Chasing Love's Wings (4 page)

I decide to take a drive, out of the way, before heading back to my condo. It’s been
so long since the Spyder and I have had a run on the freeway. Traffic leaving the
airport is a bit of bitch, but I know once I get to the fifty-one, I can fly. I pop
open the sunroof; it’s a hundred and twelve outside, and I know I can’t run the car
like this for long, but I just want to open her up. When I finally clear the Camelback
area, traffic evaporates in front of me.

The Spyder hugs the curves of highway and the wind is whipping through the car, causing
my hair to fly wildly behind me. It feels great, just shutting it all out while Tantric’s
“Astounded” fills the car.
 

It is nearly an hour later when I pull into the parking lot. I see Beau’s car parked
in front of the garage, but it’s empty so I know they’re inside, though I’m surprised
that they’re parked behind my SUV. They usually park behind the Spyder; I guess they
must’ve known which car I’d take. I pull the R8 into the garage and walk into the
condo. I’m on the second floor - technically - and it is empty down here. I haven’t
decided what to do with the space, more specifically the basement below me.

The condo is technically five stories tall. The bottom floor, the one below me now,
is underground — at least on the west side of the house. The garage is elevated half
a floor above ground; I have to drive up a small hill to get in and out of it. The
bottom floor is pretty much open space. There is a bathroom — a good sized one — a
bedroom and a wide-open area that would be perfect for an entertainment room with
a bar. Which is what I think it will be, eventually.

This floor, the second floor, has the garage, which is a wide, two-car width but could
easily accommodate a small boat, camper or motorcycle, along with plenty of room for
a tool bench and other manly things. Once inside the actual house, there is a large
laundry room and a small section of servants’ quarters. The quarters contain two small
rooms — more like closets — a small kitchen and a bathroom. A mini apartment, really.
The servants’ quarters have their own separate entrance, which runs along the north
side of the garage, as well as a door from inside the house. I guess if I ever wanted
a roommate, it would be perfect, since I have no intention of having a fulltime house
staff live here.

I bypass the elevator. I still roll my eyes at the fact that my condo has an elevator,
but due to the long, shallow staircase leading from floor to floor, the elevator might
come in handy someday.
 

I climb the stairs.
 

This floor, the third, houses the kitchen and formal and informal dining rooms, along
with a living room and a den or fourth bedroom. This floor has more furniture on it
than the bottom floor, but it is still pretty bland. One thing that did get finished
before I moved in was Beau’s mural paintings that adorn the walls, and I’m kind of
excited to get real furniture in here. I think that I will be making the fourth bedroom
into my office, and while I don’t see a reason for a formal dining room, I haven’t
a clue what to turn it into, so it will likely be that: a formal dining room.
 

I call out, “Beau? Where are you?”

“In the kitchen,” she calls back, and I head that direction. Actually, I head straight
for the fridge and the bottle of moscato hiding within it. As I come into the kitchen,
Beau and Mick are sitting at the bar opposite the sink. Sitting in front of Mick is
a big, thick, brown, accordion-style file folder.
 

“Hi, guys, why the serious faces?” I open the fridge, grab the bottle, then turn,
pulling a wineglass down from the overhead rack. “Want some?” I ask them both.

Beau nods.
 

“Have any beer?” asks Mick.

I roll my eyes at him. “Of course,” I say, reaching for another glass from the rack.
I pour Beau and myself a glass of wine, and when I return to fridge to put the bottle
away, I grab a Sam Adams from the door. I pull the bottle opener off the fridge and
pop the cap, tossing it into the hole in counter that leads to the trash can below.
Their faces are pissing me off. I slide the beer to Mick. “All right, what is going
on?”
 

“Are you all right?” Beau asks me, and I can see the pity in her eyes and it drives
me nuts.
 

“Yes, I’m fine, but my well-being is not at all why the two of you are here. So spill
it.” I look at Mick, since the package is in front of him.
 

