Uncovering Camila (Wildflowers Book 3) (17 page)

Chapter 41

Marshall pushes himself faster and harder toward Battery Park. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t run this far, but he won’t stop until he erases last night from his mind. He knows running this hard so soon before a marathon isn’t a good idea, but neither is sitting at home replaying the events from the night before and wishing he could go back and never have sent that text.

Three words are all it takes to ruin a relationship, especially one as fragile and new as theirs. He should’ve considered that, but he didn’t. He was too locked in his ego which made his fears appear so real and so much more significant than Camila’s feelings. Not once did he stop to consider how his actions would impact her. Instead he only cared about how they would be perceived by the administration.

Marshall raises the volume on the iPod strapped to his arm in order to drown out these thoughts. Nothing will erase what happened no matter how many times he revisits it in his mind. Seeing the park in the distance, he picks up his pace, his quads burning from the near sprint. The high, the pain, that’s what got him through his parent’s divorce, the stress of school and his years with Ellen. Now he finds himself again needing to push himself, to punish himself for not choosing the things in his life that mattered most, but rather the things that were convenient.

Marshall pushes himself toward the water with what little energy he has left. He catches himself at the rail, bent over, taking shallow breaths as his heart races. This will help him forget, even for a minute, how much he fucked everything up with the wrong three words.

The blaring music in his ears is replaced by ringing. He looks down and a smile escapes his lips. He can never feel anything but happy when he sees Dahlia Baron’s name appear on his phone.

“Shouldn’t you still be sleeping?” He asks.

“I have twin babies. I never sleep,” she answers dryly. But he can picture the smile on her face when she says it. She loves her daughters more than anything in this world. Except her husband perhaps, although Marshall suspects she probably loves them a fraction more than him.

“What’s your excuse for being awake?” She says. “You should be doing your duty as a childless adult and sleeping for the rest of us.”

“I was running,” he replies, swallowing air.

“That explains the heavy breathing. I’m glad I didn’t catch you . . . you know.” Dahlia laughs.

“I wouldn’t have answered. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, as if you’re getting any anyway.”

Sadly she’s not far from the truth. Dahlia was always intuitive like that. She could tell what he’s feeling before he uttered a word. Marshall stares out over the Hudson and toward the Statue of Liberty. “I’m not far from your apartment you know. I think I’m looking out at the same view from your place.”

“God I’m going to miss that City.”

“So you’re really going to make that move?” Marshall heads to the grass to stretch his legs.

“Yeah, it’s for the best. Lily will be the only family I have left—besides my dad. It makes sense for us to be close.”

“I bet Rodrigo is happy about that.”

“Happy is probably an understatement. He made an offer on a house the other day. Naturally, he’s sad about the circumstances that surround the move . . . .”

Marshall doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. He and Dahlia have been friends far too long to care about stretches of silence in a conversation. While they both love each other deeply, it was never a love that stretched beyond the bounds of friendship, probably because anything more than that would’ve stained the sibling-like bond they have. Even losing his virginity to her didn’t make a difference in their relationship. They each viewed it as a friendly favor that spared him going off to college as a virgin.

“How is your mom?” He finally asks.

“Feisty and bitchy as ever which leads me to believe the cancer hasn’t spread.”

Marshall chuckles. “Poppy is a fighter. I’m surprised that she hasn’t . . . .”

“Me too.” Dahlia sighs. “It’s weird to think that she won’t be in my life to make me miserable forever. Remember when we were in high school and she caught me dropping condoms filled with whipped cream out the window?”

Marshall laughs out loud. “How can I forget? It was a month before I saw you outside of school. I don’t know how she kept you from sneaking out.”

“She hired that butch bodyguard, remember?”

“Your mom could not be fucked with.”

“Nope. Seems like cancer is the only thing that can.”

“Fuck. I hate that she’s sick. My mom is devastated. She can’t stop talking about it.”

Dahlia’s voice is faint. “Me too.” She gulps back her emotions that threaten to overtake her. For as many problems as she’s had with her mother, she’s spent the past few months uncovering the love that always seemed to reside at the core of their relationship, despite how twisted and hurtful it’d been.

“You guys are still coming for Thanksgiving right?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent,” Dahlia smiles into the phone. She misses her friendship with Marshall. Aside from Lily and Violet, he’s the only one who stood by her during her ups and downs when she returned from California almost ten years ago. “Are you still thinking of bringing C.C.? I want to meet her.”

Marshall can hear a baby start to cry in the background. “Is that your cue?” He asks, hoping to get out of the conversation.

“Nope, Rodrigo is on duty. I’m not hanging up until you tell me.”

Marshall gets up and starts to walk back toward Greenwich Street. “She’s not coming,” he says flatly.

