Chapter Seven
Maci
The leather cover was soft from years of use. I traced the worn edge with my thumb and opened the journal to a page I had read more times than I wanted to admit. The ink had faded in spots, but the words remained clear, only marked by time. Still, I read the entry again.
Sometimes I think a woman can sense another woman before she even sees her. I can’t really explain it. It feels like someone is waiting just out of view.
I swallowed. Years ago, I underlined the next paragraph.
He says I’m imagining things. Maybe he’s right. But perfume doesn’t linger in empty rooms, and lipstick doesn’t appear on coffee mugs I never used.
I closed my eyes. There was no date on the page because she had torn it out. I would never know if she did it to protect herself or someone else. I turned to another entry, a shorter one. The handwriting slanted across the page, as if she hurried to finish before someone came in.
She smiled at me today, like we shared a secret. The unsettling part is, I think we do.
My fingers tightened around the journal. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I finally had to breathe in. I turned another page.
Thick black ink covered almost everything, but one sentence was still readable.
If anything ever happens to me, trust your instincts or just read. I write everything down.
A lump formed in my throat. I closed the diary and rested my hands on the cover. Even after all these years, those words still made my chest ache.
A knock on the open office door pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up and saw Zaire in the doorway, already dressed for work and holding a green juice.
"Have you been in here all morning?"
I glanced at the journal and quietly closed it.
"I lost track of time."
He paused, glancing at the leather cover long enough to recognize it. Then he walked in and set his juice on the corner of my desk.
"You read it again."
He wasn’t really asking. I nodded.
"I couldn’t sleep."
He looked at me for a moment before speaking.
"I woke up around three."
I looked up.
"You weren't in bed."
"I know."
"I thought you were in here." He paused. "But you weren't."
The room grew quiet.
"I checked downstairs, in the kitchen, the living room, even the garage."
His voice softened.
"You weren't anywhere in the house."
I lowered my eyes to the diary.
"I needed some air."
"You left Maci."
He sighed.
"Look, I understand why, but you've got to let me know something."
He came over to my chair and put his hand on my shoulder.
"I just need you to remember something."
I glanced up at him.
"You've waited all these years."
He gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.
"Don't let one bad night make you forget the plan."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
He looked at the diary and then back at me.
"We're closer than we've ever been."
"I know."
"So don't rush."
I put my hand over his.
"I'm not going to."
Not yet.
My phone started buzzing on the desk almost immediately. Once. Twice. Then again and again. I picked it up.
Lemon Grove Emergency
Camille: Please come outside.
Another message appeared.
Camille: Someone has destroyed my yard.
Then a new message showed up.
Camille: Please... I don't want to be alone.
More messages kept coming in.
Simone: I'm on my way.
Nia: Is everyone okay?
Jade: Stay inside. Don't touch anything.
Danielle: I'm coming too.
Miss Evelyn: We'll be there shortly.
I looked at the screen for a moment, then put my phone back on the desk.
Someone had destroyed Camille's yard. I slipped my phone into my back pocket and went upstairs to change.
By the time I was done, women were already crossing the street. Some still wore robes over their pajamas, while others looked like they had gotten dressed as quickly as possible.
In Lemon Grove Estates, 'Please come outside' was as urgent as a fire alarm. I locked my front door and crossed the street.
As I walked, the damage stood out even more.
Every flowerbed was empty. The flowers that used to line her neat home were scattered across the grass.
All the plants had been pulled out by the roots.
Clumps of dirt still clung to the tangled roots, leaving long marks in the mulch where each plant had been.
The decorative shrubs and lemon trees were untouched. Whoever did this had been on a mission.
Camille stood in the middle of her yard, hugging herself. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders, and for the first time since I’d met her, she didn’t look perfectly put together. She looked shaken. Simone was the first to reach her.
"Oh my God." She wrapped Camille in a hug. "Are you alright?"
"I don't know."
Her voice shook.
"I woke up, opened the curtains, and..." She looked around her yard. "They're all gone."
Nia stepped carefully over the uprooted flowers.
"Did you call the police?"
"They're on their way."
"Did anyone try getting into the house?"
"I checked every door. Everything was locked."
Jade’s brow furrowed.
"What about your cameras?"
Camille took a shaky breath.
"They were disconnected sometime during the night."
The group fell silent. I stood at the edge of the driveway, watching. Nine women gathered around Camille, as if she had escaped something far worse than vandalism.
Someone handed her a bottle of water. Another rubbed her back gently. Someone else offered to call a landscaper before the police arrived. I was surprised. The neighborhood had hardly reacted when Marcus was murdered.
But this brought everyone out before breakfast. I crossed my arms. It felt strange.
"Maci."
I looked up and saw Camille watching me.
"When did you get here?"
"Just now."
"You didn't hear anything last night?"
I shook my head.
"No."
"Nothing?"