“This came to my office while we were in Tarah. I didn’t know how you’d react or feel
about it if I brought it up in front of Tristan.” Mick has a somber look in his eyes
and I can’t quite understand why.

“An unnecessary worry, but okay.” I shrug. “What is it?” I take a long sip of my wine.
I have the feeling that the moscato is going to be nowhere near strong enough for
whatever this is. I debate momentarily about the bottle of Crown sitting on the pantry
shelf behind me, then decide it is probably better to wait until I find out what is
going on first.
 

“It’s from your father.”
 

I down the glass of wine in what feels like one big swallow, then turn around for
the pantry. I grab the Crown Royal bottle, pulling it roughly off the shelf. I open
the bottle and pour it into my empty wine glass. I bring it to my lips, hesitate momentarily,
and then I take a big long swig. Oh, the burn. I feel the Crown slide down my throat
and into my stomach. When I place the glass on the counter, I just stand there - staring
at no one in particular, but Mick is in my line of sight.
 

“Or rather it is from your father’s estate.”

“Will this ever end?” I groan in frustration at the two of them. I watch as neither
one of them flinches; they’ve braced themselves for this. Good.
 

“I contacted the estate attorney and asked him the same question. He said that they
have nothing further in regards to his estate, but he also informed me that this was
delivered to them the Wednesday before your birthday, with specific instructions that
it be sent to his next of kin, care of me.” Mick takes a couple of long, large drinks
from his own beer, and I can see Beau is uncertain of what to say. That’s a first.
 

“What’s in it?” I ask, though I’m certain Mick hasn’t opened it.
 

“I’m not sure. It looks like some CDs, a couple of jump drives and some papers.”
 

I take another long drink of my Crown and reach for the package.
 

Mick slides it over to me and Beau has managed to find her voice. “Are you sure you
want to open it now?” I look at her with an ‘Are you kidding me right now?’ look,
and she raises her hands in mock defense. “I just thought you’d want to do it in private.”

“Fuck that.” I shake my head at her and begin to unwind the string from the cheap
button on the outside. As soon as pressure from the flap lets up, the string unwinds
itself and the flap falls open with an audible flop. The movement is jarring to the
contents inside, and six jewel cases fall out. Each one of them are hand-numbered:
1, 2, 3, 4, 7, 8
...
 

”Jesus Christ, what the hell is all this stuff?” I blurt out, trying to wrap my head
around what all of this could be.
 

I pull back the top and look inside. Sitting on top of everything are a couple pieces
of paper, and I pull them out. On top is an inventory list of all the things inside.
It’s not long.

1. CD #1 - containing documentation 1970 to 1975

2. CD #2 - containing documentation 1975 to 1980
 

3. CD #3 - containing documentation 1980 to 1983

4. CD #4 - containing documentation 1983 to 1986

5. CD #5 - containing documentation 1987
 

6. CD #6 - containing documentation 1988 to 1990

7. CD #7 - containing documentation 1991 to 1999

8. CD #8 - containing documentation 2000 to 2006

9, CD #9 - containing documentation 2006 to May 2011

10. CD #10
 

I can’t keep reading the list of contents, but I can see there is more stuff about
papers and a journal. I’m surprised by the fact that there is one whole disc pertaining
to 1987, the year I was born. Also by the fact that the 1980s have four discs, when
the other decades take up a lot less. But I can’t stop the small tear that escapes;
I’m already an emotional mess from Tristan leaving, so it doesn’t take much to make
me lose it again. May 2012 is when Bobby died and the discs’ descriptions stop, though
there is one more disc on this list.
 

I flip the page and there, on that page, is a letter. A letter addressed to me. On
Bold letterhead, dated May 15, 2011. I can’t stop my eyes from scanning to the bottom
of the page and seeing that it was signed by none other than my father.
 

