Chapter Eight
Maci
The photograph was still in my pocket, exactly where I left it. I hadn’t looked at it again. It’s not that I didn’t want to, but I just wasn’t ready. Some memories need to be faced slowly. Others can pull you under before you even notice.
I kept myself busy wiping the kitchen counters, even though they were already clean. Every now and then, I looked over at Camille’s house. Everything looked normal. Fresh mulch covered the flowerbeds. New hydrangeas stood under the front windows. Bright yellow flowers lined the walkway.
If you hadn’t seen the mess yesterday, you’d never guess that every flower had been torn out just a day ago. Money can make ugly things disappear, at least on the surface. My phone buzzed and pulled me away from the window.
Camille
For a moment, I just stared at her name. Then I picked up.
"Hello?"
"Good morning."
Her voice sounded brighter than it did yesterday.
"Morning."
"I hope I'm not bothering you."
"Not at all."
"I've been thinking."
I smiled to myself. That might be risky.
"Oh?"
"I owe you lunch."
I let out a quiet laugh.
"You don't owe me anything."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do."
Her voice was playfully firm, and for a moment, I almost forgot who she was.
"Yesterday wasn't exactly the warm welcome I wanted to give my newest neighbor."
"You didn't uproot your own flowers."
She chuckled.
"No, but I still feel like I should apologize."
"There's nothing to apologize for."
I leaned against the kitchen island.
"But what did you have in mind?"
"Lunch."
"Today?"
"If you're free."
I looked at the clock above the stove.
"I am."
"My house."
There was a short pause.
"I've already started cooking."
That didn’t surprise me. Camille always seemed happiest when she was looking after someone, or at least pretending to.
"I'd love to."
"Wonderful."
"Noon?"
"I'll be there."
"I'll see you then, Maci."
"See you soon."
After the call, I set my phone on the counter and looked out the window again. Across the street, I saw Camille step onto her front porch with a watering can.
She watered the flowers she had planted just yesterday, moving slowly as if she wanted to make sure they were still there. I watched her for a moment longer, then went upstairs.
◆◆◆
"What are you wearing?"
I turned around and saw Zaire standing in our bedroom doorway.
"You scared me."
"Sorry."
He looked at the yellow sundress I had just put on.
"You look good."
"I hope so."
"You going somewhere?"
"Camille invited me over for lunch."
He rested against the doorframe.
"At her house?"
I nodded.
"Interesting."
I met his eyes in the mirror.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That wasn't a 'nothing' face."
He almost smiled.
"I just figured she'd need a few days after yesterday."
"So did I."
"Be careful."
I smiled.
"I'm just eating lunch."
"I know."
His face turned serious as he came further into the room.
"Don't let emotions make you impatient."
I turned from the mirror.
"I'm not the one you should be worried about."
"I worry because I know you."
He walked over and fixed the twisted strap of my dress.
"Just promise me one thing."
"What?"
"If you ever need me," his eyes held mine. “You'll ask."
"I will."
"I mean it."
"I know you do."
His hand lingered against my cheek for a moment before he stepped away.
"I'll be home around six." He smiled. "Have fun."
I almost laughed at the word. Fun. It was the last thing I expected to have.
At noon, I crossed the street with a small glass bottle of sparkling lemonade, tied with a yellow ribbon. The front door opened before I even reached the porch.
"Maci."
Camille smiled so warmly that anyone watching would have thought we’d been friends for years.
"I hope I'm not late."
"You're right on time."
She stepped aside.
"Come in."
I caught the scent of roasted garlic, lemon, and fresh herbs before I even walked in. The house looked just like it had the other night. She took the lemonade from me.
"You didn't have to bring anything."
"I know, but I never come empty-handed."
"This way."
I followed her into a big kitchen with windows that looked out over the backyard.
Sunlight poured in, making the marble countertops gleam.
The table was already set with lemon rosemary chicken, roasted asparagus, herb potatoes, and a fresh salad.
She used real china, cloth napkins, and crystal glasses.
"You cooked all of this?"
"I enjoy it."
She laughed.
"My husband says I cook enough to feed an army."
"I'm not complaining."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
She gestured to the chair across from her.
"Sit."
I sat down.
She poured lemonade into my glass, then filled her own with white wine.
"I hope you don't mind."
She raised the bottle a little.
"I've needed this since yesterday."
"I don't blame you."
She laughed.
"One glass."
She took a sip and set the glass next to her plate.
"I still can't believe someone did that."
"I'm just glad you weren't hurt."
"So am I."
She picked up her fork to eat.
"I think what bothered me most was wondering why."
I looked down at my plate.
"I don't think random people uproot flowers."
She paused, her fork still.
"You don't?"
"No."
"They wanted you to see it."
We sat in silence for a moment. Camille nodded after a while.
"I've thought the same thing."
She looked out at the backyard.
"I just can't imagine who would hate me enough."
I stayed quiet and picked up my fork. Sometimes, silence said more than words ever could.