Aftermath (20 page)

It was Octavia's turn to smile. They finished their meal and ordered dessert, switching topics to lighten the mood. The next morning, Dominique scheduled an appointment for Octavia to have an abortion. She only bristled slightly when the receptionist scheduled the procedure for Monday, January 21. It was the same day that Jamel was being released from prison. Dominique shook it off and proceeded to schedule the appointment for ten o'clock that morning. Jamel would have to understand that, for once, she was putting her daughter first.

She hadn't spoken to Archie since Octavia had come home. She really wasn't sure what to say. True, he had made love to her in a way that no other man ever had. But, her heart still belonged to Jamel. She loved Jamel, wanted a future with him. And now that he was coming home, she had to decide whether or not to tell him about her indiscretion. She was battling within herself every time Jamel called, and she knew that seeing him face-to-face once he came home would only make it harder. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that Dominique wouldn't get to see him on his first day home.

On the morning of Octavia's procedure, she was awake long before her mother. She had barely been able to sleep because of her nervousness. She wasn't sure what to expect, and wondered if the abortion would hurt, if it would leave a scar, if she would feel any different afterward. By the time she and her mother had gotten dressed and piled into the car, Octavia was a bundle of nerves.

Dominique looked over at her daughter shaking in the passenger seat and gently pinched her cheek. “There's nothing to be afraid of,” she said, as if reading Octavia's mind. “Everything's gonna be just fine.”

Octavia wasn't sure why, but hearing her mother say those words and having her look at her so reassuringly was all that it took to put her at ease. They drove off toward the hospital, hand in hand.

*   *   *

Jamel stepped out
of the prison without a guard escorting him and without the burden of any restraints and felt free at last. For three long years he had been treated like an animal and now that was all behind him. As he boarded the bus bound for New York City, he thought about Dominique. He couldn't help feeling disappointed that she was unable to be there to greet him on his first day as a free man. He understood that she had to accompany her daughter to her procedure, but it still felt bittersweet to be going home to no fanfare. He took a seat near a window and settled in for the long ride back to the city from the mountainous upstate region where the prison was located. He told himself not to dwell on Dominique's absence. He would see her soon enough, and in the meantime, he was free. Nothing felt better than that.

Suicidal Thoughts

Camille stood precariously on the edge of the roof and looked down. The ground seemed so far away, the tops of the trees swaying beneath her. She hated that this was the only option, but she had no choice. There was no way she could live like this anymore. Her mind was reeling. A driving rain was falling, and she lost her footing and slipped off the edge of the roof on which she stood. In that instant, she knew that she was making a mistake. She wasn't ready to die. It didn't matter, though. The damage had been done and she was falling, falling fast toward the earth and the ground was getting closer and closer by the second. A bloodcurdling scream escaped her lips as she braced for impact.

With a gasp, Camille woke up from her nightmare and felt her heart thundering in her chest. She breathlessly looked around the room at her belongings, feeling sweat forming on her forehead. She was alive, and it had all been a bad dream.

Well, not all of it. She was still pregnant with a child her husband had never wanted, still living in a palatial estate that doubled as a murder scene, still alone, broke, and afraid. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, and rubbed her pregnant belly comfortingly. She smiled a little then, realizing that this was something she'd started doing lately—stroking her stomach this way, aware that there was a life growing within the safety of her womb. Whether Frankie was happy about it or not, they were going to be parents.

She felt her anger bubbling at the surface whenever she thought of her husband lately. The hurt she'd initially felt had given way to rage, which Camille had never known before. Frankie still hadn't been in touch with her, and was still depositing only enough into their joint bank account to keep the mortgage paid. There was not a penny left over for her to put gas in her expensive cars or to buy food, for that matter. Camille had resorted to borrowing money from her mother—an odd situation since it was Camille who usually paid all her mother's living expenses prior to Misa's arrest. It had been that way since the beginning of their marriage. Frankie and Camille both agreed that their mothers' bills would be taken care of out of the household expenditures each month, and so it had gone for years.

