoose stood, walked to the stove, and filled his mug with hot water. “Kyle is your stalker.”

“You got that from a few random questions?” Her ease disappeared and a gnawing disquiet took its place.

“I am a professional.”

His confidence mocked her and suddenly Cami wanted nothing more than to leave the room. She got to her feet.

“It’s not Kyle,” she said with certainty. “Or Anthony. Or any other student.”

Mongoose crossed the room with a quickness that belied his sloppy appearance and took her hands in his.

“Miss Henderson, I don’t mean to sound flip, but I am a professional. I’ve been doing this for a very long time. If I tell you some things about Kyle, and they’re true, will you consider the possibility?”

Cami stared into his eyes, then felt Grant’s gentle hand on her shoulder.

“I know you don’t want to believe it, but you need to know the truth,” he said. “I promise, whatever it is, I’ll be here.”

Grant’s certainty concerned her. Would he keep his promise, even when it turned out he was wrong and it was a psychotic stranger? She ignored the doubt about Kyle that had gone from tapping on her consciousness to running at it with a battering ram of reason and logic.

Grant stood behind her chair, waiting. He’d been so patient. Would he get tired of her stubbornness? And of her?

She sat with a resigned shrug. “Okay. Convince me.”

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

I also did some research on stalkers to get some of these details right.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Grant stood, hands on hips, the sling on his right arm askew, as he delivered the lecture. He looked down, sorrowful at having to speak so strongly. “I’m disappointed in you. I expected better.” He shook his head. “I want to trust you but you’ll have to earn that back.”

Petey’s shoulders drooped, like he understood Grant’s words and was sorry. Grant pointed into the laundry room the dog had destroyed. “Who’s going to clean that? You tore up some of Cami’s mail. You scattered the food she brought. That was supposed to last all week. What happened to the wimpy dog we all know and love?”

Petey stood and shuddered, like he was shaking off the reprimand and getting ready to ruin the rest of the house. “Am I going to have to keep you confined to one room? I don’t want to treat you like a two-year old, Petey. But I will if you insist.”

Grant exhaled, blowing out irritation as well as pent up air. “After telling me her story yesterday, she’s going to be fragile today. She’ll need me to be supportive, which will be hard if I’m mad at you.” Now he was talking to himself, instead of Petey. That dog was on his last nerve, pacing and moping. The demolition of the laundry room when Grant had been busy activating yeast and measuring flour finished off his patience.

Petey stared at him, as if wondering what Grant was so concerned about. “Okay. I need to start the figasa dough rising and Cami will be here any minute. Can I trust you to stay out of trouble?”

Petey flopped down on the kitchen floor, but kept an eye on the laundry room, as if he didn’t want whatever was in there out of sight. Grant poked his head in as well, but the vision of the slobber-encrusted floor, scattered dog food, and mangled envelopes sent him back to the kitchen. Figasa first, clean-up next.

He set the bowl of dough on the island as the doorbell rang. Finally. He wiped his hands on the towel slung over his shoulder as Petey clambered to his feet and rushed to the entryway.

“Who is it, Petey? Is Cami here?” The dog whined, getting louder as Grant moved closer to the front door. Grant fumbled with the doorknob and dead bolt as Petey’s distress increased in proportion to how long it took to get the door unlocked. Grant finally opened it to Cami waiting on the porch. Petey hurled himself at her, crying with what could only be joy.

She dropped her purse as she buried her face in his neck. Grant waited for her to stand and greet him, but she sat on the floor and continued to pet Petey.

“You must be feeling better,” she said to him.

“He’s fine,” Grant said, more of an edge in his tone than he’d intended.

“Is something wrong?” She finally looked up and met his gaze.

He took a deep breath. Get a grip. “Let’s say he’s been waiting impatiently, and it’s contagious. He’s glad you’re here. I’m ecstatic.”

She flushed, and he set his teeth. She hadn’t even made it all the way inside the house and he’d already managed to stir her insecurity. Maybe he should have lectured himself rather than the dog. How could he convince this woman she was special? She saw herself as damaged but to him, she was uncommonly sensitive and compassionate. He’d seen it in her interactions with Anita at the laser tag arcade, and with Ellen Spencer.

She returned her attention to the dog. Exasperation continued to nibble at him as he offered his left hand. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”

She took his hand and pulled herself up. He wrapped his good arm around her in an embrace. She was stiff, not at all the woman who’d left last night. He smothered a sigh, released her, and led the way into the kitchen. “I’m making figasa and it’s almost done rising.” He indicated the table and chairs set in the bay window overlooking the golf course. She dropped into a chair and Petey set a paw on her lap.

“I know, sweetie,” she said, rubbing his muzzle. “I miss you, too. How is Grant treating you?”

