Chapter 14
fourteen
Cameron
I’m sitting on my couch, drinking a beer, and watching baseball on television. It always feels weird being home alone in my house, but Addison is still with her grandparents until tomorrow afternoon, so I’m having some much-needed time to myself.
Normally, I spend these weekends alone working on the plans for Addie’s tree house or catching up on yardwork and house chores, but this weekend started off with an unexpected yet very pleasant surprise.
I’m still in disbelief Rosalie called yesterday and even more so that we spent the evening together.
I’ve never been more excited to assemble the world’s most tedious bookshelf, and I would have spent the rest of the night repeating the process over and over until every piece of furniture was put together had she let me.
Not only did she look gorgeous, natural, with her unruly blonde hair thrown up on top of her head in a messy bun and mesmerizing hazel eyes rimmed in stunning green, but she was just so genuine and easy to be around.
Our conversation flowed effortlessly from playful, lighthearted topics to weightier subjects, and with each word, I wanted to know more.
My thoughts are interrupted by my phone ringing, Rosalie’s name popping up on my screen. My heart rate picks up at the sight, and hope of seeing her again soars through me. I grab my phone so quickly I bobble it a few times before being able to swipe to answer.
“Hello,” I say with a mixture of hesitance and excitement.
“Cameron,” her voice rushes out. “I need someone, and you said I could call if I needed anything.”
The desperation in her voice is laced with sadness, and it makes my heart beat for a completely different reason.
“Rosalie?” I say in question, just to make sure it’s actually her, this doesn’t sound like the woman I left last night.
“Yeah, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know who to call.
Well, actually I called Elodie, and she offered to come over but she lives so far out of town and I didn’t want to make her drive all the way to me, and she doesn’t have kids, and Paige is sleeping in the living room, and I spilled paint all over my floor, and I need to pack because our flight leaves tomorrow and—”
Forget simply beating, my heart is ready to leap out of my chest. “Rosalie, take a deep breath and slow down. Are you in danger?”
“No, I’m not,” she says before starting to cry, only making me panic even more. “My mom had a heart attack.”
I can feel the dread coiling in my stomach. I can hear in the sobs, which are only getting more erratic, that her next words won’t be good.
“They weren’t able to save her, Cameron. They couldn’t save her.”
Rosalie’s last words are garbled, and I can’t stand it any longer.
I stand up from the couch and start to gather my things. I’ve had maybe two sips of my beer and know I’m okay to drive. I throw on my shoes, grab my keys, and am out the door.
“Rosalie, just keep breathing slowly, in through your nose and out through your mouth. I’m coming over, okay?” I say, my voice calm and reassuring. “I don’t live far, only ten minutes. Can you stay on the line with me while I drive?”
I’m way too keyed up with worry to let her off the phone, so I’m relieved when I hear the soft “yes” come through my speakers.
Her cries are softer now, having reached a point where they sound like hiccupping breaths of air.
I don’t have to imagine the state of devastation she’s in right now because I know firsthand how crushing it is to lose someone so important to you.
I used to loathe the odd sense of camaraderie I felt when others told me they had lost someone important in their life.
I even got caught up in a ridiculous comparison game and had a hard time accepting that anyone could feel the depth of grief I felt when I lost my wife.
I wasn’t wrong, their loss and grief were different, but not less. Once I accepted that fact, it became easier for me to sit with my own loss and use it empathetically to help others. It’s why my heart is breaking for Rosalie right now.
I can viscerally remember the moment I learned Julianne had passed away.
The agonizing emptiness, the underlying sense of panic, wondering how you’ll live life without your person.
It’s the reason that when I say “Rosalie, you’re not alone in this, I’ve got you,” I mean it with every fiber of my being. I know we’ve only known each other for a fairly short amount of time, but I feel a connection to her even more now, knowing she called me when she needed someone.
Rosalie doesn’t respond. I didn’t expect her to, but I can still hear her through the speakers in my car, so I know she heard me.
“I’m just about there. Can you meet me at the front door, or is it unlocked?”
“I’ll meet you at the front door. Paige is still sleeping on the couch.”
Her tone is raspy, quiet. I have no doubt it’s from the amount of crying she’s already done, and I wonder how long she’s known and been alone.
I pull into her driveway and jump out of the car. I feel like I can’t get to her quickly enough. The door opens as I’m ascending the stairs to the porch, and Rosalie steps out.
I’m not prepared. She’s the embodiment of grief. The magnitude of her loss is written all over her face, and my heart breaks for her.
I immediately step closer to her and wrap her in my arms. The anguish radiating off her as she collapses into my hold is devastating.
Her face is buried in my chest and I can feel my shirt getting wet as uncontrollable sobs take over her body.
