18. Ivy #2
Her gaze cuts over to me. “Especially Drew.” She offers a slight shrug.
“Cam was a little copy-paste of his dad. Reserved. Introverted. Drew fell apart. He cried for a year straight, every night. But Cam…” She shakes her head, her eyes getting a faraway look as she delves into her memories.
“He shut down, got quiet, turned in on himself in a way I didn’t even know was possible for someone that young.
And it only seemed to get worse as he got older, but I could always see it under the surface, you know? In his eyes.”
I nod, because I do know.
I’ve seen it.
I’ve drowned in those eyes and was left gasping for air, my head spinning, not knowing what direction was up or down or what was right or wrong anymore.
She forces a swallow, tears shimmering in her eyes that look so much like theirs.
“Cam could have done anything, been anything. I had them tested as kids, and his IQ was off the charts, even higher than Drew’s.
” Her fingers glide over the side of the glass, wiping at the condensation absently.
She shrugs. “But he just didn’t care. His passion was all poured into his art rather than school.
” Her gaze lifts to meet mine, now shining with pride.
“But Cam is an incredible artist. A true talent…I think because he feels more, cares more, loves harder than anyone I’ve ever met.
He sees people and the world in a very different way that allows him to connect on a level even Drew couldn’t.
” Her breath catches slightly as she fights the emotions trying to overwhelm her.
“They were very different, but they loved each other deeply, maybe because of those differences. And that’s why their falling out has been so hard for me to understand… ”
It’s the most she’s ever said about Camden.
In all the years I was with Drew, the conversations were always led away from his brother. Fleeting mentions. Brief references. But this discussion is opening up a whole level of knowledge I never had about Cam. About how his mind works and why he carries so many secrets.
Because he always has.
Because he has always carried the weight of his emotions internally.
He has allowed them to eat away at him from the inside out—including whatever caused the rift with Drew.
“You don’t know what happened between them?”
She glances up at me and gives me a tight smile. “I’m not entirely sure. Several months ago, Drew made an off-hand comment when I mentioned Cam that he was a ‘selfish piece of shit.’”
I recoil slightly.
That doesn’t sound like Drew.
He may not have been happy with his brother, but I never heard him speak about anyone that way during our entire time together.
Drew was forgiving of just about anything with anyone, always looking for the best in people and situations.
Yet, with his own brother, he was unwilling to bend.
And apparently, he was relentless in his belief that he was righteous in his anger toward him.
Maybe he had a good reason.
Cam is lying to his mother even now, when she needs him the most. And prior to Drew’s death, Cam didn’t come home once in the entire time we were together. Four long years of never setting foot in his mother’s home for a birthday or a holiday.
It’s easy to write it off as being selfish, but knowing Cam the way I do, I think there’s more to the story. He’s been so selfless and giving with me that I can’t imagine he would intentionally keep his mother at arm’s length unless there was a very good reason.
Like his addiction issues…
He didn’t want her to know.
The answer slaps me in the face, and I don’t know why it never occurred to me before that he was keeping it from her—and probably from Drew as well.
He already told me Drew suspected he was using, and if he had come home, Drew likely would have seen the evidence and been able to read his brother like an open book.
Coming home would have meant admitting he had a problem to the two people he loved most in this world.
My heart shatters for him.
For having to bear that burden all alone.
But Nancy has no idea.
If she did, she would have mentioned something—to Drew, to me. I would have known she knew.
“Do you think their rift had anything to do with the fact that he rarely came back from London?”
She gives me a soft smile. “Maybe, but I understood. Cam’s studio, his business…
when he’s working, when he gets in that headspace, he kind of…
”—she lifts one shoulder and lets it fall—“shuts down and blocks everything else out, including people, and anything else he cares about. It all takes second seat behind whatever he’s working on. ”
“Isn’t that kind of what all artists do?”
She laughs lightly and nods, pushing out of her chair and motioning for me to follow her into the living room. “That’s why it never really bothered me. Of course, I would have loved to see him more, loved for him to call more, but I also understood it. He has a life there. A business, friends…”
Something ugly twists in my gut.
Something that feels an awful lot like jealousy I shouldn’t be feeling.
I trail after her, pressing my hand over my churning stomach. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
Her brow furrows as she stops in front of several black-and-white sketches Cam did in high school that Nancy framed and hung along with some of their family photos—the only time I’ve ever seen any of his artwork.
“You know, I don’t actually know the answer to that.
” She shrugs. “Maybe. Cam never had any problems in that department.”
That doesn’t surprise me at all, really.
There’s something about Cam that just draws you in, makes you want to be close when he gives you every reason to move away.
I got caught in that trap far too easily.
Nancy stares at the stunning portrait of Cam’s grandmother he did in charcoal and the landscape beside it showing the small house just miles from Strathmere Beach where they spent so much time with the woman.
Drew always said it was like a second home for them growing up.
But this is Cam’s real home.
The place he belongs, even though he insists on staying away.
I swallow through my suddenly dry throat, glancing toward Nancy. “Do you think Cam will ever come home?”
She offers me the saddest smile I may have ever seen from her and shrugs. “I hope so. I’ve prayed that he will, but I think losing his brother may have been too much for him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” She places her hand over her heart, tapping it lightly on that spot. “Mother’s intuition, I guess. I just have this bad feeling, that there was a reason he didn’t come back. Something he didn’t want me to know, didn’t want me to see.”
She doesn’t know how right she is.
And I desperately want to tell her so she can help him, so she can reach out and maybe get him to open up to her about everything.
I want this chasm between them to close.
“Well, I hope he does come back soon.”
For her sake.
It has nothing to do with the fact that I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t show back up at the house again.
If I don’t open the door after work and smell that leather and citrus scent permeating the air.
If I don’t find the little Post-it notes left all over.
If I have to feel like that house is empty again without his huge presence. Because I can’t want those things.
I can’t want Camden Usher.