Chapter Eleven
Maci
Thursdays began to feel different. The change wasn’t because of the Lemon Pound Cake Club, but because of what happened after our last meeting.
Nearly every house on the street had a new security camera above the garage or by the front door. In only four days, fear changed the neighborhood more than years of peace ever had.
It made everyone feel like danger was nearby.
I parked in my garage and rushed inside to get the lemon pound cake I’d baked earlier. Pleased with how it turned out, I walked across the street to Camille’s. The moment I stepped onto her porch, the front door opened.
"Thanks to these new cameras, I knew you were coming."
Camille smiled, but her eyes stayed serious. From a distance, she looked just like the woman I’d met weeks ago. Up close, no makeup could hide how tired she looked. The skin under her eyes was darker now. When she hugged me, I noticed the smell of bourbon.
"Come on in," she said, stepping aside.
"The girls are already here."
The dining room looked as beautiful as always, with fresh flowers in the middle of the table.
Danielle looked healthier now. The bruises on her wrists were gone, and she smiled more often these days.
Nia and Simone argued about whose cobbler should win first place at next month’s neighborhood barbecue. Miss Evelyn quietly stirred honey into her tea.
The room was full of conversation. Everything felt normal and comfortable.
Camille walked over to the built-in bar in the corner of the dining room. While everyone else poured tea, she picked up a crystal decanter and poured herself a glass of amber liquid.
She saw me watching her.
"It's just a little bourbon."
She smiled.
"I haven't slept much this week."
No one spoke at first. She carried her glass to her chair, took a slow sip, and placed it beside her plate.
I noticed Simone glance at Nia, and Nia caught it as well.
"So," Simone asked gently, "how are you really doing?"
Camille looked up.
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
She laughed.
"I promise."
"It was just a stupid note."
Danielle frowned.
"It didn't seem stupid."
Camille's smile faded for just a moment.
"No," she admitted softly. "I guess it wasn't."
Miss Evelyn reached across the table and covered Camille's hand with her own.
"You don't have to be strong every minute of every day."
The room grew quiet. Camille swallowed hard.
"I'm trying."
"I know," Miss Evelyn replied.
The moment ended as quickly as it began. Camille cleared her throat and stood up.
"Before we eat..."
She clasped her hands together.
"I just want to thank y'all."
The women looked at her.
"I know the last week has been unsettling."
A few heads nodded.
"But this club has survived heartbreak before."
"It'll survive fear too."
She smiled again. We bowed our heads while Miss Evelyn prayed.
"Lord, thank you for bringing us together once again.
Thank you for protecting every woman sitting around this table.
Continue giving us courage to ask for help, wisdom to know when someone else needs it, and grace to love one another well.
Remind us that no woman should ever have to suffer alone. Amen."
"Amen," we echoed.
Plates of lemon pound cake went around the table. Slowly, people started talking again. For a while, the room sounded almost like it used to. Even laughter returned.
Then Camille quietly stood up again. She walked over to the bar and poured herself another drink. Simone watched her, then glanced at Nia. Nia looked at Danielle. No one said a word.
Camille returned to her chair as if nothing had happened.
In the middle of another talk about vacation rentals, Simone finally spoke up.
"Camille." She gave a gentle smile. "Can I ask you something?"
"Always."
"You've been drinking a lot lately."
The room grew quiet. Even the sound of forks on plates faded away.
Camille blinked.
"It's one drink."
Simone gave her a patient smile.
"It was one drink."
She looked at the glass.
"Now it's way more."
Camille laughed.
"Who's counting?"
No one answered.
Danielle finally spoke.
"We're just worried about you."
"I appreciate that."
"You've barely slept," Nia added softly.
"And you've been carrying this whole neighborhood on your shoulders."
"I said I'm okay."
Regret crossed her face. She closed her eyes and let out a breath.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap."
She glanced around the table.
"I just…" Her voice cracked. "I haven't felt like myself since Monday."
No one rushed to fill the silence. Miss Evelyn stood and hugged Camille. Camille relaxed and leaned into her arms.
Watching her, I realized something. Fear wasn’t destroying Camille. It was stealing the part of herself she had fought to protect.
Miss Evelyn gently rubbed Camille’s back in slow circles, then sat back down.
"None of us expect you to carry this alone," she said gently.
"We've leaned on you long enough. It's okay to lean on us."
Everyone at the table nodded. Camille managed a small smile.
"I don't know what I'd do without y'all."
"You'll never have to find out," Danielle replied.
The tension in the room faded. Someone reached for another slice of cake. Nia refilled everyone’s drinks.
