Words and Music by Cameron David (7 page)

She sighed, “You came.”

“I told you I would.” He took the empty seat next to her. The waiter at his side appeared annoyed as he folded his arms across his chest and glared at Cam. “You’ll need to give me a minute there, pal. As you can see, I’ve just gotten here.”

The waiter asked if he should put in what had already been ordered and Patricia answered, “If you don’t mind Meg, I’ll let our order stand. The children didn’t have a substantial lunch.”

Maybe they hadn’t had a substantial fucking lunch, but they’d consumed copious amounts of bread and butter. So much so that she hadn’t been able to get a slice. “Cam and I will order when we decide. Do what you need to do.” Her comment evoked a challenging sideways glance from Patricia. Meg shot a derisive look right back. “Oh and sir”—she reached for the empty basket of bread—“our bread basket seems to be empty, we’ll need a refill.” She shot a look at her stepbrothers who had their heads down as their fingers frantically pressed buttons on a game.

They ended up ordering the same family sized sides to go with their steaks. Cam even ordered a half bottle of wine. At the end of the dinner, Cam picked up the check for her steak as well as his, just as he always did. Her father never offered to pay for her. She reached for her purse to offer to at least pay for the tip. “Don’t do it, Meg.” The tone of his whisper in her ear had her complying immediately and she set her purse back on her lap.

Everyone stood and her father said, “Thanks for coming.”

“Well, you invited me so I wanted to.”

“And thanks for the tie.” He patted his lapel with his palm.

“You mean the tie you’ve yet to unwrap—you’re welcome. See you dad.” Cam escorted her from the restaurant.

They walked to her car. “Sorry I was late, but I had to nail down some transportation.”

“I’m just so glad you came. They were doing what they always do before you got there.”

“Pretending that you don’t exist?”

She winced at his statement that was as true as two plus two equals four. “Something like that.”

“I’m sorry, Meg. They’re assholes.”

“Cam, come home with me. I don’t know why you left.”

“I want to. You don’t know how bad I want to, but I shouldn’t.” He scratched his forehead. “You look beautiful by the way.” He kissed her cheek, and then hopped on the motorcycle next to her car.

“Yours?”

“No, it belongs to Zach, but I’m borrowing it.”

He looked way too hot on the damn thing. She was glad he didn’t own a bike—he’d never be able to beat the women off of him. “See you.” He started the bike and the loud sound drowned out any hope she had of issuing him a goodbye. He walked the bike in reverse and then he rode off into the proverbial sunset.

That night she tossed and turned in bed. She took her phone from the cradle. Two o’clock in the morning. Staring at the ceiling, she tried to pinpoint the root of her unease. However, her conscious mind wouldn’t let the thoughts come to the surface. She tuned her iPod to Sigur Ros and within minutes succumbed to the peaceful lullabies.

Meg rocked slowly on a porch swing, the cold breeze offset by the blankets and mug of cocoa in her hands. Old hands. Wrinkled hands.

“Hey Mother, we’re going to go sledding, but we can’t take the little one so you’re on grandma duty.” Gladly, Meg reached for the chubby little fellow in a hand-knit sweater romper.

The handsome, tall stranger leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mom.” She smiled at his nice face. He had dark hair, too dark. And his eyes were dark brown. These things struck her as being the wrong color. His eyes should be emerald green and his hair a chestnut brown, but his was closer to black. His speech was accented. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t an accent she was used to hearing.

“Bye, Mom—we’ll bring you back a beaver tail.” Another handsome man waved at her. She bounced the little guy on her lap up and down. His eyes and hair were dark too. 

An older distinguished gentleman that she didn’t know exited from the house and joined her on the porch. “There’s our grandbaby. That’s a big boy isn’t it?” His features were like the other men and child and he too shared their accent. Confused she asked, “What’s a beaver tail?”

“I assume you mean your favorite fried dough slathered with chocolate. The kids are going to bring some back after their adventure.”

“A beaver tail?”

