Chapter 7
Sammy
I was born and raised in Wood, which means I’ve been here nineteen years, grown up with the kids and played pranks on the adults.
I’ve played in the park and snuck into the library in the middle of the night to read the books my mother didn’t want me to read.
Helped to decorate the town for Christmas and served food at the local restaurant when people couldn’t afford their own meals.
I’ve worked in the shelter and been into the forest to cut wood.
And that means I’ve been in nearly every building in town, at least once. I’ve spent nights in most of the houses and even lived in a couple of them.
But this house, with its red-and-white shingles and brown roof that definitely needs repair?
This home, I’ve never been in.
And the moment we open the door and walk in, I stop referring to it as a ‘home’ at all.
Because the place is bare of anything that might make a place livable.
It’s roomy–bigger than Aunt Sue’s house by several hundred square feet, I’d guess–but there’s absolutely nothing inside of it.
We walk through a door so old that the paint is falling off it and enter a room that must have been a family room once, but is now an empty shell.
Bare walls, bare floors, and no furniture.
Zero artwork. No TV or bookshelf or even a couch to sit on.
Just a cave of a room and a haunting, empty feeling that makes me feel vaguely sorry for the house itself.
It feels like no one has cared for this place in at least ten years, and though sure, it’s stone and concrete and wood and nothing else, sorrow echoes through my heart at how deserted it is.
What’s more, there’s a man living here now, but he’s done almost nothing to make the house his own.
This isn’t a man who’s unpacked and planning to stay for long. He’s a man just waiting for another reason to run again.
And if I’m seeing all of that, I can’t imagine how Cameron is feeling.
I turn to look at him and find him staring blankly around, his expression guarded and his lips pressed together. When he finishes taking in the room and looks to me, his eyes are flat and emotionless. Closed off like he doesn’t want anyone to see what’s going on behind them.
Right. He’s already thinking too much, then, and doesn’t want anyone to know those thoughts. Though I can guess what they look like. Sorrow, pain, betrayal, and a deep, aching grief, and that’s probably just the start.
Because this is the house that once belonged to Cameron’s mother.
The one she left when she decided she didn’t want this life anymore–and the place where she told Bear he was now in charge of their seven-year-old son, who she could no longer take care of.
This is the house Cameron had thought was safe, and where his life changed irrevocably because his mother didn’t want to be a mom anymore.
And though I have some hollow spots in my own heart where my mother and father should have been, my dad left when I was too young to remember, and my mom waited until I was old enough to know how to take care of myself.
And by that time, I’d had Cameron to keep me safe.
Cameron’s mom left him when he didn’t have anyone, and I’ve never been able to truly fathom what that did to him.
By the look on his face, it’s a wound that never actually healed.
“Guess we can cross interior decoration off his list of talents,” I say quietly, giving him the first joke that comes to mind. Anything to warm that hollow look in his eyes. Anything to bring life back into that face.
It works, and he gives me a quick, feral grin, his chin sharp and his eyes flashing. “Are you actually keeping a list of his talents? I thought you didn’t even like him.”
I huff out a laugh, thanking the universe for my biggest talent–getting him to laugh–and then shove him with my shoulder.
“I have a list. It consists of him fucking things up and leaving when we need him most. Let’s figure out where to put our shit.”
His grin melts into something warmer and he shakes his head. “There are three bedrooms upstairs. One master and two smaller ones.”
And then he takes off, his suitcase in one hand and mine in the other, his feet pounding the bare floor as he races for the stairs at the other end of the room.
I shriek and take off after him, working to shelter the birdcage in my arms as I sprint for the stairs myself, already knowing that I’m not going to catch him. He’s too tall and too strong for that, and I’ve raced him enough times to know his long legs will eat up those stairs like they’re nothing.
But I’ll die before I stop trying to catch him.
“Where the fuck are you going?” I huff. “Can’t you walk like a normal person?”
“Not right now!” he shouts over his shoulder. “There’s only one room up there worth having, and the first one up there gets it!”
He jumps and hits the stairs already climbing, and I shout in anger and force myself to run faster, legs pumping and breath burning in my lungs as my bird cage starts to slip, its inhabitants flapping like they’re trying to fly as the air rushes past them.
Like they’re trying to give me the wings they know I want.
I get to the top of the stairs in time to look to my right and see Cameron dashing into a doorway, and I turn to follow him, half desperate and half laughing. The cage is slipping in my fingers, my legs are dead, and this is all so ridiculous that I want to laugh at it.
And yet I have a haunting, terrible feeling that I can’t let Cameron be alone in any room in this house, because the ghosts he left here might come get him.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
When the fuck did I get so grim?
I skid through the door and find myself in what has to be the master bedroom.
It’s a large room with windows along one full wall, and though there’s nothing in here–no bed, no dresser–it’s big enough to hold a bed bigger than my own.
And it’s got a bathroom attached to it, which no guest room in this town would ever have.
This was a nice house, once.
Before Bear let it fall to pieces.
I mean I guess it’s not his fault, technically.
This place has been standing empty since Cam moved to our house when he was seven.
Since his mom up and disappeared and Bear decided it would be easier to find a new wife than stay and take care of his son on his own.
So that’s twelve years of this house being empty and alone.
No family to paint its walls or clean its counters, no children to run laughing through its hallways.