“Better than he deserves. Orca, on the other hand….” He let his voice trail off. He needed to tell her about the destruction, but a few minutes of chatter would help ease into it.

“Is that cat mean to my boy?” She continued running her hands over the dog’s nose and past his ears. “What’s he done that’s so awful?” She sounded defensive and he spoke quickly to let her know how annoying Petey had been.

“Besides the constant whining and pacing and looking for you? He got into the bag of dog food and treats you brought over yesterday and tore it all up. You had some mail in there, too. My laundry nook looks worse than the locker room after a double header.” He filled the stainless steel teakettle with water and set it on the stove. He turned the burner on, then leaned against the island, legs and arms crossed in front of him.

“He’s not being intentionally bad,” she said. “He’s been through a traumatic experience. He’s in a strange place. With a cat and without me.” She wrapped both arms around the dog’s head, as if protecting him from any more danger.

Petey huffed with contentment. Or victory. Grant wasn’t sure which. “I know, and I’m trying to be understanding.” But you haven’t seen the floor in there, he thought. Better change the subject. “How was the luncheon?”

“Interesting.” Her voice lightened. “I met your replacement’s wife. Ellen put me between her and Yvonne West.”

“Did you do something to tick her off?” He forced a chuckle to lighten the atmosphere. “Ellen is the most even-tempered person I know.”

“She put me by Melinda Wrightson because we were both new but she forgot about the whole replacement thing. And, someone had to sit by Yvonne.”

“Lucky you. Did you get coerced- I mean volunteer for anything?”

“I had lectured Melinda about saying no to things she wasn’t interested in. And since she was listening to every word, I had to practice what I’d preached.”

“Good for you.”

“The whole day seemed weird though.”

“How?” The kettle began to whistle. He poured the boiling water over a Lipton tea bag and set the mug in front of her. “Sorry, I’m out of Raspberry Delight and Lemon Passion.”

“This is great, thanks.” She cupped her hands around it. “I’m not used to all the designer clothes and everyone’s perfect looks. I felt seriously out of place with paint under my nails instead of polish on them, hair that takes up a whole extra seat at the movies, and no initials on my purse.”

Curious, he asked the obvious question. “Do you want that stuff?” He hadn’t thought a Rolex or Jag would impress her.

“I never did. But looking around today, I started to see how people get sucked into the mindset where it matters what name is on their clothes. I didn’t like it.”

“I don’t care what name is on your stuff.”

“I know. And I love that about you.”

His neck got hot. She had to have realized what she’d said because she was staring intently into her tea. She took a gulp from the mug, and then turned red as it must have scalded her tongue.

A timer went off and he grinned, turning his back to hide it. “I want you to finish that thought in a minute.” He ducked out of his sling as he moved around the center island and brought the heavy ceramic bowl from the counter. He sprinkled flour on the marble slab, then tipped out a mound of dough. A soft cloud rose. Setting the bowl aside, he plunged his fist into the middle of the mass and began to knead.

“Is it okay for your shoulder to be doing that?” she asked.

“Just like some of my exercises.” It did pull a little, but no worse than therapy.

She moved to a stool and watched as he folded the top half of the dough down, pushed it into the bottom half, shifted the whole thing a quarter turn and repeated. They talked about the luncheon as he worked.

He had already sprayed a large baking sheet with olive oil. Keeping the dough cradled in both hands, he slipped it onto the pan, then working from the middle out, he pressed with both fists, spreading the soft dough until it covered the pan. He finished with a brushing of more olive oil across the top, pricked it all over with a fork and then a sprinkling of coarse salt. It would later be served warm with sliced salami and wedges of dry jack cheese.

“350 degrees for thirty minutes.” After sliding it into the oven, he began washing the bowl and other dishes.

“Let me do that.” Cami stood and took the dishrag from him.

“I’ll never argue with a lady who wants to do dishes.” And who felt at home in his kitchen.

They traded spots as she finished the washing. Twenty minutes later, she put the last dish away.

“Let’s sit,” Grant said. Finally, the chance for a few minutes alone with her.

The doorbell rang. Great. Petey looked up, found Cami, and laid his head down again.

“If it’s not you, he’s not interested.” Grant went to the entry and opened the front door. His parents stood on the porch.

They walked in, Mom practically in the middle of a sentence. “-thing smells good.”

“I just put figasa in the oven.” He returned her hug and cocked his head toward the kitchen.

“I’m such a good mother.”

He laughed out loud. “How do you figure that? Not that you aren’t.”

“I must have done something right to raise a son who will bake for his mother.” She saw Cami as they entered the kitchen. “Never mind. Now I know who you’re baking for, and it’s not your mother.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” he protested.

“Nice try. Hi, dear.” She hugged Cami who stood and shook Dad’s outstretched hand.