But it’s the desperate way her hands are gripping the back of my shirt, where her arms are encircled around my waist, that has me coming undone inside.
I hold her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head to my chest, the other slowly running up and down the length of her back.
After a few moments, I feel her sobs subside to a quiet whimper, and she gradually backs out of my grasp with her head down, as if ashamed. I, on the other hand, feel an intense need to hold on to her for longer and protect her from all that’s coming, but I relax my hold anyway.
After what feels like forever, Rosalie finally looks up at me with a big exhale of breath and says, “I’m so sorry I called. It’s Saturday night, and you probably had plans, but I just…panicked.”
“Hey, hey, hey,” I say, stepping forward to rub my hand down her arm in what I hope is a comforting gesture.
“You don’t need to apologize. I was just sitting around my house willing you to call.
Would I have preferred it for a different reason?
Absolutely. But I’m glad I can be here for you in this way. ”
I get a fleeting and half-hearted smile for that remark, and I’ll take it. Anything to even slightly lighten her mood.
This blip of levity is apparently all Rosalie needed to slide back into productive mode.
I can literally see the transformation before my eyes. Her back straightening, her eye contact becoming more intense, and her face taking on a look of determination deep down I know is a mask.
Although I recognize it for what it is, a protective mechanism to help her move forward and get through what she needs to before heading home to her family, I’m a bit unnerved. I stand there awkwardly, wondering what she’ll do with me now that her moment of vulnerability is over.
I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and lower my shoulders when she speaks again.
“I really do need your help. Paige and I are on the first flight out from Lexington to Colorado tomorrow morning. I have a giant mess of primer in Paige’s bedroom, a million boxes of unassembled furniture, and I talked to Elodie about work and while she was so understanding, I can’t help feeling like I’m letting everyone down somehow.
But you know what? That’s not the worst of it.
No, that would be telling my amazing, tenderhearted daughter in there that the woman who helped raise her has passed away. ”
Her chest heaves when she finally stops, having released everything in a single breath, and I see the moment she begins to spiral.
Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, and she attempts to lower her gaze, but before she can look away fully, I gently place my hand on her cheek, using my thumb to tip her head back up to meet my eyes.
Still glistening, her eyes go wide at the intimate gesture, but I keep them there.
I need her to see my sincerity. “Rosalie, I’ve got this. I can help. Take a deep breath.”
She blinks at me and nods her head that’s still in my grasp and does what I ask.
“Good girl,” I say, dropping my hand from her face. “Now, what do you need?”
She searches my face for a few seconds before conceding.
“Can you help me clean up the paint mess in Paige’s bedroom? I knocked over the can of primer when my brother called. I tried to clean it up, but there’s still a mess.”
I nod. “Absolutely.”
“And…never mind.”
She stops and the vulnerability of her features bowls me over, but she doesn’t continue, instead Rosalie turns to open the door to let us both inside.
Knowing she needs something more and is just afraid to ask for it, I gently grab her wrist to stop her.
She spins slowly to face me, looking forlorn.
“Rosalie, I know there’s more. Please tell me what you need. I’m begging you. I want to help.”
Her expression falters and her lips begin to quiver before she looks down. Way to go, Cameron, you dumbass. Read the room. She was finally calm, and you just had to push. Two really aggressive thumbs-up to you!
But then she takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and meets my eyes.
“I have no idea how I’m going to tell Paige.
” Her voice is quiet and questioning, her gaze full of hope, like I might have the words to make this all better.
My racing thoughts quiet because while I can’t make everything better, I can help her with this.
Guiding her to the short set of stairs leading up to her front door, I gesture for her to sit down before following suit and angling my body toward hers.
“Talking about death is never easy. Since raising Addison on my own, I have had many conversations with her about her mother. I have crashed and burned plenty of times and have succeeded a handful of times. For what it’s worth, I find it’s best when I’m straightforward and honest with her.
I’ve tried using phrases to help soften what I need to say, and it just seems to confuse her.
It leads to questions I don’t truly have the answers to at the moment, and it ends up upsetting us both.
It’s excruciating to see her hurt each time we discuss it, and her tears rip me open inside, but I think that being open and honest about what happened, allowing her to feel the devastation, and being there to hold her through it, is what’s best for her. ”
Tears pool in Rosalie’s eyes, spilling over and running down her cheeks, and I can’t help but think I have royally fucked this up.
I came to help this woman and so far, all I have done is make her cry more. But before I have time to apologize for overstepping, she flings herself at me, almost knocking me over and planting her face in my chest with a muffled “thank you” on her lips.
I wrap my arms around her, the position more than a little awkward based on how we’re positioned on the stairs, but my insides glow with a prideful warmth, and right here, with Rosalie plastered to my chest, I know I’ll be there for her and Paige in any way I can as they work through this devastating time.