Road Rage (23 page)

They’d spoken on the phone a few times a year since then–always because she’d called him–and they followed each other on Facebook, but they never discussed their father, and they never brought up Cade’s hurtful words. Their relationship hung by a thread.

She mustered a smile, though whether it translated past the tube and tape was anyone’s guess.

Cade stopped two feet from the bed and looked her over, his gaze touching her face just long enough for him to wince. “Mom said you looked bad in her messages. I thought she was exaggerating, but I guess not. You look awful.”

Gee, thanks,
she wrote on her notepad.
When did you get in?

The rolly-bedside table was positioned across her lap. Lined up on top, she had her cell phone, which she couldn’t use to make calls in the ICU, the TV remote and her notepad. Cade’s long fingers made a tee-pee over her notepad. He swiveled it to read her writing, then turned it back.

“A couple hours ago. Sorry I didn’t make it out sooner. I had a bear of a case to wrap up, and I’ve got a full plate back in LA, so I can’t stay long.”

She was surprised he’d come at all. She looked back and forth between him and her beaming mother, trying to wrap her head around the three of them all being in the same room.

Cade kept in touch with her mother only slightly more frequently than with her, but Cami knew the tone of their correspondence tended to be tense, her mother always urging him to come home for a visit and he always promising he’d get around to it soon, but never following through, not even for Christmas. He always gave one excuse or another–things were too hectic at the D.A.’s office, his girlfriend’s family wanted to meet him, he’d be heading to Burma to do a pro bono case. He really did all those things, but Cami suspected he planned his schedule for maximum sister avoidance.

Cade moved around the bed and sprawled into the visitor’s chair, looking out of place in her mother’s spot.

“Cade was just telling me he’s been promoted.” Her mother practically bounced up and down on the upholstered bench under the window. “Tell Cami your news, Cade.”

He waved away his success with a tan hand. “It’s not a big deal.” He swiped the remote off the table and began flipping through channels. “A promotion just means you’ve got more work to do. Were you really in a coma for four days?” He settled on a basketball game and turned up the volume until the commentator’s voice made her head throb.

That’s what they tell me,
she wrote, but her mother answered for her, and Cade never bothered to look at her notepad.

“One hundred and four hours! And the nurses say it’s unlikely, but I swear I saw her start to come to a few times on day three. She is so strong. She’s always been strong, don’t you think, Cade? You both are. My two strong babies. I’m just so proud of you both.”

He threw her an affectionate look over his shoulder and returned to watching the game.

Cami rolled her eyes. She wasn’t strong. She was a wreck. Feeling guilty all over again for her father’s death, missing an imaginary man with an ache that bored through her chest. Not voicing any of it because the former would only upset her mother, and the latter was too personal.

Funny how her mother interpreted her silence as strength. And how in her giddiness over having the family together she ignored the eight years Cade hadn’t shown his face in Redding.

Anger spun through her and petered out, replaced by a superficial kind of peace. Her mother’s smile looked beautiful. It had been a long time since she’d smiled like that. And despite Cade’s aloofness, it felt kind of nice to have him here. She didn’t want to ruin the moment with accusations and demands that they work on their problems. Having a degree in mental health helped her identify problems in her relationships, but it didn’t guarantee things would be perfect. Sometimes upsetting the apple cart wasn’t worth it. Sometimes it was better to set aside the difficult conversations in favor of getting along.

She relaxed into her pillows, did her best to ignore her headache, and listened to her mother’s chatter and Cade’s mumbled responses. It was no Norman Rockwell painting, but it was her family, and she loved them. And they must love her, too, even if only a little, or they wouldn’t be there with her.

Dinnertime came too soon. Her mother offered to buy Cade a cafeteria meal, but he insisted on taking her out to dinner at Laughlin’s, a high-end seafood place downtown, instead. They left with promises to return in a couple hours.

Alone in her room, she watched the hour hand creep up on seven. Officer Reynolds had never come by with Derek Summers. Disappointment weighed her down, but she shook it off. The emotion didn’t make sense. She should be relieved. It had been crazy to ask to see the man. Besides, visiting the woman he’d be going to court for cutting off probably didn’t make his top ten list of things to do on a Thursday afternoon.

If it felt like someone precious to her had let her down, that was just a lingering effect of the coma-dreams. She needed to check back in to reality. She needed to let Derek go.

* * * *

With the site mostly ready for tomorrow’s walkthrough, Derek headed home for dinner, even though food was the last thing on his mind. When he opened his front door, the smell of rotting food steamrolled him. Oh yeah, the fridge. He’d purposefully ignored his kitchen this morning, stopping at The Donut Stop for a sugary breakfast, which was way out of character for him.

He didn’t have much experience with depression, but maybe he had some going on. He used to love coming back to the old castle after a long day at work. Now he dreaded it. The house was too quiet, the nights too lonely.

Lethargy pulled at him as he stood, hands on hips in the kitchen, all but gagging over the consequences of his tantrum. He didn’t feel like cleaning it up. He felt like taking a nap. But the thought of his big empty bed made his chest hurt. Draining a six-pack would numb the pain just as well, but the only beer in his house was either stinking up his kitchen or lying in warm bottles on the floor. The idea of punishing his heavy bag had some merit, but he needed his knuckles to heal up or he’d have to explain to Haley that he’d lost it and hurt himself in his anger. That would be a pretty bad example to her.