“We dropped by to see how your therapy was going.” Mom bent over to scratch Petey’s head. “Is this the invalid?”

“That’s him,” Cami said. “He’s feeling much better. But he had me worried.”

“What’s this about a stalker? Grant told us a little bit.” She sat at the kitchen table and Cami joined her.

Uh oh. Grant leaned against the counter next to Dad and tried to send a message via body language. Don’t be a military problem solver. Just listen. Don’t give her any reason to get mad at me for telling you.

“Someone has been watching and following me.” Cami recapped a few events of the past weeks.

“Are you okay?” Mom asked.

“Physically, I’m fine.” Cami paused before continuing. “Mentally and emotionally, I have good days and bad.”

“I don’t wonder.”

“It’s a student.” Dad spoke at last.

Grant shot him a glance. “Wait a-” he said, ready to argue.

Dad silenced him with a glance, like when Grant was eight and had skipped a scout meeting for a trip to the batting cage with a friend. But he wasn’t a kid and Cami wasn’t Jimmy Farris with a stance problem. He tried a different tactic. “Why do you think so?”

“It adds up. Sounds like most things have happened during non-school hours.”

“But couldn’t it be someone from a job site? Or the rec center?” Cami asked.

“Could be. But there’s an immaturity to the vandalism that screams ‘adolescent.’ Antifreeze is readily available. If it were an adult, he’d take pride in using something harder to get hold of. Like cyanide or strychnine. To prove he’s serious.”

Alarm clouded her eyes. “But you’re talking about kids.”

“Now, Cap,” Mom said, “don’t go scaring her with speculation.”

“Evil can be found at any age.” Dad hadn’t moved, standing like a sentinel next to Grant, arms folded and intently focused on Cami.

“I know that’s true.” She searched her tea mug again.

Grant’s timer went off and he moved to the oven. Maybe a distraction would help. “Petey hasn’t been fed yet, Cami,” he said. “Do you want to do it?” Then he remembered the state of the laundry room. He hadn’t had a chance to clean it up after Petey’s rampage.

“I’d love to.” She stepped into the adjacent laundry room where she’d left the sack of supplies for the dog last night. Sounds of dismay came from her direction.

He moved to the doorway as she glanced around. “Hard to know where to start, isn’t it?”

“I am so sorry. I had no idea.” She grabbed the broom leaning against the washing machine and began sweeping up kibble and bits of shredded flyers and envelopes. Petey trotted in and nosed at the mail. “Bad dog.” She glared at him and he sat with what sounded like a sigh of disgust.

Grant backed up. “Leave it for later,” he called. “Just feed him and come back in here.” He shot Dad a look, trying to tell him she needed tenderness, not tough love. And not a military debriefing. Dad looked right back.

Mom asked Grant about his shoulder as Cami returned with a scoop of dog food that she deposited into the navy blue ceramic dish with Petey’s name on it in white script.

“Getting stronger every day,” he answered, watching Cami sit and sort through the stack of bills and letters.

“I just want to throw the junk away,” she said, flipping through it and setting most of the stack aside. At the bottom was a large padded envelope. She looked it over, then shrugged and ripped open the end. Tipping it, she shook the contents onto the table in front of her.

A scream died in her throat as a dead bird tumbled out.

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

The movie scene is based on real life. My husband and I watched Master and Commander  and after the ship’s doctor operated on himself, Dave said he was just as manly and strong and macho, then he could barely get up out of his chair. He’d worked outside all day and got stiff and sore. I laughed and knew Grant would say the same thing.

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Chapter Twenty-Six

Grant served Cami dinner and they spent the evening watching an old western movie on television. All during the show, she gave Grant sideways glances. Yes, he was still there. His jaw clenched during the action scenes and she had to force herself not to reach out and try to smooth away the tension. Finally, the closing credits rolled and she stood and stretched.

“Someone who can operate on himself,” Cami said, referring to a scene from the movie. “Now that’s a tough guy.”

“Reminds me of myself,” Grant said as he unfolded his stiff right arm and tried to stand. “Ouch. Can you give me a hand?”

Cami’s laughter woke Petey from a doze. He sniffed, relaxing as he confirmed her presence.

“I don’t like the thought of you driving to Paige’s by yourself,” Grant said.

“I’ll be fine. No one knows I’m here or where I’m staying.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” He extended his right arm over his head and leaned left.

“That luncheon at Ellen’s, remember?”

“Oh, right. Are you coming to see Petey?”

“I thought I’d swing by after. Is that okay?”

When Grant didn’t answer, she looked at him. Here it came, she was sure. How would he say it, that he never wanted to see her again?

But he was grinning and then he winked. “It’s great.”