No one to remind it that it has any value.
I turn to find Cameron standing in the corner staring up at the ceiling.
Which is... odd.
I walk toward him slowly, wondering what the fuck he’s doing. Remembering something? Thinking? Having some sort of mental breakdown?
“Cam?” I ask quietly, almost scared to interrupt him.
I mean, what do you do when someone’s having a psychotic break? Is it safe to talk to them, or are you supposed to let them come out of it on their own, like a sleepwalker?
He jerks and looks at me, then looks back up at the ceiling, and I follow his gaze to find a trapdoor up there. One of those that leads into the attic, if you can get to it.
There’s an attic door in the bedroom?
“Attic?” I asked, still hesitant. Cameron has always been serious and sometimes even morose, a shy kid who preferred being by himself to having too many friends.
But I’ve never seen him as serious as he is right now.
His cheeks are hollowed out and dark shadows sit under his eyes–marks that weren’t there until we set foot in this house.
That haunted look is back in his eyes and I swear he’s several shades paler now than he was outside.
This house is doing something to him, and I don’t like it.
I reach out and slip my hand into his, fingers curling around his longer ones and squeezing. “Cameron?” I ask. “Talk to me.”
The tension melts out of his shoulders at my touch, and I watch him take a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes don’t leave the attic door, but he squeezes my hand and his face comes back to life. His lips lose the tight, stressed look they had moments ago and he works his jaw once, then twice.
When he looks at me, I can see that he’s not completely normal, but his eyes hold more of my Cameron than they did before. He makes a face, bringing his expression to life again, and then gestures to the door above us.
“Attic.”
“You don’t say,” I reply, reaching for another joke and hoping it’ll pull him out of this funk.
His mouth quirks at the corner, the way I was hoping, but he doesn’t give me the full smile I was aiming for. Instead, he shakes his head.
“My mother used to make me go up there when she was tired of me,” he says quietly. “Any time I’d been bad or had been playing too loud. Any time she had company over. Up to the attic.” He turns his eyes up there again. “I used to have toys up there. Wonder if they’re still whole.”
For a second, my mind is wiped completely blank at his words.
Then they start to filter in. Any time he’d been bad or too loud. Any time she had company. And I was sure that was more often than not, given the fact that she eventually decided she’d be better off without him entirely.
His mother sent him into the attic so she didn’t have to deal with him.
She made him go up there by himself and spend hours, probably in the dark, all alone.
Christ.
He’s wondering whether his toys are still up there, but my mind is already jumping beyond that to the other rooms and whatever memories they might hold.
I’m wondering what ghosts live in the basement, and what’ll be waiting for us in the kitchen.
How many corners did she send him to; how many rooms hold the echo of her voice telling him he wasn’t enough for her to love him?
He’s wondering about toys in the attic.
I’m planning how I’ll destroy her if I can ever find her–and how I’ll tell him about it.
And I’m starting to understand why he can’t accept praise for anything he ever does. Fuck, he’s been facing a hill he couldn’t climb since he was born.
But he’s not facing it alone anymore. He hasn’t been since we were seven.
I yank his hand, pulling his attention back to me, and give him a forced grin. “So, this is obviously the biggest room. I’m guessing you claimed it. Got here first and everything.”
He frowns for a moment, like he’s forgotten what he said downstairs, and then gives me the gentlest, softest smile I’ve ever seen from him. “Sure did. But not for me. This is your room.”
This surprises me so much that I actually jump. “But it’s the biggest room.”
He reaches out and touches me softly on the nose. “Exactly. More room for those birds you insist on bringing home to save. Not like we can have them sitting around the house. Bear will complain constantly.”
I open my mouth, wanting to answer, but I don’t have any words. He got up here and ran to the big room to claim it, but not for himself.
He’s giving it to me so I have space for the birds I bring home, their wings or legs damaged by storms or predators.
I’ve been collecting them since I was little, finding them in the forest and meadows and tucking them into my pockets to bring them back to safety and care.
To name them and feed them seeds and make sure they have enough water and shelter while they heal.
I learned early to splint their injuries and treat them, and always have several with me, keeping them only until they’re well enough to survive on their own again.
Cameron has always made fun of me for it, saying my heart is too soft and that I’d sell my own soul to save animals if I could.
Now he’s giving me a room to house them in, no doubt taking one of the smaller rooms where he’ll be cramped and crowded, in amongst his hundreds of books and art supplies. Giving me the space. The bathroom. The privacy.
It’s so Cameron that my heart grows three sizes too big and tries to bust out of my chest.
Which I obviously can’t have.
I set the cage down on the floor, grin up at him, and force myself back into my normal role. “Well, this is fun and all, but I saw a garage in the back and we need a new shop. Let’s go claim it.”
I turn and run from the room before he can answer, my mind already on a brand-new plan and how I’m going to execute it.
We had a full shop at Aunt Sue’s where Cameron did all of his work, and if we’re moving here we’re going to need another.
I don’t want to be here, and I hate the thought of living under the same roof as Bear.
The man who’s brought us nothing but grief.
But he didn’t give us much choice in the matter.
And in exchange, I’m planning to make his life a living hell–starting by taking over his garage for Cameron and his welding shop. After all, Cameron was an artist long before Bear got back.
And Bear’s not going to take that away from him.
Not if I have anything to say about it.