Crow’s Row (39 page)

“When?” I asked, my voice shuddering.

“I don’t know. As soon as it’s safe for you.”

I left it alone—for now—but I wasn’t going to give up. Since Cameron had recognized that there was an
us
, I still had hope.

 Chapter Twenty-Two:
 Fitting Pieces Together

I remembered. Rocco was spread on the ground. I yelled at him to get up, but he refused to move. I was frantic. He was lying on the grass right in front of me, and I bent over, trying to get to him, but someone was holding me back. I fought the hand that was grabbing onto the back of my shirt and turned around to see Norestrom sitting across from me at the picnic table. I was back at the outdoor commons of Callister University. I now knew that the man who had joined me during my lunch break all that time ago was named Norestrom.

I woke up in a cold sweat. Cameron had already taken hold of me. I was screaming Rocco’s name. His face had implanted itself in my brain while I was sleeping, and it wasn’t going anywhere this time. Cameron rocked me back and forth as the tears and quivering started up again. But something was different this time. I didn’t want to hold any of it in anymore. After a few minutes, I willed myself to calm down, and I turned to Cameron. He looked sick with worry.

“Emmy, are you—”

“Who’s Norestrom?” I asked point blank, wiping the wetness from my face.

He was taken aback. “Why do you ask?”

“Because Norestrom is what Rocco called the man that night,” I told him.

“Emmy, do you remember everything that happened that night?”

I nodded that I did.

“Do you think you can tell me everything you remember?” he asked cautiously.

I nodded again. I didn’t wait for further encouragement and started my discourse right away. The gunfire in the distance, the phone call with Cameron, the view from the wicker chest … the words just poured out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop any of it. While the tears unnoticeably continued to run down my cheeks, Cameron’s face remained unchanged. He listened to my every word without question or interruption.

By the time I had finished with the part where Cameron came to find me in the woods, Cameron was already digging through his jeans that were draped over the banister and found his cell phone. He pressed one key, and I heard Spider grumble hello on the other end.

“It was Norestrom,” Cameron said coldly. “Bring him in.” He then hung up the phone and came back to me, while I sobbed every tear that I had left in me. He held me tight. I could tell from the shortness of his breath and the tenseness of his body that he was furious. But he continued to hold onto me without wavering.

In the morning, I awoke to the sound of his voice coming from outside. I went downstairs and peeked out the window. Cameron was pacing back and forth on the old porch, talking rapidly on his cell phone. I could hear him angrily retelling my story to whoever was listening on the other side. He was beside himself, and a string of cuss words preceded and followed Norestrom’s name.

I took the opportunity to wash my face and have a boiling hot shower. As the grime washed off my body, so did my remaining jumbled thoughts. Everything in my head was clear again, and, though my heart still felt like it was being squeezed every time I thought of Rocco, I didn’t let my brain run away from it anymore. I let myself feel the pain and remember everything as it happened. When I walked out of the washroom, Cameron was still outside. I couldn’t hear his voice anymore, so I went searching for him. He was sitting on the swinging porch chair, glaring in the distance. This time I went over to him. I kissed him on the cheek and wrapped my arms around his neck. Cameron followed my lead and held me in a crushing bear hug. His body slowly started to relax, and he dug his head into my neck.

After a while, he looked up with his tired dark eyes. “There’s something I need to do today,” he announced. “You’ll have to come with me. I can’t leave you here alone.”

While Cameron showered, I got breakfast ready. He came out of the washroom dressed in jeans and nothing else. I couldn’t help but ogle as he walked about, bare-chested. I never liked tattoos—but everything about Cameron, especially his tattoos, made him irresistible. When Cameron caught me staring at him, I quickly glanced away, almost dropping a teacup in the process.

“So where are we going?” I asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

“My mother’s,” he replied, stuffing a piece of toast in his mouth. I couldn’t hide my surprise at hearing this.

We drove away from the cottage and back into the city. Cameron drove too fast, and I noticed that his hand started to squeeze mine tighter.

“You need to prepare yourself for this,” he warned me. “My mother can be pretty shocking when you first meet her.”

I smiled at him with reassurance. I couldn’t imagine any mother being more horrifying than mine.

We pulled into one of Callister’s slum districts. It was the middle of the week. The streets were empty, except for the men and boys who hung around the corners, eying us as we drove by. Most of the shops were boarded up. Those that were open were receded behind steel lattices, with blinking neon lights barely shining through the dirty glass. The streets were lined with garbage bags and empty cardboard boxes, broken down and stacked by the side of the road. Bottles and other litter were strewn by the sidewalks and at the foot of the boarded-up buildings. While I looked ahead, I could feel Cameron anxiously glancing at me, watching for any sign of revolt. I remained unchanged and continued to watch the scene.

We turned onto one of the side streets and were met with row upon row of low-income housing. Most of the lots were completely paved around the houses; the houses that were fortunate enough to have green patches out front had, for the most part, knee-high weeds growing among damaged furniture, old couches, and other forgotten possessions. I watched an old woman slowly stroll on the sidewalk, pulling her disagreeable kitty cat behind her with a leash. There was one of those in every neighborhood.

Cameron pulled up in front of a semi-detached house and stopped. He sat silently for a few seconds, uncomfortably staring ahead.

“Is this your mother’s house?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“Yep,” he said.

“So this is where you grew up,” I mused glancing back at the house. His mother’s house was faced with red brick and had an aluminum door with a ripped screen and cracked window in front of a windowless brown door. The porch roof looked like it was going to come crashing down on the cement stoop at any second. The front yard had mismatched chairs strewn, broken or lying on their sides, and bottles appeared among the overgrown grass.

“No. The place my mom and I lived in was a lot worse than this,” he said. “The city had it torn down a couple years ago.”

