The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (20 page)

Her dad was Dennis. She couldn't get over the thought. That was why Dennis had been able to get under her skin so quickly, why she'd fallen for every lie, believed every stupid trick he'd used. Because she'd been taking her dad's side all her life, determined not to be judgmental like her mother.

But dad was the one to blame. He wasn't a lighthearted con man who made mistakes but meant well. He was the one who lied, who disappointed them, who kept letting them down.

Her mom couldn't take being married to someone like him. She'd stuck it out until Camilla turned 18. Then she'd taken off, disappeared. Camilla went to college, and dad ended up in prison. And mother had gone who-knows where, somewhere she could escape the mess she'd made of her life. They'd each found an escape.

But her mother's crime wasn't in abandoning her father, as she'd always thought, but in abandoning her child. She'd always stood up for dad, but not for herself. Somehow it was easy to take dad's side. Because he was a lovable con man. And because he loved her unconditionally.

But dad wasn't the victim here. Just like Dennis wasn't. It was Oliver who was paying the price for his father's immaturity and selfishness. Just like she'd paid for her parents' mistakes. Somehow it was so much easier to see the pattern in Oliver's life. It brought her own life into sharp focus. Forced her to face what she'd spent a lifetime denying. To think that the parent who loved her had been a creep, and the parent who hated her had been the victim, had been too hard to face before. But now, seeing Oliver, apparently loved by his father, a monster who had killed his child's mother... The truth was so stark and brutal, she had to deal with it.

No, her dad wasn't a murderer. But her mom had been married to someone as dishonest and scheming and selfish—and charming—as Dennis Henning.

Her whole life had been based on a lie. No wonder she was so screwed up.

Her mother's bitterness had colored her childhood. "You're just like your father." "You're going to end up a criminal just like him." The endless litany of criticism had never really been about Camilla at all. Camilla had been the tie to her father. The thing her mother couldn't escape. The evidence of her mother's mistake. So she had paid, oh how she had paid. She was her father's daughter. And her mother would never forgive her for that. It had been a relief when she'd gotten old enough to run—first to throw herself into schoolwork and then later into college, her last ties with her mother severed by mutual agreement.

"Don't call me when you get arrested."

Those were her mother's final words to her when she left for college.

Not, "gee, honey, I'm so proud of you for getting a scholarship." Not, "I can hardly wait for you to come home on winter break." But an assumption that soon enough, she'd end up like her father.

That was the horror of her arrest last month. It was the words of her mother's scorn come to life. Her own worst fear—that her mother's opinion of her was true—being proven right.

None of this had ever been about her. None of it. Her mother's life, and her father's worship. She hadn't deserved either.

Being around Oliver, Camilla finally got it. It had taken her 24 years, but she was finally going to get over her childhood. Because she had to. For Oliver's sake, and her own. It was the only way to keep history from repeating itself.

Oliver looked just like his father. What if she had fallen for Dennis—really fallen for him. What if she'd built her life around that man, and then, like her mother, been so disappointed that every reminder of him sent her into a rage: "You blush just like your father, Camilla. It's that damn red hair and freckles, just like him. Ugly."

No, even then, she couldn't picture herself being cruel to little Oliver the way her mother had been to her. She couldn't.

But, in a way, she'd been as cruel to herself as her mother had. Why had she believed all the lies about herself? She knew it wasn't true about Oliver. She hadn't been any older than him when her mother had been running her down. It was hard to picture herself as small as Oliver. But she forced herself to, really trying, for the first time, to see what her mother had seen.

She got a glimpse of something awful, something that her own heart couldn't fathom—taking all that deep disappointment and bitterness and directing it at a child. But she could see how it had happened. Not excuse it, maybe never even forgive it. But for the first time, she could see it for what it was. It had never been about her at all. It had been a sad, lost woman's disappointment turned on the nearest target.

She wiped away her tears and stood up. She was done crying.