Thankfully, Lily had stored up her own money over the years and was able to maintain her quality of life now that Camille and Frankie were on the outs. But that didn't matter to Camille. She was pissed. The nightmare she'd just awakened from was the final straw. She had a right to live comfortably. She was Frankie Bingham's wife, and it seemed he needed a reminder. So, she climbed out of bed, threw on some jeans and a sweater and headed out the door at just after 2:00
A.M.
to remind her husband just who the fuck she was.

*   *   *

Gillian was asleep
, wrapped securely in Frankie's arms, when the doorbell started ringing incessantly. She was startled by the noise and so was Frankie apparently, as he jerked awake. Both of them scrambled out of bed and started off in the direction of the front door. Gillian peeked out the front window, half expecting to see the police or one of the family goons. When she saw who it was, her body stiffened. She looked at Frankie and he could see an instant change in her demeanor, from fear and anxiety to pure annoyance.

“It's Camille.”

Frankie's heart sank. He knew it was inevitable that this would happen. He hadn't spoken to Camille since the night his brother was killed and he had been avoiding her at all costs. At the advice of his lawyer, he was still providing for her household expenses—and that was
all
he was doing. He had deposited the bare minimum into their joint account. Then he had withdrawn all the money in all the other accounts Camille knew about, and closed them for good measure. He knew he'd been playing hardball. But what the hell did she expect when her own sister was to blame for Steven's death?

Frankie took a deep breath as Camille continued to press the doorbell. He looked at Gillian and rolled his eyes, then reluctantly opened the door.

Camille stood there in the cold of the night with her mink bomber jacket zipped up to her neck. As she spoke, the cold air was visible as it escaped her mouth.

“Frankie, enough is enough. I've been calling you for days. No answer. I have no money and nowhere else to turn.” Camille shook her head in frustration. “So, something's gotta give.”

Frankie looked at his wife standing before him and felt a slight twinge of guilt. After all, Camille hadn't done anything wrong. It was her sister, Misa, who had murdered Steven. Camille was pregnant and it was freezing outside. He didn't object as she stepped into the house, seeking refuge from the bitter cold. He wasn't heartless, after all.

Gillian, however, was outraged. “Camille, I understand that you want to talk to Frankie,” she said, as she watched Camille stroll into her home as if she belonged there. “But this is the second time you've come to my house uninvited, and I'm not comfortable with that.”

Camille laughed slightly. “
You're
not comfortable, Gillian?” Camille shook her head. “Well, I'm so sorry to hear that. How 'bout I'm not comfortable with you over here fucking my husband?”

“Listen, Camille—” Frankie began.

“Your
husband,
” Gillian interrupted with a hint of a smirk on her pretty face, “can call you later to talk to you. For now, why don't you go home and call it a night?”

Camille picked up a nearby vase and tossed it at Gillian's head with all her might. Narrowly missing its target, the Mikasa crystal piece hit the wall behind Gillian and shattered into a thousand pieces. Gillian cried out and ducked.

“Camille!” Frankie yelled her name this time, and rushed toward her before she could pick up anything else.

“I didn't come here to talk to
you,
bitch!” Camille unzipped her jacket and stepped closer to Gillian. Gone was the demure seen-and-not-heard Camille Bingham. She was a woman scorned and hell hath no fury … “Go sit the fuck down and be quiet!”

“Bitch?” Gillian frowned, looking from Camille to the glass at her feet and back again. It was clear that Gillian was piecing together the fact that Camille had officially lost her mind. “Do you know who the fuck I am?”

“Yeah,” Camille said, her index finger pointed directly in the face of her husband's mistress.
“Bitch!”
Frankie was holding her back and preventing her from getting close enough to hit Gillian.

Gillian seemed as if she couldn't believe what was happening. “Don't make me fuck you up, Camille!”