"I sleep across the street," I said, glancing around her yard. "Not in your flowerbeds."
For a moment, I saw something I couldn’t quite read on Camille’s face. Then she gave me a tight smile.
"I know. I'm just trying to understand who would do something like this."
I checked the damage again and noticed the empty flowerbeds.
"This wasn't random."
Nia shivered.
"That almost makes it worse."
"It does."
Before anyone could answer, a sheriff’s cruiser pulled up. The deputy parked at the curb, came over, introduced himself, and asked Camille what she had found.
While everyone gathered around him, I quietly stepped back. I saw a single yellow tulip near the porch. I bent down and picked it up. The petals were still soft, and the roots dangled from my fingers.
"Pretty, isn't it?"
Miss Evelyn spoke from behind me. I turned and saw her standing a few feet away, her purse tucked under one arm.
"It was," I said.
She nodded.
"Beautiful things rarely stay untouched."
I looked back at the flower in my hand.
"I suppose not."
She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then stepped closer.
"They'll be occupied for a while."
"Looks that way."
She reached into her purse. I watched as she quietly took out an old photograph.
The edges were worn and the colors had faded. She handed it to me, and I frowned.
"What is this?"
"You'll know."
I hesitated, then took it. As soon as my fingers touched the photograph, all the sounds around me faded away.
I stared at the image. My breath caught.
"How?"
The word slipped out quietly. I kept looking at the picture before finally glancing up at Miss Evelyn.
"How did you get this?"
She smiled, but it was sad, not triumphant.
"I've been waiting a long time to give it back."
My heartbeat quickened.
"You knew?"
She didn’t say anything, and that told me everything. I spoke more quietly.
"Since the day I moved here?"
Her expression grew gentle.
"I recognized you the moment you stepped out of that moving truck."
I felt a lump in my throat.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because you didn't."
I looked down at the photograph again.
"So why give it to me now?"
She glanced toward Camille’s yard and then looked at me again.
"Some journeys can't be interrupted.”
I was about to ask something else when Simone called out from across the yard.
"Miss Evelyn!"
She looked over her shoulder.
"I'm coming."
She turned to me one last time.
"Keep it."
She closed my fingers around the photograph with care.
"It belongs with you."
She walked away in silence, and I stood alone on Camille’s porch, left with more questions than answers.
Camille looked up from across the yard. She noticed the photograph in my hand and met my gaze. Her face stayed the same, but her eyes seemed different. I wasn’t sure what it meant.
I slipped the photograph into my purse before she could say anything. The deputy kept circling the yard, sometimes stopping to take pictures of the empty flowerbeds.
The women began gathering the uprooted flowers and stacking them in neat piles.
"What did Evelyn give you?"
Camille’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up and saw she was only a few feet away. She must have left the others while I wasn’t paying attention. I closed my purse without thinking.
"Just an old photograph."
She glanced at my purse and then looked at me again.
"A photograph of what?"
I smiled politely.
"Someone I loved."
It wasn't a lie, but not the whole truth. Camille had a strange look on her face.
"Miss Evelyn doesn't usually hand out keepsakes," she said.
"I suppose today is full of surprises."
She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"I guess it is."
Finally, Camille looked back at what remained of her flowerbeds.
"I've lived here for years. Nothing like this has ever happened."
I followed her gaze. The rich brown mulch was scarred with long jagged trenches where bright flowers once grew.
"It feels…" She hesitated. "Personal."
I turned to look at her.
"What makes you say that?"
"Seriously, I’m the only house on the block this has happened to."
Her eyes swept over the untouched porch furniture. She looked toward the pristine lemon trees standing proudly behind the ruined beds.
I stayed quiet. She wrapped her arms around herself again.
A light breeze brushed a strand of her hair across her face. For the first time since I met Camille, she didn’t look like the confident woman who greeted newcomers with lemon pound cake and a bright smile.
Instead, I saw someone looking for answers she couldn’t find. She seemed to wonder who disliked her enough to send a message without saying anything at all.
Simone called her name from across the yard.
"Camille! The landscaper's on his way."
She looked over her shoulder.
"I'll be right there."
Before walking away, she looked at me one last time.
"If you remember hearing anything."
"I'll let you know."
She nodded slowly.
"I appreciate that."
I watched her return to the group. The women gathered around her, offering comfort. No one noticed how often Camille looked toward the street or my house.
I put my hands in my pockets and walked home quietly. Even though fear lingered, life went on as usual.
I went to the living room window. Across the street, Camille stood in the middle of her yard. The landscaper had arrived, the deputy was leaving, and the other women gently picked up what was left of the flowers.
But Camille wasn’t watching them. She kept glancing over her shoulder, then at the street, then back at the empty flowerbeds, as if expecting whoever did this to return.
I stood there a moment longer before slowly closing the curtains. Fear has a way of taking root. Once it does, it spreads by itself.