Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) (4 page)

Camille

Past

NORMALLY, IF I HAVE A
bad day, I’ll grab a canvas and some paints and use that as an outlet. If that doesn’t work, I often walk to the Landry’s house, and either find Annie in the kitchen or her greenhouse out back. Today, though, I don’t feel up to any of that. My mood is hanging over me like a black cloud. Instead of spreading it around like the flu, I find a spot close to the pond that separates the Landry property from my family’s land and settle there on the soft grass, hoping that some fresh air and good ol’ Louisiana sunshine will do me some good.

It’s so warm out today; it’s hard for me to believe it’s already January.

Fall was a flurry of events. Deacon’s last football season was the best in school history. He led them straight to the state playoffs. They didn’t win, but the way our small town rallied around them, you would’ve thought they won the Super Bowl. Deacon was happy with the success, and everyone thought he would for sure sign with one of the colleges who’ve been scouting him, but he didn’t. He’s sticking with his dream of attending LSU in the fall.

I’m happy for him. I really am. I’m happy he’s staying true to what he wants in life and blazing his own path. But I can’t help the melancholy that’s settled over me the last week or so. Ever since New Year’s Eve, all I can think about is that this is the last semester Deacon and I will be in school together. It’s the last few months that things will be like this, with him living just down an old beaten path.

In August, he’ll move into the dorms at LSU, and everything will change.

It never fails, when I start thinking about change, I think about my mama, because change is a reminder that life goes on, and she’s not here.

I was six when she died.

What started off as the flu quickly became pneumonia and within a week, she was gone. I don’t remember much about that week, but I do remember being in the hospital and holding my mama’s hand. The adults whispered while Tucker and I played quietly in the next room.

And I remember seeing my daddy cry for the first time.

He loved my mama. Even at the young age of six, I knew that much.

We all loved her.

And with every passing year, I forget details of the little time I had with her. My greatest fear in life is waking up one morning and not being able to remember anything about her—the way her eyes and nose crinkled when she laughed or the way her hair hung down her back when she was standing at the stove cooking . . . or the sound of her humming while doing things around the house.

I wish I could bottle it all up and keep it with me forever, pouring a little out each time I miss her. I’d need an endless supply.

I thank the Lord on a daily basis that Annie Landry was my mama’s best friend. She’s always been there for me when I needed a woman’s perspective and saw to it that I had a female influence in my life. My daddy has always done the best he can. He’s been there for me, held me when I cried myself to sleep . . . cried with me. He’s done a good job. My mama would be so proud of him, but sometimes a girl needs someone to talk to about girl stuff. Annie’s always been that someone for me. She doesn’t have daughters of her own, so I think I fill a missing role in her life, too.

The most important thing is she’s never tried to replace my mama. She reminds me of her in a lot of ways—her gentleness and the way she smells so sweet all the time. She told me one time it’s because she and my mama always used the same lotion. She even told me she’d change it if I wanted her to, but I didn’t. It’s little things like that that have kept my mama’s memory alive for me. And ten years down the road, I’ll take all the help I can get. I think Annie needs it too.

I lost my mama and she lost her best friend.

Lying back, I close my eyes and let my mind wander. I let the sad memories go and let the familiar sounds from the pond soothe me. The crickets chirping in the distance, the cool breeze blowing over me, carrying the combined smells of water and earth. They all do their part to help me find a bit of the peace I’m seeking. Eventually, my mind clears enough that my body relaxes, and I drift somewhere between conscious and unconscious.

It’s not until something blocks my warmth coming from the sun that I realize I’ve drifted off to sleep.

“What are you doing out here by yourself, Cami Benoit?”

I should’ve known he’d find me. He’s always had a sixth sense when it comes to me, much like his mama.

“Sleeping, Deacon Landry,” I reply back in a groggy voice. There might be a little annoyance there too because my body was so warm and relaxed, and it was the first time today I haven’t felt like a black cloud was following me around.

“Why?”

Slowly, I open my eyes and see Deacon in all of his six-foot-three glory standing above me. He looks beautiful with his tanned skin that lingers from the long days of summer and fall and those bright blue-green eyes that remind me of tropical waters. My heart races, but I ignore it like I always do. He has no clue what he does to me.

“I just wanted to be alone for a while.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” he asks, sitting down next to me, letting the sun shine down on me again.

The question is genuine and caring, so much like his mama and so different from the cocky Deacon on the football field or the life of the party Deacon from Friday night.

This is
my
Deacon.

“Just had a crappy day.”

“Anyone’s ass I need to kick?” he asks, leaning forward with his long arms resting on his knees.

This is what drives me crazy. Him, Tucker, Micah—they’re all three like that. Always wanting to kick someone’s ass in my honor. It’s sweet. I get it. I know I should be grateful, but sometimes I just want to be able to stand up for myself.

“There’s no one’s ass to kick,” I mutter. “My mood has nothing to do with anyone else, just me.”

He exhales and stretches out beside me on the grass.

I glance over at him, still amazed sometimes at the man he’s becoming. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s weird and crazy to think that this mammoth lying next to me is the same kid who was only a head taller than me at one point.

We lie there in silence for a while, just watching the clouds pass by, something we’ve done a hundred times, but something about this time feels different. I’m acutely aware of every move he makes—his leg grazing mine, his hand twitching next to me. I can hear his breaths and when he swallows.

“There’s a turtle,” he says, pointing up toward the sky, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to reality.

I relax and let out a pent up breath. This is just Deacon. This is no different from any other time I’ve laid beside him. I mean, we’ve spent the night at each other’s houses for goodness sake.

Get a freakin’ grip, Cami.