He just needed to hang on ’til tomorrow night. Haley would brighten his mood and distract him from the stone of guilt in his gut. And the looming regret that he might have let something special slip through his fingers today. But he needed to clean up his kitchen before she came. Whether he felt like it or not, he’d spend tonight fixing the damage his anger had caused.

If only he could fix Camilla. He’d never made a bigger mess than he’d made with her, and he’d never been so lost as to how to fix things. This afternoon, leaving her in peace had seemed like the smart thing to do. But tonight, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d fled the scene…again.

Frigging coward.

He took out his anger on his kitchen, shoveling up broken glass, sour milk, and spilled beer with the dustpan and flinging it in the trash. While he worked, that stone of guilt pulsed in his stomach. The frigging thing was really starting to piss him off.

He’d faced the music for what he’d done. He’d turned himself in. He’d tried to go see her like she’d asked, but her brother had shot him down. What else could he do to get that knot to go away?

I love you, Derek…you need to make it right.

How did the mere memory of her know exactly what to say to him? Camilla’s words penetrated his funk like rays of sun through the clouds. That sunlight illuminated something he should have realized a while ago. By turning himself in, he’d only begun to take responsibility for what he’d done. He still had lots to do. Starting, of all places, with his ex.

While he wrestled his busted fridge onto his deck to wait for a trip to the dump, He formulated a plan. Feeling hopeful for the first time since Camilla had disappeared on him, he headed to Sears. Half an hour later, with the moon high in the sky and a shiny new fridge in the bed of his truck, he headed toward the tidy subdivision where Deidre kept a spotless, tastefully-decorated, two-story house alongside other spotless, tastefully-decorated, two-story houses.

Pulling up to the curb, he saw the light on in Haley’s room. He’d never been in it, but he knew it was hers because crystals hung in the window and lavender colored walls showed behind. He glanced at his console clock. 9:54. Almost her bedtime. Perfect. He didn’t want her to know he was there. He needed to talk to Deidre. Alone.

At ten on the dot, Haley’s light went out. He picked up his phone and texted Deidre.
We need to talk. It’s important. I’m outside.
Then he took his time going up to her front door, giving her a minute to get the message.

The sound of his boots on the flower-box-lined front porch must have alerted her to his presence. The door opened and she peered out. She looked him over and said, “That was about the creepiest text I’ve ever gotten. What’s going on? It’s not like you to make a social call.”

He’d only ever been here to pick up or drop off Haley. Deidre had never invited him inside. And it didn’t look like she was going to start now. She stepped out, pulling the door silently shut behind her. “Haley just went to bed or I’d invite you in,” she said.

“I know. I got here a few minutes ago. There’s something I have to tell you.”

Her eyebrows attempted to lift with surprise, but she must have just gotten fresh Botox, because they only managed a little wiggle. She motioned to the porch swing. “Want to sit?” she asked.

He took her up on the offer, and she sat down beside him. She smelled like wine and scented candles. Neither of them started the swing rocking. That would have felt too intimate. Their rocking-in-the-porch-swing days were over.

He stared into the dark yard, where Deidre’s latest boyfriend probably played catch with Haley after dinner on weeknights. “I got arrested yesterday,” he blurted.

“You what!”

He faced his ex-wife, feeling lighter already for getting it off his chest. “I caused an accident Friday on the way to Haley’s game. My truck wasn’t hit, but I put a woman in the hospital. I just kept driving. I went to the game like nothing happened.” He eyed her, waiting for her to explode and wondering how big the eruption would be.

“Jesus, Derek.” There was disappointment in her voice. And shock. And concern. The last came as a surprise. He felt oddly touched by it.

When it seemed she was too stunned to say more, he went on. “I’m charged with reckless driving and hit and run. Court date pending.”

She blinked at him a few times before finding her voice. “So are you out on bail or something?”

“Own recognizance. I’m a free man until the court date. After that, who knows.” He summarized Christy’s best-case scenario and sat quietly while she processed everything.

“I need a glass of wine,” she said, getting up. A minute later, she returned with a glass of white for her and an open bottle of beer for him. “I would have picked up your brand if I’d known you’d be stopping by.”

Old Derek could have picked at least three separate fights over the last couple of things she’d said, but old Derek was a dick, and he was frigging tired of him. “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip of the hoppy microbrew and rolling the bottle between his palms.

Deidre downed a healthy third of her glass and said, “How are you holding up?”

He searched her face for judgment, not finding any. “I hate myself.” He took another sip before putting the beer in the cup holder. Drinking while facing his problems felt a hell of a lot better than drinking to hide from them. “You going to tell Haley?”

Her eyes widened like she hadn’t thought about how this would affect Haley. It made him feel good to think of Haley first. Maybe that was shitty of him, but he didn’t care. He’d take good feelings where he could get them tonight.

“Jesus,” she said. “I don’t know.”

He did a double take. “What do you mean you don’t know?” He nudged her with his elbow. “I thought you knew everything about being a mom.”

She snorted. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag. Most of the time I’m flying by the seat of my pants. It’s all instinct, I guess.”

“Well, your instincts are pretty good when it comes to Haley.” Which was why he’d go along with whatever she wanted on this.

She looked at him sideways, as if trying to figure out if he’d really paid her a compliment. Neither of them said anything for a while. Then she said, “I think you should talk to her about it.”

“I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.
Coward.

She studied him. “You want me to tell her?”

His ears pricked for sarcasm or disdain in her voice but found none. She was genuinely offering to do this for him.