“Don’t tell me you chickened out. You were supposed to invite her weeks ago.”

“And I didn’t.”

“You fucked it up, didn’t you?”

Marshall doesn’t respond.

“Fine, we’ll talk about it when I see you. You still running on Saturday?”

“That’s the one thing I’m sure about right now.”

“Good, I’ll track you on the app and see if I spot you on TV.”

Marshall smiles. “I’ll be the one giving you the finger.”

Dahlia laughs. “Of course you will.”

Chapter 42

“How’s my hair?” Shoshana smoothes it back and reties her ponytail.

Camila gives her a look. “Since when do you care about your hair?”

“Since millions of people will be seeing this,” her cousin replies through clenched teeth.

“You’re being weird. You never cared before.”

Shoshana sighs. “Yeah, but this is the first year I’m doing this without my dad.”

“Still not talking to him, huh?”

She shakes her head. “Not like we used to. I think we let it go for too long. I guess we’re out of practice.” Then she smiles. “It’ll be fine. I’m sure when we all get together for Thanksgiving it will be forgotten. I’m glad you came. I really couldn’t do this by myself.”

Camila looks over at the television cameras. “You know I love you if I’m willing to go on national TV for you, right?”

Her cousin smiles and threads her arm through Camila’s. “Yes, of course. Although keep in mind this is your legacy too. Our family’s sponsored this marathon for decades now. You should’ve been standing next to me all these years to hand out the trophies.”

Seconds pass quickly on the large timer above the finish line. The cheering becomes louder and more deafening as two racers from the men’s group start to split on the final hill in Central Park. Shoshana and Camila watch the close race on one of the small screens, while tracking the women’s race on the other. Camila smiles as she remembers watching the runners run along Fourth Avenue with her parents. No matter the weather, they would bring her out in often cold temperatures to watch and cheer in support. “It’s proof that a person can do anything she sets her mind to,” her mother would tell her.

It never inspired Camila to run one of her own, but it taught her to appreciate the mental fortitude and perseverance that’s required. She secretly liked that Marshall ran marathons but had never told him. She swallows the thought. There are a few things she never told him.

Shoshana and her father had been the ones to paint the blue finish line and present the trophy to the elite runners. Her grandfather, the former head of Cohen Real Estate, had championed New York events and was a firm believer in sponsoring and supporting New York centered sports and arts. Always a pragmatist, he believed a vital and active city was the only way to ensure the value of his then burgeoning portfolio. He was never wrong about that.

Camila stands to Shoshana’s left as they’re brought out to present the first trophy. She admires her cousin’s poise and ease as she smiles for the camera and speaks. It’s clear to Camila that her aunt and uncle have been preparing Shoshana for her public role since birth. Camila’s parents didn’t have the same goals, and it makes her wonder if she could possibly do what it takes to cast herself in the role as a legitimate member of the Cohen family and future CEO of Cohen Real Estate. The thought is daunting.

Shoshana demures from discussing it with her cousin because she doesn’t want to influence Camila’s decision. It isn’t difficult for Camila to guess where Shoshana stands, and she appreciates that her cousin wants her to choose it for herself. It makes her miss her talks with Marshall, whose objectivity about pretty much everything made her consider things she wouldn’t normally.

Camila watches as a few more elite runners cross the finish line and catches herself wondering what mile marker Marshall just passed. In her effort to push him as far out of her reality as possible, she promised herself she wouldn’t track him. She’s sure she’ll run into him one day on campus and hopes it won’t feel nearly as bad as thinking of him does at the moment. The three words, “I love you,” ring through her head from time to time, like the chimes of a church bell signaling the day moving forward. She finds herself moving alright, but she’s still not sure in what direction she’s going.

Chapter 43

Whatever Cohen family drama had been brewing over the past couple months isn’t evident the moment Bernie, Mari and Camila arrive at the penthouse on Fifth Avenue. Hugs, kisses and even more hugs are shared before the family enters the immense foyer. Wood burns in the multiple fireplaces throughout the apartment as they make their way to the sitting room for aperitifs.

As they pass through the first sitting room, the firelight giving the sumptuous space an inviting glow, Camila can’t help but wonder what it’s like for her father to enter his former family home. She’d never asked before, always assuming that his choice to forsake his part of the legacy meant he didn’t care. Today, however, she observes the way he studies the rooms, taking mental note of the small to big changes that have been made over the years, commenting on the new artwork and sculptures that have appeared since his last visit. Yet his perma-smile that’s a combination of warm and serious is unwavering. Whatever his issue with his father and his name, Camila believed he’d found enough personal peace and happiness not to begrudge his brother’s financial success. To him, it was their right to pursue the lives they wanted for themselves, and he always said he wouldn’t trade it for this penthouse or any other.