“Well, you know because it’s shaped like a beaver’s tail.

He sipped from a mug of cocoa. “It’s going to be a cold Canadian winter.”

Canadian winter?

His arm slipped around her back and his hand rested on her shoulder. “I love you, Megan.”

She stared at the strange man with a kind, handsome face. Holding up her left hand, she saw a diamond ring. The band was scratched and dented indicating years of wear.

“I don’t know why you won’t let me buy you a new one of those.” He regarded her curiously. “Are you feeling okay?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m just a little confused.”

“About what?”

“About who you are…where we are…who these kids are.” She gestured in the direction they’d walked on foot. “How long have we been married?”

“Forty years, Meg.”

“Do you sing and write music? Play a guitar?”

He chuckled. “I don’t think I could make enough money for us to survive, but I do enjoy listening to music. Are you okay?”

“What do you do?”
             
“I’m a retired doctor.”

“A doctor…and what did I do?”

“You started in journalism, but when the kids came you wanted to stay at home. That’s when you started writing.”

“Writing?”

“Your books.”

“We were happy?”

“Oh yes, extremely happy.”

“But where’s Cam?”

“Cam?”

“I want to see Cam. Cameron David. He calls me Nutmeg and I hate it.”

When she awoke from her dream, she was distraught and anxious. She desperately needed to get to Cam. Given the amount of sunlight pouring through the windows in her bedroom, she assumed it was after ten in the morning. Sitting up she checked her phone, confirming the time. Her dream wasn’t a bad one. It just did not include Cam. She’d felt no heat when her husband of forty years placed his arm around her. Looking into his eyes didn’t cause her skin to sizzle. Those emotions were reserved for Cameron.

She threw the covers off and dressed in jeans and an old concert T-shirt. Sliding her feet into flip-flops, she grabbed her purse and keys. She forced herself to drive the speed limit all the way to Max’s house. Pulling into the drive, she wondered about the size of the monstrosity he called home. It was new construction and had an extremely ornate, black iron staircase that intricately wound around and admitted its climbers to the second level balcony.

She however remained on the first level, walked right up to the front door, and pressed the bell. A man who wasn’t Cam, Max, or Zach answered the door. “I’m looking for Cameron.”

“Backyard.”

She walked swiftly through the large, sparsely decorated home and out through the French doors at the back of the house. At first she didn’t see where anybody was outside, but then she heard splashing and saw Cam sitting in a hot tub, the bubbles from the jets splashing around him. His arms were stretched out along the rim of the tub and his head was back and propped up by built-in pillows. He wore sunglasses and she saw several beer bottles surrounding the hot tub and pool area.

“Cam.”

His head popped up on a jerk. “Meg!”

“Cam, I’m so sorry”—she spoke as she walked to reach him—“I want to be with you…not thousands of miles away. I’m not taking the Toronto job. I love you.”

“Meg…I…” He slowly moved his arms and stood. When he shifted, a head emerged from the water. As the woman stood taller, her nudity was revealed. She watched as an equally nude Cam staggered to climb from the tub. “Meg!”

She shook her head in disbelief. Tears instantly streamed down her face. Turning to walk out she stumbled and came face-to-face with a naked Max and Zach and three girls who followed behind them wearing only a smile.

Max held up a case of beer. “Megan…come to join in the fun. How about a beer?”

She ran as fast as her feet would carry her. She jumped into her car and started the engine. Slamming the shifter into drive, her wheels spun as she applied too much force to the pedal. In the rearview mirror, she saw Cam running from the house and chasing her car. He attempted to cover his nudeness by cupping his hands between his legs.

“Meg!”

***

“What happened?” Harmony asked with a hand held to her chest in shock.

Meg had driven straight to the little cottage with the bright green door that Harmony shared with Ashton.

Meg retold the entire steamy affair she’d had with Cam, including all the sex and love they’d shared, and her Toronto offer. Through her tears, she managed to catch Harmony up to the nude sex party scene she’d happened on.