People started talking again, but their voices were softer, as if everyone was more aware of Camille at the head of the table.
I watched Camille. I didn’t see the person everyone else saw. I saw the side she tried to hide. She held onto her bourbon glass long after she stopped drinking.
She kept glancing at the front windows and the security monitor by the kitchen door. She was waiting for something.
I didn’t know what she was waiting for. Maybe she did.
I picked up my fork.
"Can I ask y'all something?"
The talking stopped. Camille was the first to look up.
"Of course."
I gave a polite smile.
"This might sound silly."
"I've only been here a few weeks, but I've been wondering."
I looked down at the cake on my plate.
"Why lemon pound cake?"
Some of the women smiled. Nia laughed.
"I knew she'd ask eventually."
"I was wondering how long it'd take," Simone added.
Camille chuckled softly.
"I'm surprised it took this long."
She rested both hands around her teacup before speaking.
"People hear our name and think we're just a baking club."
Laughter moved through the room again.
"The truth is," she paused. "We're here because one woman needed another woman."
The table grew quiet.
"The first meeting took place more than twenty years ago. There was no clubhouse. There were no matching cake carriers. There weren't even this many women."
Her smile faded as she seemed to drift into thought.
"There was only a tiny kitchen. A homemade lemon pound cake. And a wife with nowhere else to go."
No one interrupted.
"She showed up terrified. She knew that if she went back home that night..." Camille paused. "She wasn't sure she'd survive."
Danielle lowered her eyes.
"Another woman invited her in. She didn't ask questions or judge. They sat at the kitchen table and cut two slices of cake. Between the first bite and the last, she realized she wasn't alone anymore."
The room stayed quiet.
"The recipe stayed, and so did the promise."
Camille looked around the table.
"If a woman walks through that front door asking for help, she leaves knowing she's family."
Danielle slowly set down her fork.
"When I came here," Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "I couldn't even say Marcus's name without shaking." She swallowed.
"I thought everyone would ask me why I stayed. Why I covered the bruises. Why I kept making excuses."
Miss Evelyn reached over and squeezed her hand.
"They didn't ask me any of that. They hugged me, they fed me, and they listened."
A tear slid down Danielle's cheek.
"They reminded me I deserved to live."
Simone smiled.
"This club saved my marriage."
Nia nodded.
Another woman across the table spoke quietly.
"It taught me that asking for help isn't weakness."
The women took turns sharing pieces of their lives. Not all the stories were about bruises. Some were about grief, infidelity, depression, children, or loneliness. But each story ended the same way. Someone at the table understood.
I looked around the room and saw women wiping away tears. Danielle laughed even as she cried. Miss Evelyn smiled with quiet pride.
Then I looked at Camille. She seemed honest. Everything she said felt true, or at least most of it did. Her words sounded familiar, almost like the ones I’d read before.
Almost.
What stood out to me wasn’t what Camille said, but what she left out. There were small gaps and little changes. If you were hearing the story for the first time, you might not notice.
Stories changed a little every time they were told. Sometimes it happened by accident, sometimes on purpose.
Camille reached for her glass again. Her hand shook, just enough for me to notice. She steadied herself and wrapped both hands around the glass.
She looked up and met my eyes, her brow furrowed. Then Camille stood and began to gather the plates.
"I'll wrap the leftovers."
"I know everybody's husbands expect cake."
Laughter rolled around the table.
"I know mine does," Simone teased.
"I don't think I'll ever be able to eat lemon pound cake anywhere else," Danielle said.
"I'd be offended if you did," Camille replied with a wink.
I carried my empty plate into the kitchen and paused. The walls were covered with framed photos. Women in yellow dresses stood together, smiling at the camera.
My eyes moved from one frame to the next, then paused.
One frame hung a bit higher than the others. Another looked newer. It seemed like something else had once been there and was replaced.
"Beautiful memories, aren't they?"
Camille’s voice brought me back. I turned to see her standing in the doorway, holding a dish towel.
"They are."
She smiled.
"We've built quite a history."
"I'm sure you have."
Everything Camille said that afternoon was true. The Lemon Pound Cake Club really was made to protect women.
It was a true refuge, a place where frightened wives found safety, friendship, and the courage to put themselves first.
She was honest about that. She couldn’t hide it. The truth was too beautiful to keep secret.
But she also created something else alongside it, something hidden from everyone but herself. Sometimes, the safest places become the best hiding spots. After all, no one questions the woman who is busy saving everyone else.
Some women protect their legacies. Others bury them so well that people end up mistaking the grave for a garden.