“You stinker.” She laughed, not sure if she should be relieved or outraged. Gratitude won though. He felt okay with it all enough to tease her.

Cami leaned over the dog and ran her hand along his muzzle. Petey’s soft nose comforted her as much as her nephew Austin’s blankie did him after a bad dream.

“I’ll take good care of him.” Grant read her mind.

“I know.”

She picked up her purse and moved to the front entry. Petey followed. Grant snapped the leash on the dog’s collar and opened the door. Man and beast walked her out.

“Thank you again,” he said.

“What for?”

“For trusting me and sharing your story.”

“It was scary.” She hunted for her keys, thankful for an excuse not to meet his gaze. Was she ready for whatever came next?

He seemed to sense her emotional retreat because he cupped her chin in his left palm and brushed her lips with his thumb. “And I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” She wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips on hers. Instead, she grabbed her key chain, clicked the alarm off and climbed into the driver’s seat. “I’ve got to go. Thanks again for dinner. And Petey, and - ”

“Enough of this mutual thanks society we’ve got going here. Call me when you get inside Paige’s. And if I haven’t heard from you in fifteen minutes, I’ll come looking.”

She waved goodbye and backed out. Glancing in her rear view mirror before turning the corner, she saw him watching from the driveway.

The next morning, as Cami drove to the luncheon, she called Grant to check on Petey and got an update. Everything was fine.

She parked in front of the Spencer’s home a little early. Sitting in front of the sprawling ranch house, she wondered what she was doing there. She’d been so preoccupied with Petey that she’d accepted without thinking about it. So, why did Ellen invite her?

A few minutes later, she asked Ellen that question as they walked onto the back patio where they’d had dinner a few nights earlier.
“A couple times a year I invite all the wives and steady girlfriends of the players to lunch or tea. Joe makes friends with the athletes and I do the same with the women. You’re a new friend and I wanted you here.” Ellen threw an arm around Cami’s shoulders and hugged her. That was so sweet. Cami hugged back, and they stepped onto the patio.

Cami helped Ellen arrange centerpieces on tables and light tiki torches scattered amongst the shrubbery. The back yard had been transformed into a tropical oasis. The waterfall sprouted hanging ferns, and bright flowers floated on the pool. Hawaiian music could be heard over the sound of falling water.

“Did you do all this yourself?” Cami asked.

“Most of it. We usually do luau-type parties, so I’ve been collecting decorations for a few years. I rent extra tables and chairs and the linens. My sister is a caterer, and it’s easier to pay her to do the food than try and do it myself. We hire teenagers from church to serve.”

“It’s a set from South Pacific. Just gorgeous.”

The French doors opened and Yvonne West joined them.

Ellen greeted the wife of the Coyote’s General Manager. “Yvonne, so nice to see you. Have you met Camille Henderson?”

“I believe so. Grant Andrews’ latest, isn’t that right?”

Cami flushed and looked for a hole to fall into.

“Yvonne, you make it sound like Grant’s a sailor with a woman in every port. He’s not into the groupies, you know that,” Ellen said.

“Of course. I was only teasing.” Mrs. West accepted Ellen’s rebuke with grace. She extended her hand in Cami’s direction. Cami took it, but the other woman’s refusal to firm her grip into a real handshake told Cami the apology was for Ellen’s benefit.

“Please forgive me, Miss Henderson.”

The perfunctory words toppled Cami’s already fragile composure. Her eyes filled and she looked away. “Certainly.” She excused herself and escaped into the bathroom where she leaned over the sink to splash cool water on her face.

“What a hateful woman. See if I ever help her with one of her precious literacy programs.” Speaking quietly into the mirror helped. She blotted moisture from her cheeks with one of Ellen’s guest towels and stared at her reflection. Wisps of hair were already curling in the warm humidity of the backyard.

Great. She didn’t need this, especially after the last few days. Stress over Petey, the talk with Grant last night and now this … woman. Cami gripped the edge of the sink and stared at her reflection. You can do it. Go out there, smile, make some small talk, eat lunch. And then get the heck out. After touching up her lipstick, she returned to the battleground, er… party where more guests had arrived.

That was odd. Both Cinda and Delia stood by the pool. Cinda’s husband was a player, but why was Delia here?

“Hi Cami,” Delia said as she walked by.

“Um, hi?” Cami heard the tentative tone and cleared her throat before continuing. “How are you?” But Delia had turned away to continue a conversation with a redhead in a strapless green sundress.

Relieved from the need to make nice, she looked for Ellen. If Cami could keep busy helping with hostess duties, she’d be saved from any more forced socializing.

Ellen emerged from the house with an ice bucket.

“There you are,” Cami said. “What can I do to help?”

“Put this on the table with the drinks.” Ellen gave her a quizzical look.