“It’s going rather well,” Shoshana whispers to Camila as they head into the kitchen to get another bottle of champagne and wine.

“I’m surprised. I don’t get how they can talk about books for almost two straight hours.”

“Your mom is too generous for listening to mine talk about last month’s trip to a sweat lodge. I’m sure it must kill her.”

Camila laughs. “It’s so different from anything she would do that I think she finds it entertaining. I wouldn’t worry.” She pulls out the cork with an opener and smells it. “This should be good.”

“You all packed?” Shoshana asks, grabbing six clean flutes from the cupboard. Despite having the meal prepared by their staff, like Sunday brunch, holiday meals are served by family alone.

“I hope so. You haven’t given me much to go on except to pack light and for warm weather. Why all the mystery anyway?”

Shoshana shrugs. “You will soon be out in the workforce so your vacation days are numbered. I wanted to treat you to some fun before all that happens.”

“We’ll still have next summer after the bar exam.”

Her cousin waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. That’s too far away. Life is all about being in the present moment. You closing tonight?”

Camila nods.

“Don’t bother sleeping. I’ll be by with the car at six.”

Unfortunately, as the evening descends and darkness covers the park, the light-heartedness of the late afternoon quickly takes a turn.

“We did this wonderful thing at my last retreat,” Natalie says as they take their seats at the table. “Instead of saying what we’re grateful for like we always do, we direct that gratitude to the person seated across from us. I’d like for us to all try it. I’ll go first.”

She looks at Mari and says, “I’m grateful that you have raised a loving family that is truly connected to us, and that you do such healing work for your patients at the hospital.”

Never good with praise, Mari lowers her eyes in humility. She isn’t a nurse for the recognition, but it means a lot that unlike Bernie’s father, his brother and sister-in-law have never made her feel like an outsider. “I too am grateful for the work you’ve done for our family and making me feel welcome,” she says to Natalie.

Shoshana and Bernie are next, and it seems by their words, that they had rehearsed it. Camila’s cousin bubbled over with gratitude for all the books, meals and sleepovers she shared at the Cohen’s home in Brooklyn. Bernie too couldn’t be more grateful for his niece, who’s like a second daughter to him and who always brightened their home with her cheerfulness and positivity.

Camila is flustered by the time all eyes turn on her. She isn’t the most verbally expressive person. Anyone who knows her well enough knows that. She clears her throat and looks at her Uncle Art. “Not once have I ever felt like a stranger in your presence. I’m grateful for that.”  

Shoshana’s father raises his glass. “And I am eternally grateful to you, my dear, for accepting your position as future CEO of the family business.”

Camila’s eyes go wide. Her Aunt Natalie gasps, and her mother murmurs, “
Ay
,
dios mio
.”

This isn’t how it was supposed to be announced. She had made it clear when she met with her uncle two days prior that she wanted to discuss it with her parents after her vacation. She’d figured that a nice, family Thanksgiving would help set the tone for her talk with them and that broaching the subject around her birthday next week might mean her father would be less inclined to be angry with her. No, of course he wasn’t going to like it, but she knew she could at least get him to warm to the idea over time. An unexpected announcement at Thanksgiving dinner was never part of her plan, and it’s clear her uncle doesn’t care. He got what he wanted so he’s willing to let the chips fall where they may.

She steals a furtive glance at her father, who’s on his feet. His face is a shade of red she’d never before seen. “I- I’m sorry, I was going to tell you,” Camila stammers.

Shoshana’s bubble of excitement is about to burst. She’s thrilled by the announcement but knows now isn’t the time to celebrate it. She looks at her uncle who appears to be having a stroke. Mari gets up and pats him on the back. “
Amor
, come, sit.”

Bernie shakes his head. “No, I will not sit down.” He looks between his brother and his daughter. He isn’t surprised his own brother would backstab him—he is the son of their father. But his daughter? His only child? The one person he loves more than anyone or anything? This, this is the greatest betrayal, beyond his father cutting him off. A pain begins to spread through his chest.

He points to Art. “Will you stop at nothing to hold on to the company? You’re corrupting my only child. How dare you ruin her life this way!”

Bernie turns to Camila. It pains him to look at her at the moment. He knows she didn’t mean for him to find out this way. It’s in her eyes. It doesn’t matter though. It was going to hurt regardless. “What did he promise you? A significant stake in their next luxury development in the East Village? Did he tell you they closed a homeless shelter, a vocational school and two apartment buildings to make room for their state-of-the-art, all-green condos?”

“Bernie,” his brother interrupts.