My Dearest Cami,
 

If you are reading this letter, one of two things has happened. Either I am dead or
you’ve turned 25. I am hoping for the latter, but in this day and age, you can never
tell.
 

Enclosed in this package, you will find various documents pertaining to, but not limited
to:

• Your birth
  
• Your school records
  
• Your mother’s death
  
• And Bold International’s deepest secrets, dating back to its inception.
  

Not everything within this package is Bold-related, though the jump drives contained
herein are all Bold business, and on the discs you will find videos and other scanned
documents directly from me. Including the reason why you were sent away to England.

I know that this is something that has weighed heavily on your mind, at the very least
since your mother passed away. If that is most important to you, then grab disc number
7 and go into the folder dated 1993.

I hope one day we can discuss this package, even if it involves yelling and screaming.
 

All my love-

Bobby

I can barely breathe by the time I am done reading the letter, and Mick and Beau are
staring at me expectantly, wondering and waiting to either see my reaction or for
me to share the information with them.
 

Before I do, I turn to the next page in the package, and there is a much more detailed
list regarding what each disc contains.
 

My eyes immediately scan to 1987.

Cameron’s Birth/Birthday/Coming home.
 

“They’re videos,” I blurt out, looking up at them. “Well, not all of them, but—” I
grab disc number five and head into the living room, wine glass in hand. While putting
the disc into the Xbox, I shout back toward the kitchen, “Get in here.” I’m trying
to be playful, but it’s hard. I have no idea what it is that I’m about to watch and
it scares the hell out of me, but they are here, and I know Beau will stop me if she
senses that it is too much for me.
 

My phone starts ringing with “Livin’ On A Prayer” and I know immediately that it’s
Tristan. It’s the song he sang to me the night of my birthday party in Bora Bora,
and I dash to my purse, which I’d dropped on the table at the top of the steps. I
take a deep breath as I pull the phone from my purse and answer it, trying to compose
myself. I don’t need him freaking out because of what’s going on here.
 

“Hi, you,” I breathe into the phone.
 

“Hi.” I can tell instantly that something is wrong and panic races through me.
 

“What’s wrong?” I say a little too sharply, and I hear some semblance of a chuckle
on the other end of the line.

“Nothing is wrong. I just miss you like crazy. I haven’t even gotten off the plane
and I wanted to call you.”
 

I can’t help but smile. “Will Tyson be there waiting for you?”
 

“He texted right before I took off, letting me know that they were on their way to
the airport and that they would meet me in the first class lounge. You know, that
one I saw you in for the first time.”
 

My heart beats a little faster as I think about all of our misses that led to us actually
finding each other on the same remote island. “I know the one.” I smile again.

“Can I call you again once I’m settled?” he asks.
 

“Absolutely.”
 

“‘Kay.” His voice is sweet, and he sounds like a teenager.
 

“Love you.”
 

“More,” he says, and then I hear the click of the line going dead.
 

I go back toward the couch, and Beau is sitting there while Mick is in the oversized
chair, the one similar to the chair in the penthouse in Tarah. I know why he’s over
there and not with Beau. He knows this is going to be bad, and he knows I will want
someone to lean on.
 

I sit next to Beau, pick up the Xbox remote and scroll through the options. I find
June 1987 and open it. Inside, there are a couple of random documents, then “Cameron
- Birth.” I click it.

THREE

The birth video is uneventful, except for the way my mother acts. I know immediately
by her reaction and lack of caring what led to my being sent to boarding school. We
watch the next few videos, and it becomes clearer and clearer to me that Evelyn was
nothing more than a gold digger, tagging along for whatever Bobby wanted just so she
could get hers in the end.
 

After watching those videos, if she’d been alive when Bobby died, I would’ve begun
to question whether or not she killed him.
 

We jump to 1993 and the year I was sent to boarding school. The video comes on and
Bobby is in his office in the old house; I can tell by the decor in the room. Though
I never spent much time in that room, the browns, tans and blacks give it away.