“Glad to.” Cami smiled brightly as she took the container to where tubs of iced drinks sat.

“Can you believe she still hasn’t hired extra help for this?” Cinda dug around in the bright plastic container, pulling out cans and dropping them back in, not finding what she wanted.

“What do you mean?” Cami asked.

“Every year Ellen has all the women over. And every year we’re fending for ourselves, having to dig through these tubs like dogs looking for bones. All I want is a diet soda. You’d think she’d hire a bartender, Joe makes enough.”

“Well, I like it. It feels comfortable. Just like Joe and Ellen.”

“Oh yes, they’re comfortable all right.” Cinda found what she was looking for and walked off, flinging drops of ice water from her fingertips.

Cami set the ice bucket on the table and rearranged the colorful plastic cups, mixing up the tropical shades into a mosaic of turquoise, purple, yellow, and orange. She also took a moment to dig through the ice and make sure an assortment of drinks was near the top. As she chose a can and popped it open, she looked around at the other guests.

There sure were a lot of designer labels here. More than she’d ever seen in one place. Hmmm. She wondered if there were enough initials on purses to anagram into other words. Lots of F’s, D’s, B’s, and C’s. Not enough vowels to do anything with though. She amused herself for a moment, seeing the scene at a boutique clearance sale. The redhead would sucker punch Delia for a hobo bag. Oh, get real, she sighed. These women didn’t need to worry about sales or outlet shopping.

Ellen stepped outside and asked everyone to find her seat. Place cards were on the tables and Cami found hers between Yvonne West and a young woman she didn’t know. Great. She picked up her place card and thought about switching it, but she’d been seen. Forcing a smile, she replaced it in the pineapple wedge holder and introduced herself to the stranger who had watched her predicament.

“Pleased to meet you,” came the reply. “I’m Melinda Wrightson.” She spoke so softly, Cami had to strain to hear her.

“Are you married to one of the players?” Cami asked.

“Larry Wrightson, the new shortstop. And you?”

“I’m dating the old shortstop.”

“Oh.”

The silence echoed louder than the chatter surrounding them.

Cami sipped from her glass. She shouldn’t be here. And why did Ellen seat her next to this woman? Well, she’d eat and leave. She could excuse herself and say she had to get back to Petey. “Thank you,” she said to the teenager who set a plate in front of her.

Mrs. West leaned across Cami to introduce herself to Melinda. They continued to chat as if Cami were a blank spot between them. She tried to pretend fascination with the chicken on her plate.

Yvonne questioned Melinda about her interests and what charities she was involved with.

“None right now,” Melinda said.

“Well, you must.” Her tone brooked no argument. “I have a foundation that promotes children’s literacy. I’d love to have you join us.”

“I’ll have to think about it.” Her voice had a slight drawl that made her sound easy-going, but Cami detected steel beneath the non-committal words.

“Don’t think too long. It’s an important cause.”

Melinda turned her attention to her plate, and Yvonne switched conversational focus to her other side.

“I was warned about her.” Melinda’s voice was low and Cami wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

“Pardon me?”

Melinda smiled as she swirled the iced tea in her glass. “Larry told me to beware of her. I guess he heard something.”

“Aren’t you interested in literacy?”

“I’m not against it.”

“But?”

“I’m not a committee-slash-fundraising kind of person. I volunteer in my daughter’s classroom, that’s what I enjoy.”

“Then that’s what you should do.” The gnat of annoyance buzzing around her all morning became a circling vulture and she spoke louder than she’d intended. “Your daughter is more important than any anonymous foundation.”

“It’s hard for me to say no. And I have a feeling Mrs. West isn’t used to hearing that word.”

“It’s a skill you can learn. Like bowling. The more you use it, the better you get at it.”

Melinda smiled. “I’m a terrible bowler.”

“But if you went every week, wouldn’t you get better?” Cami took a bite of mango from the fruit salad.

“I guess.” Melinda shrugged.

“So start saying ‘no’ once in a while, to practice.”

“No.”

“Very good.” Melinda was sweet. It wasn’t her fault her husband had been given Grant’s job. “Where are you from?”

“Fresno.”

“Grant told me the triple A team had sent their shortstop up.”

“I’m sorry about his injury. How’s he doing?”

“Really well. Larry better not get too used to the job. Grant intends to be back.”

“Larry knows that. Baseball is very tenuous. Because in spite of being a sport, it’s a business first.”

“I’m still learning that.”

Melinda and Cami continued to chat while finishing their lunch. Teenagers in black slacks, white shirts, and leis served the coconut cream parfaits as Yvonne West aimed her crosshairs at Cami.

“How about you, Miss Henderson. When will you be joining my foundation?”