“What? You don’t think I still have friends in Manhattan? I know how much it costs to get those permits, especially in a matter of months. How many city officials do you have on your private payroll, Art? A few dozen by now?” He spits out. “And now you’ve convinced my daughter to join you in this criminal venture.”

“That is enough,” Art barks at him. “You have always been jealous of how profitable the company became under my direction. You did us all a favor moving to Brooklyn and getting out of the company. You never had the stomach to do what it takes to survive in this City. Too many private equity shops and REITs have been over-taking the market. We had to adapt, or we would’ve crumbled.”

“Enough, both of you,” Natalie gets up out of her chair. She can feel a headache coming on from all the shouting. “This is not why we come together as a family. Business does not belong at the dinner table.” She gestures toward the turkey, lukewarm stuffing and gravy that’s beginning to congeal.

“Art made it his business,” Bernie mumbles.

Shoshana notices Camila shrink a bit behind her chair. “It’s not fair for you two to fight over this,” she says, her tone firm and sharp as if addressing squabbling children. “As far as Camila and I are concerned, Cohen Real Estate will be ours in a few short years, and neither one of you will have a say in how it’s run.”

Camila rolls back her shoulders and regards her father. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I can’t make my decisions based on what you want or don’t want for me. I appreciate everything you and mom have done in raising me.”

“If that’s true, you wouldn’t be doing this,” he remarks bitterly.

She chokes back a lump that’s beginning to form in her throat. “That’s really unfair. You raised me to make decisions for myself, and the moment I make one you don’t agree with, you dismiss it as something selfish or greedy.” Tears are threatening, and Camila makes no effort to stop them. For so long her parents’, especially her father’s word was the final one. She can still hear their voices guide her in her daily life. But this was one decision that she had to make on her own, and it terrified her to do it.

“It took all the courage I had to walk into Uncle Art’s office and discuss it with him. For three hours we talked about the company and the challenges it faces. It was the first time in my life that I took a risk and considered my future without worrying about what you would think. Not mom,
you
.”

“Because you know I’m right. This isn’t where you should be.”

“How do you know, Dad? Because it wasn’t right for you? What would’ve happened if you hadn’t met mom? You can’t say for certain that you wouldn’t be CEO right now, could you? How can you expect me to live up to your standards? They’re yours, not mine. I deserve to choose the course of my life and not have it dictated by you or anyone else.” Camila wipes away a tear.

Her mother gazes at her sympathetically. She understands her daughter’s pain. She had, in her own way, instilled in Camila that hers was the only voice that mattered. She knew it would come to this and that her daughter would have to stand up to her father. It was merely a matter of time for Camila to find the courage to speak her mind. She gets up from her chair and takes her husband’s hand. “We should go.”

Bernie raises his eyes and looks once more at Camila. “Are you coming?”

“I can’t. I have to work tonight.” This isn’t what he wants to hear. He wants her to cave, like she would when she was younger and they would have a stand-off over who was the better president, FDR or Lincoln, or which ice cream flavor was better, mint chip or rocky road. His sheer tenacity would usually wear her down, but she can’t allow it to this time. This is the first time she’s setting out on her own and determining the course of her life. She can’t back down now.

He looks to Natalie and says, “I’m sorry for ruining your dinner. Thank you for having us.”

Without another word, they walk out of the dining room.

Shoshana and her mother glare at Art, who’s still standing by his chair, sipping wine. “You just broke our family,” Natalie says.

“Bernie’s a big boy. He’ll deal,” he replies unapologetically.

Even though it feels good to have stood up to her father, Camila can’t help but be disgusted by her uncle’s own backhandedness. “You shouldn’t have done that. He deserves better.”

Art sets down his glass. “You said it yourself, he allowed his personal issues to interfere. At least we got this out of the way. I’m sure everything will be back to normal by Chanukkah.”

“Normal? What’s normal to you, dad?” Shoshana asks. She waves at the table. “Because driving a wedge between your brother and his only daughter doesn’t seem normal or healthy to me.”

“As I said, Bernie will be fine. He’s a reasonable man. He’ll come around and see this will be good for Camila and the family.”

“Such arrogance,” Natalie says. She walks up to Camila and hugs her. “Take care honey. Don’t let anyone tell you how to live your life.”

Before walking out, she looks back at her husband and says, “You have your choice of guestrooms tonight.”

As soon as his wife disappears, Art says to Camila, “At least you’re not angry with me.”

She shakes her head. “I am disappointed though. It’s presumptuous to assume you can act without considering how it will hurt another person, especially family. I won’t stand for it. Like you told me the other day, I decide the fate of this company and by extension your role in it. You might want to remember that.”

Camila turns to Shoshana, kisses her cheek and says, “I’ll see you at six.”