Sure, her mother had been wrong. It was always wrong to blame a child for its parents' mistakes. But her mother was dealing with a disappointment far worse than anything she'd had to. She had been infatuated with Dennis, but she hadn't married him (thank God). She hadn't had a child with him, hadn't bound her life to him. She had luckily found out what he was before any real harm had been done to her. She'd lost money, and her reputation, and her home and job. But not her heart. No wonder she remembered her mother as a bitter, cynical woman who constantly worried about what the neighbors thought of her and blamed the world for her problems.

Her mother had been a victim too. A victim and an abuser. Two mutually exclusive things at the same time.

Camilla picked up the broom again. She had a lot of work to do here.

There was enough victimhood to go around. She wasn't going to perpetuate it any more.

Oliver would not be a victim. She was going to protect him from his father, and she was going to teach him to protect himself—to believe in himself from the start, so he wouldn't make the mistakes she had made. She was going to take him away from the past, far away where none of this could ever hurt him again.

His life was going to be different. She was going to make sure of that.

She got back to work.

~*~

Ryan showed up at three in the afternoon, just like he'd promised, and had picked up Oliver on the way.

Camilla watched the two of them from her window in the attic room. They were laughing together outside the cottage, and then Oliver took Ryan by the hand and pulled him across the back lawn to look over the cliff edge.

She saw Oliver was pointing down to the amusement park and talking in a very animated way. She didn't have to wonder what he was talking about. Ryan ruffled his hair and laughed with him, and her heart caught in her throat. It all felt so right.

Then Oliver ran across the lawn and picked up a pine cone and they began tossing it back and forth like a football, little Oliver feinting and running around Ryan while Ryan pretended to be tricked by the play.

Then Ryan scooped him up and carried him toward the kitchen door and they were out of sight.

She felt the stirring of some sense of comfort she had never experienced before. Her boys were home. She hurried downstairs to meet them.

"I have a present for you," Ryan said when she met them in the living room.

She didn't tell him she felt like she'd already received a present at the sight of them. She gave Oliver a big hug.

"What's the present?"

He went out the front door and then came back, carrying two boxes.

She looked at the labels. "Air mattresses?"

Oliver helped Ryan unpack the boxes and he jumped up and down on the foot pump to help blow them up.

Then they both sprawled across the mattresses. "It's heaven," Ryan said. "You should try it."

The sight of him lying on his back on the floor made her think completely inappropriate thoughts, and she suddenly blushed.

He looked up and caught her eye, and then he slowly grinned. "Come on." He held out his hand to her.

She stood still, blushing and trying not to plop down on top of him. The thoughts she was having were dangerous.

"You should get some real mattresses, but these'll do until you get proper ones."

She shook her head. "It's too hard to move mattresses."

He sat up, the smile gone. He crossed his arms across that muscled chest. "Right. Gotta pack light."

"That's right," Oliver said. "Don't want to get tied down." He sprawled on his mattress and wiggled his arms and legs like he was making a snow angel. "But we can pack these when we go, huh Camilla?"

"Yeah," she said, ignoring Ryan's frown. Why did Ryan even care that they were planning to move away? For that matter, why did she care? He wasn't the man for her, and she had to stop letting her hormones distract her from the truth. She had no business flirting with a cop. She had no interest in getting involved with a guy she was just going to leave behind. "The mattresses are really nice, Ryan. Thank you. We'll take them with us when we leave."

~*~

Chapter 11

When Ryan's cell phone rang during dinner, he quickly checked it, then relaxed. It wasn't the dispatcher. He excused himself and stepped out the back door to talk in private.

"So why did you call?" Leah sounded more annoyed than ever.

Ryan held his cell phone up closer to his ear. "I'm glad to hear from you. I've left you three messages."

"I was out yesterday evening with girlfriends. You don't have to check up on me, Ryan. I'm a grown-up."

Of course he had to check up on her, but she didn't understand. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Of course I'm okay, Ryan. You need to relax."

But he couldn't relax. He had to know the people he cared about were okay. "So do I know the girlfriends?"