“I’ve given it a great deal of thought, Mrs. West. But because of my job and other personal commitments, I’m going to have to say not at this time.”

“Your job?”

“I work full time.”

“But won’t you be quitting that?”

This woman didn’t get it. “Why would I?” Cami asked.

“Because your first priority should be Grant and his career and how you can best further it.”

“Grant understands I have a career also.”

“Because you’re only a girlfriend and not a wife, it will be overlooked. But if you marry Mr. Andrews, you will be expected to do your part.” Yvonne managed to look down her nose as she buttered her sweet Hawaiian roll. “It’s very important that all members of the Coyote family are committed to charitable work in the community.”

Maybe saying she already did “charity” work would get Yvonne to back off. “I appreciate that, Mrs. West. But I will be giving to the community by teaching art enrichment at the Agua Vida Community Center.”

Yvonne’s face relaxed, the sudden vulnerability softening Cami.

“I truly believe in the good work we do. The ability to read is vital for the basics of life. We ensure that people are able to fill out job applications and take driver’s license tests.”

“I believe in those things too,” Cami said. “But I support them in other ways.”

Yvonne sighed. “It really is important to the front office that everyone in the Coyote organization be active in the community. I may apply that pressure up front, but it exists behind the scenes as well.” She rose from the table and Cami watched her approach Ellen to say good-bye.

“I guess I got off easy.” Melinda watched Yvonne cut a path to the door.

“Did you take notes? I was polite, but I stood my ground.”

“You’re my new hero.”

Cami laughed. “I don’t know about that, but since I just lectured you, I had to stay firm.”

Melinda excused herself as Ellen slid into Yvonne‘s seat. “What did you say to the grand dame of the Coyotes?” she asked, picking up the scattered red napkins.

“That I can’t serve on her literacy foundation.” Cami leaned back and finished her iced tea.

“I’ve never seen her that way, like she was-” Ellen paused, seeming to search for the right word. “Thwarted. She believes passionately in her foundation, but she also enjoys the power it gives her over some of the rookie women. I don’t think she’s used to being denied.”

“Probably not.”
“And I’m so sorry for seating you next to Melinda,” Ellen said, looking stricken. I was thinking that you were both new to the team this year. It never occurred to me until now that her husband took Grant’s position.”

“It’s okay. I like her. But why did you seat me by Yvonne West? I felt like Daniel tossed into the lions’ den. What did I ever do to you?” She smiled to show she was joking. Mostly. “And Delia?”

Ellen raised her eyebrows. “Where Cinda goes, Delia goes. And someone had to be next to Yvonne.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I know she can be overbearing, but you handled her great.”

“I don’t know about that.” Cami set her napkin on her plate. Could she get out of here now? She was anxious to see Petey. And Grant, she had to admit. He’d had a night to think on what she’d said about her past and Patrick. Would he still accept her? Or had he changed his mind?

More women approached to thank Ellen as the luncheon broke up.

Cami busied herself blowing out candles and gathering up soiled linens. Ellen’s caterer sister came outside to ask a question about leftovers. Cami finally said goodbye and escaped back to her Tahoe.

Fiction Friday: Curve Ball

I read a lot of books and did quite a bit of research so Cami’s situation and response were authentic. I’m still not sure I got it right.

------------------

Chapter Twenty-Five

Cami felt Grant’s grip on her shoulder tighten. “Because of what he did to you?” he asked, his voice deepening.

“No.” She relaxed into the embrace. Could she do this? She’d never told the whole story except to her therapist. And then she’d been plagued by nightmares for weeks. But Grant had been loving and kind and patient. He deserved to know the whole truth. And if it changed his feelings about her- well, she’d have to take that risk.

“After college I moved back to Agua Vida and tried to figure out what to do. An art degree isn’t a ticket to lots of job offers. So to put some food on the table, I took a couple of jobs doing walls for friends, they referred me to their friends, and pretty soon I had a business. I met Patrick on a job. He was the staff architect for a contractor in Agua Vida and he designed a remodel of an old Victorian into a bed and breakfast. I painted some murals in a couple of the rooms. And beautiful borders of roses with-”

Grant nudged her and she forced herself to leave the Victorian hearts and flowers.

“Anyway, he asked me out to lunch one day. I thought it was business. You’ve seen how I look at work. And he’s-” She paused again. How to describe Patrick was always a conundrum, now more than ever. “Well, he’s not as tall as you. And everyone thinks he’s gorgeous.” She didn’t say he made Tom Cruise look like another frat boy.

Grant shifted, jostling her a little. “You don’t have to be tactful. Just say he’s Mr. Perfect. It’s okay.”

“He’s attractive on the outside,” she admitted. “And I couldn’t believe he was interested in me – the frizzy-haired painter at the job sites.”