Frankie looked like he had absolutely no control over the situation at hand. Both women were furious. Calmly and in a low voice, he spoke firmly to his wife.

“Camille, you can't come in here like this. Go home. I'll call you in a little while.”

But Camille wasn't trying to hear that. “Yeah, right. Frankie, I'm here
now
. Talk to me now.”

“I'm gonna ask you one more time to get out of my house before I call the cops, Camille,” Gillian said, her chest heaving with rage.

“Fuck you!” Camille was furious and Gillian's threat fell on deaf ears.

Frankie blamed himself for this. He had seen the dozens of missed calls from Camille over the past few weeks. He had known that he was only prolonging the inevitable by ignoring her. But he had never expected Camille to come out of her character the way she was now. He wanted to protest as Gillian made a beeline for the telephone. In their business, the last thing they normally did was involve the police. But he knew that if he protested, Gillian would think he was defending Camille.

Camille ignored the fact that Gillian had stomped into the bedroom to get her phone and was apparently dialing 911. She turned her attention to Frankie again. “I need money,” she said. “The bills are paid, but I have nothing left to eat with, no money for gas or for—”

“Here, Camille!” With the phone cradled between her ear and her shoulder, Gillian emerged from her bedroom, snatched her purse off the coffee table and pulled out a wad of cash. She tossed the bills in the direction of Frankie's unwanted wife. “Take it. And go home and wait for Frankie to call you tomorrow.”

Camille couldn't believe her eyes. Was this bitch treating her like a charity case? She charged toward Gillian prepared to kill the whore with her bare hands. But Frankie stopped her, restraining her as she struggled to break free. “Don't throw money at me like I'm some fuckin' bum on the street. I'm not asking
you
for shit! I'm not even fuckin' talking to you. Mind your business!”

“This
is
my business, sweetie. It's my house.”

“And this is my husband,” Camille reminded her.

“Yes, I do have an emergency,” Gillian spoke into the telephone. “The address is—”

“Go ahead and call 'em,” Camille said. “ 'Cuz I ain't going nowhere.”

Frankie looked torn. There was no way for him to put an end to this amicably. The face-off he had been hoping to avoid was now upon him.

Gillian continued her conversation with the 911 operator. But she couldn't help thinking that Frankie was acting like a real pussy right now. She didn't understand why he hadn't kicked Camille the fuck out already. The bitch had barged into Gillian's house, cursed at her, and aimed a very heavy object at her head. Gillian paced the floor, thinking Frankie was lucky she hadn't murdered his little Stepford wife yet. She watched him struggling with himself about what to do next, how to defuse the situation. And Gillian couldn't help losing the slightest bit of respect for Frankie.

Camille's voice rose. “I can't believe you, Frankie,” Camille said, shaking her head in amazement. “What kind of man are you? If someone had told me a year ago that we would be standing here … I wouldn't have believed that you would be so coldhearted and cruel as you've been lately. I know you don't love me anymore. I'm coming to terms with that. But I'm still your wife. I'm carrying your child in my womb. There's years of history between us … yet you can sit back and watch me suffer? You can sleep at night knowing that you cut me off from all the money, knowing that I'm pregnant and that my whole life has been turned upside down?”

“Well,” he said softly, “you're not the only one whose life was turned upside down.”

She nodded. “I know. But it's not
my
fault, Frankie. I feel like you're blaming me for what Misa did. I don't know if Steven did what she thinks he did. What I do know is that
somebody
was molesting Shane. So whether she was wrong or right about Steven, Misa is devastated by what was done to her son.”

Frankie's jaw clenched. “That didn't give her a right to kill my brother.”

Camille shook her head. “Maybe not. But that has nothing to do with me and you.”

“Don't it?” Frankie asked incredulously. “I mean she is your sister.”

“So what? You think that by hurting me, neglecting and ignoring me, that you're somehow punishing Misa? She's already going through hell with what happened to her son. Her only priority right now is Shane.”