Harmony poured water from a whistling kettle into mugs while Meg sat at the kitchen table and blew her nose into a tissue. “And the worst part of it is…he’s the only man I’ve ever loved!” Meg wailed and plopped her upper body across the table, resting her hot wet cheek on her arm. 

“Peppermint tea.” Harmony set the cups on the table and joined Meg in a sit.

“You put a peppermint stick in the tea!” Meg snorted through her stuffed up nose and howled some more.

“My God, Meg. You’ve got to get hold of yourself.” Harmony sipped from her mug. If it were a delicate caress one needed, they’d not get it from Harmony. She was as tough as nails. “This guy’s not dead, he’s just been led off course.”

Meg sat up board straight, “Just been led off course? How can you say that? Did you not hear me when I said some blonde bimbo was giving him head underwater?”

Harmony winced. “Of course I heard you…my folks and Ashton’s cousins probably heard you too. I just don’t think it’s as big a deal as you’re making it.”

“He cheated on me!” She threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

“But did he really?” Harmony asked as she coolly sipped tea.

“I told you he wanted to be exclusive.”

“Yes, but you turned him down.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Meg took a gulp of tea, effectively searing the inside of her mouth and throat. “Ow!” She slammed down the mug.

“Meg”—Harmony’s hands squeezed her own—“I want you to think about something for me.”

“What?”

“When you had the dream about growing old in Canada with the strange man you said you were happy but not content.”

“Yeah, I was.”

“First of all, that’s impossible because those words are synonyms. Second of all, I’ve known you since we were kids and I’m willing to bet that you wouldn’t give away a lifetime of happiness because of a misunderstanding. Tell me what’s really going on?”

Meg pulled her hands from Harmony’s so that she could dry her face of the tears that had rolled down to tickle her cheeks. “Cam hurt me.” She inhaled deeply. “I’ve realized that he’s still not ready to give me what I want and that doubly hurts.” She pressed her lips together to keep from sobbing.

“And what is it that you want?”

What did she want?
Meg thought about the time they’d spent together over the past few years and instantly knew what would make her give herself to Cam unreservedly. “I want an unconditional promise.”

Harmony pulled a tin of butter cookies from the top of the refrigerator. Together, the two of them could finish off an entire tin. They’d done it as teenagers…it had been one of the deluxe-sized tins at that. Meg pulled a pretzel-shaped, sugar-topped cookie from one of the paper cups inside the tin. She spoke around nibbling the cookie; “I want to know I’m more important to him than his music career. If I knew the answer to that, I’d have the information I’d need to carry on with or without him.”

“And now you’re talking like a winner.” Harmony selected a delicate cookie from the tin and broke it between her thumbs. “There’s only one way to get a true answer to your question.” She placed one-half of the cookie into her mouth.

“How?”

“You have to take the Toronto gig.”

Chapter 8

“Megan Price…
Toronto News Twelve
where you can
trust us to bring you the truth
.” She smiled and held it until the countdown suggested they were off air. It wasn’t the sign off she’d wanted, but she hadn’t been permitted to use her phrase. It was just another element of control in a long list of items in which she had none. She had no say whatsoever regarding which stories she’d present or who she’d interview. In Baton Rouge they kicked off every shift by negotiating for the stories they wanted and even the ones they didn’t—nobody wants to present about the signs and symptoms of irritable bowl, but everyone wants to present on the most trending topic of a news day.

She regretted not closing out her
Baton Rouge Thirty Nine
career with Cam’s feature, but after what she’d seen that day at Max’s, she'd be unable to speak with him for a good long time. And he’d tried…God how he’d tried to speak to her. He’d actually serenaded her through the door of the apartment until someone had complained and he’d been escorted off premises by two of the Baton Rouge’s finest men dressed in blue.
             
She walked to her dressing room and donned her thick, sheep’s wool lined coat that she swore added ten pounds to her total weight. The first of December had temperatures dipping down into the twenties at night and she’d seen enough snow to last a lifetime. How long would the cold and wet last she wondered? Unused to the low temperatures and gray skies, she actually missed the sweltering Baton Rouge heat.