“I can believe it.” Grant hugged her close again. “You’re gorgeous when you work, paint in your hair and on your nose.”

Dismay struggled with hope. If he thought she was attractive in work clothes, would he ever act on that attraction like Patrick?

She searched for something to say, but Grant spoke first. “Enough fishing for compliments,” he said. “Did you start dating after the lunch?”

“Yes.” Talking about Patrick’s looks was hard enough. Talking about him, his temperament and personality was the hard part. She sent up a Help Me prayer. “And as we got more exclusive, Patrick got more possessive. He didn’t like me spending time with my girl friends, and if I talked to another man, even for work, he went crazy. And he said it was my fault, that I dressed too provocatively and flirted. But I didn’t, I swear I didn’t.” Her voice rose with passion. Grant had to believe her.

“I know.” He sounded sincere. “Sweatshirts and jeans are your style.” He patted her shoulder and she drew a ragged breath.

“I learned in counseling that it wasn’t about my clothes at all, it was a control thing. But when you’re in that sort of relationship, the abuser twists things.” She dug in her pocket for the packet of tissues she always carried to wipe up paint smears. Her nose was starting to run, she must be allergic to something here. Yes, something like male tenderness, a cynical voice inside said.

“Did anyone else see what was going on?”

“Paige was going crazy, trying to warn me. Our singles group was watching a video series on relationships. I had bruises from her elbowing me in the ribs whenever control issues were mentioned.”

“Then what happened?”

She closed her eyes. “We went to a good-bye party for one of his co-workers.” She paused as her memory banks took over. She could almost hear Celine Dion belting out The Power of Love from the stereo system. And smell the beer mixed with pepperoni.

“Patrick starting drinking. I didn’t want to drive home with him so I asked around for a ride. A guy I knew from a job offered to take me home. When I told Patrick I was leaving, he cried and apologized and begged me not to go. He gave me his car keys and said I could drive myself, but just please don’t leave with anyone else. So I told my friend that I wouldn’t need a lift after all. I went into the room where the coats were and Patrick followed me.” She shuddered and her eyes filled with tears. This was too hard. “Grant, I can’t.”

He squeezed her shoulder again. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I haven’t trusted my feelings for a long time. Because I thought Patrick was harmless. I thought everything wrong in that relationship was my fault. I was stupid about everything.”

"You're not stupid. Why would you think that?”

“I didn’t know what an abusive relationship looked like, much less that I was in one. I learned about enabling later. I guess I should have paid more attention in that college Psych class.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“And I was naive. I didn’t know nice girls get hurt, too.” She swallowed a sob.

“What happened when Patrick followed you into the room?” His voice had become quiet and his body still.

Tears rolled down her face. “He pushed me down on the bed and-” She took a breath to steady her voice. “He kept telling me it was my fault, that my skirt was too short and my blouse was too tight, that I was forcing him to do it. By the time I realized what was happening, he’d… raped me.” She breathed in and counted to five like she’d been taught. The breaths were shaky but even. Her words seemed to echo in the silence.

As they sat, the sun cast shadows on the wall in front of them. She watched the dust motes hover in the light. Was Grant going to tell her to leave? What would she do with Petey? She held her breath. What if he told her he couldn’t care for someone so careless? He didn’t seem to be that kind of man, but one thing she’d learned was that people didn’t always behave how you thought they would. Or should. She reached in her pocket for another tissue to blow her nose.

Grant didn’t move, except to shift his arm and hold her closer. His hand cupped her elbow.

“I wish I’d been there for you.”

She shook her head. “I was so ashamed. And frightened I would get pregnant or a disease. I couldn’t tell anyone what happened, not my parents, not Paige. I believed him that it was my fault.”

“What did you do?”

“Patrick passed out, and I ran out of the house and drove myself home.” There, she’d told the whole story. And with only three sodden tissues clutched in her hands.

“That’s not the end,” Grant said. “I mean, what did you do about Patrick? Did you call the police?”

“No. I -” Why couldn’t the phone ring and save her from having to tell the rest of it?

“Please, Cami,” he said. “How can I help if I don’t know it all?”

She swayed a little, spent by the emotion but forced herself to keep talking. “I spent the first hour in the bathtub. Then I went to bed. And I stayed there for a week. My family thought I was stressed and overworked. Patrick called a few times, but I said I was too sick to talk to him. He got a ride to come pick up his car. He sent flowers and a big stuffed animal.” That was why she hated roses. She’d pulled all the bushes out of her yard when she first moved into her house. “I put the flowers in the garbage disposal and threw the bear away. My mom figured it out.”

“She did?” He sounded puzzled.

“She came to my apartment and said she knew everything. She didn’t, but she guessed a lot of it. She drove me to the police station and I made a report. Then she took me to the doctor for a pregnancy test and blood work and cultures to check for diseases.”