Cameron was gazing at me nervously.

“Well,” I encouraged, “are we going in or are we just going to sit here?”

Cameron sighed, let go of my out-squeezed hand, and stepped out of the Audi. I met him on the sidewalk, where he quickly picked up my hand once more. We strolled in tandem down the walkway, stepping over trash, and finally came to a stop at the front door. With one immense inhalation and a last anxious glance at me, Cameron knocked on the door. We could hear the television playing in the background. When no one came, he knocked again.

We waited for a minute, but still nothing happened. Cameron heaved another sigh, screeched open the aluminum door, and pushed on the windowless front door. He peered inside first and, with his hand protectively on the small of my back, guided me in.

The smell of mold and tobacco hit my nose as soon as I walked in, but I continued to maintain my self-possession. There were hoards of junk piled in the hallway and on the stairs that led to a second story. The pink wallpaper in the hall was yellowed and peeling off in spots, and the dirty greenish carpet was speckled with cigarette burns. I jumped when a cat leapt up from behind the pile of laundry that was on the floor.

Cameron put his arm around my shoulders. I could see that he was embarrassed to have me there. I smiled my most supportive smile at him, but I wasn’t sure if he bought it.

We walked into the living room, where two little girls and a boy were sitting side by side on the couch, watching cartoons on TV. They looked so tiny on that big couch. One of the blond girls had mad knots in her threaded hair. Their bare feet were dirty and their eyes looked almost wild as they watched us walk in. I noticed that the little boy had Cameron’s same dark eyes.

“Where’s your mother?” Cameron asked them abruptly.

The bigger of the little girls expressionlessly pointed toward a doorway.

We continued past the children and walked into the kitchen where a cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air. Half of the cupboard doors were either hanging off one hinge or missing. There was a pile of dishes stacked in and around the sink and dirty pots on top of the encrusted stove and counters. The floor crunched as we stepped on leftover foodstuff.

A lady was sitting alone at the kitchen table, with a large plastic glass half-full of beer in front of her, two empty beer bottles next to that, and a cigarette left burning in an overflowing ashtray. She lifted her head and peered at Cameron as we walked in. The sound of the television in the background was met by the leaky kitchen faucet dripping water. We quietly stood there while the lady took a puff of her cigarette and looked lost in thought.

She sneered when she finally recognized Cameron. “What the hell are you doing here?” she croaked at him. “And who the hell are you?” she said, turning to me.

“Mom, this is Emmy … Emily,” he corrected himself nervously. I smiled at her.

“You brought a girl with you. That’s a first.” With her cigarette hanging on her bottom lip, Cameron’s mom strutted over to us and put her hand on my shoulder, directing me to sit at the table. “It must be pretty serious for my boy to bring you here. He’s usually too proud to introduce me to any of his friends—apparently he’s too good for his own mother.”

Cameron’s mother took her seat again, and Cameron yanked out a chair for himself.

“Can I get you kids anything to eat?” she asked, sweetly.

“No, we’re fine,” Cameron quickly answered for the both of us.

Her hair was shoulder length, crimped, and bleached blond—though, from the overgrowth at her scalp, I guessed that her natural hair color was likely closer to Cameron’s dark locks. She was wearing a tight, V-neck sleeveless shirt that showed off her well-endowed cleavage. Unfortunately, it also emphasized the beer gut that hung over her skintight jeans. Her blue eye shadow drew attention to her beautiful dark eyes, and almost all of the cigarette butts in the ashtray still had traces of her bright red lipstick on them. Her skin was translucent, like silk wrapping paper, the kind that stuck out of gift bags.

We sat in silence while Cameron’s mother gulped down the other half of her beer and stared at me over the rim of her glass. “You’re too skinny and you’re very pale. You need to put some makeup on,” she announced to the table, “but I doubt there’s anything you can do to make that hair color any better. Have you tried to dye it? The lady next door sells wigs—they’re made from real horse hair. I can get you a good price.”

I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks.

Cameron was furious. “I didn’t come here so that you can insult my girlfriend. I came here to talk to you about Rocco.”

“Rocco?” she asked between puffs. “Where is that little bastard?” She leaned over the table, smirking at me. “You know that ungrateful child left me alone with no good-byes or anything.” She added, “I was worried sick and almost called the police till Cammy called me a couple weeks later to tell me that Rocco was with him.” Cameron rolled his eyes as his mother turned to him. “Seems all of my sons eventually leave me to fend for myself.”

We sat in uncomfortable silence again. Cameron’s mother got up to pull another bottle of beer out the fridge. Cameron was shaking his leg, nervous, mentally preparing to break the news to his mother.

“You came to talk to me about Rocco, so talk,” she urged. She sat back down and poured another glass full.

Cameron cleared his throat and looked at his interlaced hands on the table. “Rocco was … he’s dead.”

His mother immediately looked up and glanced from Cameron to me. The tears welled up in my eyes, and the knot in my throat inflated. I had to look away.

“What?” she asked, incredulous.

“He was shot and killed a few days ago,” Cameron said, his voice shuddering.

His mother stood and started pacing around the kitchen and shaking her head. I could hear her mumbling and swearing under her breath. Finally she stopped and winced at Cameron.

“You’re just a pariah,” she rasped to him. “I didn’t put up a fight or make the police bring Rocco back to me when I found out he was with you because he looked up to you so much. You come here with your expensive car and your little girlfriend and you think that this makes you better than the rest of us. All your money did was get my little Rocco killed. You’re nothing but a bastard, just like your father. You ruined my life, and now you’ve ruined my baby Rocco’s life. I curse the day you were born.”

My fists, my jaw were clenched. I watched Cameron. He was very calm, like he had expected this from his mother. He got up and dug into his pocket, pulling out a large stack of hundred dollar bills.