He could hear Leah's exasperated sigh clear from Sacramento. "Oh, Ryan. I'm twenty-four."

"What does that have to do with anything?" His concern about the people he loved had nothing to do with their age. Why didn't she get that?

"But what about this woman you're seeing?" Leah asked. "She has a little boy, right? And you guys have started dating?"

He felt a jolt in his gut. "How did you find out about that?"

"Joe Serrano, of course. You're not the only one who can be a detective. So, tell me about her."

"There's nothing to tell. She's got some trouble and I'm helping her out."

"Is that all?" She sounded disappointed. "I was kind-of hoping she might be changing your mind about staying...."

"No," he said firmly. "We haven't even—I mean—"

Her laugh came through loud and clear. "It's okay, big brother. I know about the birds and bees—don't you remember? You're the one who gave me the talk before my first date. Then you scared my date so badly he wouldn't even hold hands with me."

"I didn't threaten him. I simply explained that every action has a consequence. If he made you cry, I would make him cry."

"As I recall, your words were something like 'if she doesn't tell me you were a perfect gentleman on this date, I will hang you from the goal posts by your jockey shorts.'"

"He got the message."

"Yeah. It's amazing I ever dated anyone, Ryan."

"Is it wrong for a big brother to be protective?"

Another sigh into the phone. "Oh, Ryan, you're hopeless. Maybe this woman can get through to you. No one else ever has."

~*~

Camilla was in the hard at work on her makeshift worktable on the lawn when the cell phone was ringing again.

If that was Ryan calling one more time to check on her she was going to scream. It was hard to believe she had only known that man for one week. He seemed to think he had to check on her every second of the day. They had agreed that Dennis wasn't going to attack her in broad daylight. That wasn't his style. And Joe was sipping coffee in the kitchen right now. So why couldn't Ryan trust her not to get into any trouble for five minutes?

Maybe because he could tell how incompetent she was. Camilla pushed that thought back. Ryan didn't know her, not really. He couldn't actually see through her public façade to her real self below, even if it felt that way sometimes.

Camilla laid the broken window on the pair of sawhorses, and set the screwdriver on top of it. She looked out at the bay, a peaceful glisten far below her perfect working spot out on the backyard lawn, and started counting to ten. The phone kept ringing.

She heard a boat toot its whistle and watched the gulls circle the wharf. "Eight, Nine, Ten," she muttered, then reached into the back pocket of her jeans for the phone. "What?!"

"Yikes. Sorry." It was Robin's voice. And here she'd gotten herself all revved up to yell at Ryan for nothing.

"Sorry, Robin. I'm in the middle of something. Didn't mean to yell."

"Oh. Okay." Robin said, then paused.

Camilla ran a hand across her forehead to wipe off the sweat. "I didn't mean to bite your head off. I'm just stressed. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, well...."

Something was really bothering her. Usually Robin was so bubbly.

Camilla held the phone more tightly. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

"I kind of have a problem."

"Do you need help?"

"Yeah." Robin sighed. "I really need your help."

"Are you hurt?"

"No! Nothing like that. It's a personal problem. And... well, I didn't know if I should ask you for help. I mean, we've only known each other a short time, but.... Well, listen, are you really busy? Could you maybe come by my office for a cup of coffee?"

Camilla felt some warm stirring inside her. A friend. She had always pushed people away too quickly, afraid they would learn the truth about her. Here, at least until she left town, was the first stirrings of an actual friendship.

Camilla looked at the disassembled window. What could it hurt? "Nope," she said. "I'm not busy at all. And I would love a cup of coffee."

Robin gave her directions—down Torres Alley past Santos' Market—then they hung up.

She drove down and parked in front of Santos' Market, then walked down the street until she came to a little cobblestone alleyway—no more than a walking path between some little cottages, really. She was standing there, wondering if this was Torres Alley, and why the heck these people didn't put up signs on their streets, when she glanced back down Calle Principal toward Santos' and saw Mabel Rutherford coming her way.