“Good for her. And for you.”

“It was my word against his. And without enough evidence to prosecute, the D.A. filed it in the abyss. I decided to move away, make a fresh start somewhere else. Before I did, Patrick was involved in a hit and run accident. He’d been drinking again and he killed a young mom and her little girl. I wanted to die too, when I heard that. A woman my age and her two year-old daughter, dead because of me.” Her voice rose on the final word.

“Because of you?” He shifted on the couch to face her again. She searched his eyes for any signs of disgust or revulsion, but saw only puzzlement.

“He had me convinced that all the problems in the world, but especially his, were my fault. And I was messed up enough to buy it, to think the stress of the rape charge drove him to drink. I started seeing a counselor who helped a lot. ” As hard as all that had been to learn, those therapy sessions had been sliding-into-first-easy compared to this. Now she faced a major league pitcher with a yardstick and was trying to hit it out of the park. Grant would never think of her the same.

“I’m crazy about you,” he said, then paused to look in her eyes. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t control other people’s foolish decisions, like drinking and driving. Or Madonna’s movie career.”

She tried to smile at the joke and achieved a small one that pulled at her damp cheeks. “One of the biggest lessons I took away is that the world doesn’t revolve around me. Human nature is pretty ego-centric, and we think others are more interested in us than they are.”

“I see that a lot in my world,” he said. "Athletes aren't known for their humbleness."

“I had a student once at the center, a pretty girl. She got a hair cut and she wrote an essay about her feelings that day. She asked me to proof read it. She didn’t like how her bangs turned out and she said people in other cars were laughing at her as she drove home.”

“You’re kidding.”

“That’s extreme, but it’s an example of how people, especially teenage girls think.”

“What happened after the hit and run?”

“The police found him when he tried to get his car repaired. He was so arrogant, to think he’d get away with it. He was sentenced to fifteen years.” She spread her hands on her knees, stretching out her fingers. “He’s not out yet. So, I’m sure he’s not the stalker, but it would be so convenient if he were. At least I’d know who it is.”

“You decided not to move away?”

“I’d be letting him win. And I couldn’t think of a place far away enough from the memories.” She paused as she remembered returning to work and finding a new apartment. There was gossip and some whispering at church, but after a couple of weeks everyone seemed to move on and find other things more interesting. “I stayed in counseling for a while. A few guys asked me out, but I was afraid they would try to continue what Patrick started. I insisted on only group dates, so I was safe in a crowd.”

“Then you met me?”

She smiled. “Something like that.”

“You said you learned about being self-centered. What else?”

She breathed deeply. “I learned God is in control. That’s why I can talk to you about trusting him for the healing of your shoulder. I really do believe that He works out everything for our good. Like Romans 8:28 says.” And not to trust anyone with my safety. But she couldn’t say that one out loud.

He hugged her close. “I’m proud of you.” He loosened his grip and rubbed her arm. “Thank you for telling me.”

“No, thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not asking me to leave.”

“Why would I do that?” He sounded bewildered.

“Because you didn’t want to see me anymore. You might think I was… damaged goods and …” She couldn’t finish the thought.

“Cami, what happened was not your fault. You didn’t bring it on yourself and I would never blame you. Do you understand?”

“My head does but my heart is afraid.”

“You’ve been living behind alarms and pepper spray for too long. You see danger everywhere because you want to be justified in retreating from life.”

“I don’t -” But he was right.

“What can I do to convince you that I’m sticking around?”

“Maybe you have.” She smiled as her heart lightened. “I’ve spent two years being on guard and I’ve forgotten what a nice guy is like.”

“So no more thinking I don’t want you here. In fact, I still wish you would stay with me, but I’d never force you to do that. Or anything else.” His voice grew stronger as he spoke.

“Thank you.” It came out as a whisper.

“The bathroom's down the hall.”

“What?” That was a weird way to change the subject.

"I think you're gorgeous, but you probably want to go splash cold water on your face or something."

Oh, not a subject change, just a hint. "I've been crying for an hour, there is no way I look like anything except a boiled shrimp.” She wiped her cheeks dry. “Puffy eyes, splotchy skin, runny nose. That is not a pretty sight."

“It is to me." He looked deeply in her eyes and what she saw there convinced her against all reason. "Now, I’m grilling chicken breasts and vegetables for our dinner. And tossing a green salad. Do you want potatoes or rice?”

“Rice, please.” Her voice was a little louder, but still tentative.

“Come keep me company in the kitchen after you do the splashing thing.” He stood and pulled her up from the couch. He continued to wrap his left arm around her a moment longer, then nudged up her chin so he could look into her eyes. He kissed her forehead before letting go and heading into the other room.