Chapter XI. 2007
CHAPTER XI
For two weeks, Camilla and Brianna were very, very good. Model representatives of the Retreat’s tenets. Devout women who embodied everything The Path taught. Chaste. Modest. Quiet. Humble. Servile.
Camilla grew used to waking every morning grateful for the necessary, pill-eliminating vomit because she felt completely filled with bullshit and the need to rid herself of it.
She hated doing it, but psychologically, it helped her hold on for another day because it felt like she was purging more than just the pills.
Like an ejection of a poison intent on making her a pod person.
She and Brianna had not had another opportunity to talk in private, but they saw each other in the dining room.
Quick glimpses so they drew no suspicion.
And while Brianna did not seem to get any worse, she also didn’t seem to get any better.
It didn’t matter that there seemed to be a temporary stasis in Brianna’s illness; each day, Camilla grew more and more desperate.
On the morning Barbara came to tell her she was going home, it took every ounce of her newly practiced reserve to keep herself from bolting out of the building.
Such joyous intent to leave Retreat would likely lead to them locking her right back in her room.
Instead, she allowed Barbara to lead her back down the main hallway and then, after a series of beeps and clicks from several keypads and locked doors, outside into cool damp of early morning.
The same Range Rover that brought her there sat out front, and Barbara opened the door for her and waved her inside.
“Your father has been so pleased with your progress, Camilla. He’s looking forward to having you home.
” Barbara stood back, her hand still on the Range Rover’s door, as she looked in at Camilla.
“I’ll be glad to see him. And glad to show him what a blessing it was he sent me here.” She lifted her voice into a higher pitch, the lilt so syrupy sweet it made her sick.
Barbara stepped away and lifted a hand in farewell. Camilla returned the wave, and then held herself still as the driver fastened the blindfold over her eyes. She kept her smile even as they pulled away since it was likely her father had instructed the driver to report any and all abnormalities.
She directed her thoughts to the questions she would ask her mother. Every night, she’d run through them in her head as if they were a lullaby that would soothe her into sleep.
When did you see the Dark Sisters? What do you think they are? Are they what’s causing this sickness? Why are you afraid of me going to the Purity Ball? What aren’t you telling me?
Her driver stayed silent as he drove, and she was thankful her father sent a different man than the ones who brought her. She could have acted her way through his comments, forced herself to play nice even as he tried to rile her up, but she was glad she didn’t have to.
She remembered the ride wouldn’t take long, but as the car rolled to a stop, she was surprised at how quickly it had gone.
She settled herself. She had a role to play, and she’d practiced for it.
She’d spent those long hours of silence after Pilates and lights out locked in her room with only her thoughts and intentions, training herself to keep her composure no matter how she wanted to bite a chunk out of Pastor Wade’s face or take a fistful of Barbara’s hair and pull until it tore wetly away from her scalp.
Folding her hands in her lap, she listened as the car door opened and closed, shutting her inside still wearing the blindfold.
She knew if she tried the handle, she would find it locked, but she didn’t dare move.
Not until she’d been given the permission to do so.
It would be too easy for her father to take one look and decide to send her back.
From outside came the muffled voices of the driver and her father, the latter providing the expected update on her behavior following her dismissal.
She’d done perfectly. No issues. She did not hear her mother’s voice, and her heart sank.
She knew she would have to wait until her father was gone to talk with her mother, but she’d at least hoped to see her when she got home. To hug her and tell her she loved her.
And then the car door opened.
“Oh, honey.” Her father’s voice was all tenderness. The voice he’d used when she was little and scraped her knee. “Let’s get this thing off you.”
With gentle hands, he removed the blindfold, and she made a show of blinking against the sunlight as she took his hand and let him help her down.
“That’ll be all, Kevin,” he said to the driver, who nodded and then vanished back into the front seat, the engine humming to life before he pulled away and left them standing alone in front of the house.
She’d been right. Her mother wasn’t there.
She took a breath, feeling the disappointment, but holding it at bay.