“There’s a frog,” I tell him, joining in our game and pointing up and to the right. “Like, if you’re looking at him from the front . . . see his big ol’ eyes?”

“Yeah, I see it.”

And just like that, all my worries and troubles drift away like the big puffy white clouds we’re watching overhead.

“There’s a steamboat,” he says, reaching his arm across my body to point to something in the distance and making my skin tingle at the contact.

“A steamboat, huh?” I ask, trying to play it cool and like his touch doesn’t affect me.

“Yeah, see the smoke coming out of the stack?”

I shake my head, stretching my neck up as I try to see what he’s pointing to and also putting us a few inches closer. “No, I don’t see it.”

“Right there,” he says, leaning up on his elbow and putting his hand lightly on my cheek, forcing me to take a closer look. “See it?”

I want to lean into his touch, but I try not to as I strain my eyes to see what he sees. Finally, it comes into focus, and I practically jump up with excitement. “Oh, yeah . . . and it kinda looks like water beneath it,” I add.

“Yeah.”

It’s amazing what you can see when you want to.

“Hey, there’s a castle,” I tell him. This isn’t the first time I’ve pointed out a castle. It’s my unicorn—the thing I’m always looking for. When I was little, I dreamed that my mama lived in a castle in the clouds.

“You’re right,” Deacon says, playing along. “It’s got two big towers.”

“Yeah, and I think it has a drawbridge.”

“And probably a moat.”

“Definitely a moat.”

“To keep out all the bad guys.”

“Yeah.”

Deacon knows all about my fantasies. Well,
most
of my fantasies, anyway.

When Micah and Tucker used to make fun of me for always daydreaming and having my head in the clouds, Deacon would stick up for me and tell them they just wished they had an imagination as good as mine.

He gets me.

He’s exactly what I needed today.

“Your birthday is coming up,” he mentions nonchalantly.

“Not for another few months.”

“Yeah, but it’s the big sixteen. You’ve gotta think this one through . . . what do you want? How will you celebrate?” he asks, his voice rising as he gives me a wide-eyed expression, disbelieving that I’m not as excited about this milestone as I should be, and it makes me laugh.

“It’s not
that
big,” I tell him. Most kids are excited about turning sixteen because that means they’ll have a license and freedom. I’ve been driving a farm truck since I was twelve. And freedom, I doubt that’ll come with a change in my age.

“Sure it is. Your sixteenth birthday is a huge deal.” He turns back on his side and faces me, leaning on his elbow, giving me his undivided attention and it makes me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I wish I could tell him that this is all I want for my birthday, just time with him, but that would sound stupid and cross whatever imaginary boundary we have between us.

My sixteenth birthday probably should be a big deal, and I probably should be excited about it, but I can’t help but think about the fact that me turning sixteen means Deacon is turning eighteen. And Deacon turning eighteen means he’ll be leaving soon. And no birthday can make me happy about that.

“What’s that frown for?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I tell him, shaking my head. Usually, I’m transparent when it comes to my feelings in front of Deacon, but not with this. My sadness over his impending departure has to stay with me. I can’t tell him. Regardless of my feelings, I’d never want to ruin what we have.

“What do you want for your birthday?”

I smile, loving the way his face lights up when he thinks about presents or gift-giving occasions. Deacon Landry loves gifts. His favorite kind of gifts are souvenirs. Like when his dad goes away on business, if he doesn’t bring back a T-shirt or a snow globe, Deacon is crushed. You’d think someone ran over his dog or forgot
his
birthday.

“I want a big pink cake.”

“A cake?” Deacon asks, frowning.

“Yeah, every year since . . . well, since I was little . . .” I don’t have to be specific with Deacon. He knows. “My dad has always made me a chocolate cake for my birthday. Which is great,” I preface. “Don’t get me wrong; I love his chocolate cakes. But . . .”

“You always wanted a pink one,” Deacon interjects, finishing my thought for me.

“Yeah.” I shake my head and laugh, knowing it sounds completely ridiculous. I mean, what sixteen-year-old wants a pink cake for their birthday?

I do have one more thing I want, but I can’t say that out loud. Just thinking it makes my stomach flip like a fish out of water.

A kiss from Deacon is what I’ve wished for my last two birthdays. But now, being older, I want more than that. I can’t even explain exactly what I want or why, but I want it—him and whatever he’d give me. But I could never say that, not to his face anyway. I just say it in my head. It’s my most vivid fantasy these days. It’s all I can think about sometimes.

“I better get up to the house,” Deacon says, jumping up off the ground. “Mama will have dinner ready, and you know how pissed she gets if we’re late.”

“Yeah, I gotta go, too. My daddy will be in from the fields soon and expect somethin’ on the table.”

“You wanna eat with us? You can take him a plate. I bet Tucker’s still up at the house. Him and Micah were messin’ around out in the garage when I took off to find you.”

He stretches his long arm down to me and offers his hand to help me up. I take it, loving the feel of his skin against mine.

I think about his offer, but I really just want to walk home and be there when my daddy gets in. Besides, I have a canvas I started on over the weekend, and I want to work on it a little more. Being out here this afternoon has cleared my head and inspired me. The painting is actually of this pond. I’ve painted it before, but this time, I’m trying out a sunset, kind of like what we’re experiencing, and the lighting is perfect. I want to work on it while it’s fresh on my mind.

“I think I’ll head home,” I tell Deacon after we walk a little way down the path. “Tell Tucker I’ll see him at the house later, and I’ll have dinner ready if he wants to come home.”

“You sure?”

I nod and sigh, taking him in one last time before we part ways. “Yeah, tell your mama I said hi and that I’ll be over tomorrow after school.”