She’d practiced this, and even though it hurt, she knew she could do it.
She stared past her father’s shoulder at a distant spot of greenery, focusing on trying to see every individual leaf and twig rather than on her mother’s absence.
It settled her, and she was able to look back at him and offer up a tentative smile.
“Let me get a look at you.” He held her at arm’s length, his gaze traveling the length of her body, before pulling her into a hug.
It made her feel like a rag doll, keeping her body still so she could be manipulated, but she let him hold her.
Let him grip her face between his hands and inspect her like she was something he’d purchased and was trying to decide whether he wanted to keep.
“I’m so proud of you, Camilla. You know that?”
She nodded, a slight dip of her head that spoke of humility. Any shred of enthusiasm over such praise would be construed as pride. A lesson Pastor Wade taught her. She was nothing if not an excellent student. An actress born of necessity.
“I know it wasn’t easy, but nothing worthy of His grace is.
It’s the struggle back to Him that makes us shine.
God laid that on my heart for service tomorrow.
Planned my whole sermon around this entire experience.
” He lingered on the final word so she might understand his purposeful euphemism, then squeezed her again, and with his arm around her shoulder, turned her toward the house. “Let’s get you inside.”
She fell into step with him as they ascended the front stairs.
The question she wanted to ask hovered at the back of her throat, her resolve wavering because it was innocent enough, but he might find some offense in it.
Some reason to see it as a fault. But she couldn’t help it.
She blurted it out as soon he closed the front door behind them, the house’s perfumed air invading her lungs.
“Where’s Mom?”
He frowned. Her heart stuttered, but she kept her gaze downcast. Soft and respectful.
The frown dropped from his face, and he cleared his throat as he pasted on an expression of concern.
The one she’d seen him use whenever someone seeking his guidance came to the house unannounced.
She knew then she wasn’t the only one acting.
“She hasn’t been feeling well. Went to bed early. Said to tell you she’s missed you and to give all her love.”
“Everything okay?”
“Dr. Morgan’s come out to see her. Just a nasty virus. She’ll be fine in a week or two.”
“That’s good.”
He would tell Camilla if her mother was sick with the illness. Certainly, he would. It would make too much of an impact, keeping a secret like that. Her father might have sent her on Retreat, but he wouldn’t keep something like that from her.
They stared at each other, both waiting for the other to make a move that would decide the path forward. Her father out of confusion, she out of necessity.
“Well.” He clapped his hands together. “I have some work to finish before tomorrow’s service, but Angela is here. She can bring you something up if you’re hungry. Chef left a wonderful Nicoise salad.”
“I think I’ll just rest. I got plenty of sleep while I was there, but it’s always nice to be home.”
“Of course. I’ll be in my office,” he said, and made his way to the stairs.
Dutifully, she followed, glad to know he would be busy.
Tucked away behind his door that he always kept closed, that inner sanctum a place he’d long forbidden her from entering.
There was an order to that room. A peace meant only for him and his connection to God.
Any sort of intrusion would disturb that tenuous thread.
If they needed him, they could dial in to his line, but even that was unwelcome.
She could count on one hand the number of times her mother had done it—once because Camilla had a nosebleed that would not stop and she panicked.
Even that caused problems, the two of them fighting as he asked why her mother hadn’t just called their driver or for an ambulance.
She didn’t need him to get Camilla to a hospital.
Not when he was in the middle of sermon preparation, every nerve attuned to whatever holy missive he was meant to deliver.
There was no time for something as inconsequential as his daughter’s nosebleed.
Outside her bedroom, she lingered, listening for the click of her father’s office door closing.
Her heartbeat surging in her ears, she counted to one hundred and then another hundred for good measure, her ears pricked for any sound that would indicate her father had decided not to stay in his office after all.
But the hall remained quiet, and the door closed against her.
Quickly, she tiptoed past the office, holding her breath as she did so. Her parents’ room was at the other end of the long hallway, and she hurried toward it, hoping she would find her mother. Even if it was just a few minutes. She’d learned to be grateful for stolen time.