***

             
Cam was in the middle of his set at some hole in the wall New Orleans bar where the soot from years of cigarette smoke could be scraped from the walls like spackle. He’d had too much beer and whiskey before taking the stage and was fading fast. The lyrics came to him through a patch of fog and he was behind the music. Instead of blaming himself, he stopped mid-song and looked out across the bar. No one was paying him any mind.

             
“Motherfuckers,” he mumbled. It wasn’t any wonder he couldn’t recall the lyrics given the loud group of four hanging out by the patio door. “Hey, if you can’t be quiet and respectful of what I’m trying to do up here then get the fuck out.”

             
He pointed to the patrons directly in front of him. “I’m gonna start that one again for you,” he slurred, and then strummed the opening chord.

             
Robert Palmer the club’s manager, not the eighties British musician who was addicted to love, took the stage and Cameron said, “Hey, let’s sing it in the round. Are you ready?” He reached for his guitar and stumbled down and off the end of the stage. “I’m all right…I’m all right.”

             
Rob followed him down to the floor, assisting him in finding his footing. “Cam, you’ve uh…well, you’ve been off your game lately. Really utter shit. I love you man, but you’ve got to get off the sauce. Get clean, refocus.” He set his palm on Cam’s back in a patronizing manner and Cam reared up with his arms to escape his hold. “Hey”—Rob held his hands in the air surrender style. “There’s a cab outside waiting to take you out of here.”

             
Cam was done with this shitty venue anyway. He loaded his guitar and made his way out. He had the cab drive him to Baton Rouge. They passed a particular apartment complex and Cam had the cabbie circle back. He parked in front of the door to number two one three and Cam got out of the car, walked up to the door, and knocked. An Indian woman wearing a beautiful yellow and purple sari answered the door. He suddenly felt bad because he knew it was after eleven, but she smiled at him still.

             
“I was looking for…Megan.”

             
“She moved about three months ago.”

             
Of course, he knew that.
What the hell was he doing?
He nodded. “Sorry to bother you so late.” The woman smiled, and then closed the door.

             
He loaded back into the cab and gave the address of Max’s house, where he planned to sleep off his drunkenness.

             
The next morning Cam awoke to what he swore were ax-wielding Orcs trudging through his brain. Grabbing his head, he went in search of aspirin. He was in the kitchen re-hydrating and fortifying his blood with salicylic acid when Max walked in. The idea hit him like a wrecking ball to the wall.

             
“Can you give me a ride to Cajun Carl’s Autoplex?”

             
“Good morning to you too, brother. Sleep well?” He chuckled at Cam’s plight.

             
“Will you take me or not?”

             
“After you, sweetheart.” He gestured in the general direction of the door.

***

             
In the white Mustang Cam had just purchased, he set out on the over thirteen hundred mile journey. He had one more stop to make, in Nashville. He’d already phoned his buddy—the stone was being placed in a setting as he drove.

             
He used the drive to tie up loose ends. He called his manager Kip and told him to cancel his gigs for the foreseeable future. Kip was none too thrilled and suggested this detour was going to ruin his career. Cam couldn’t wait. He’d lived without Meg for so long because he thought he needed to be free to write lyrics and play songs. He could see that was all bullshit. To be free of the ties that held him to the South meant he was totally free. There was only one thing he’d be willing to sacrifice his precious freedom for and she currently lived in Toronto. He’d let her tie him down. He hoped she’d strap him to the bed and never let him up.

              Hours later h
e’d made it to Findlay, Ohio where he had to stop for the night. He took a room in an express hotel and placed the set of rings on the nightstand. The bands were inscribed with ancient Celtic writing. His band had her name written in Celtic script and hers had his.

             
He went to bed that night knowing tomorrow he’d be seeing her, and with that thought his rest was deep and replenishing. In the morning, he loaded into the Mustang convertible and made the five and half hour trek to her Toronto apartment. He’d had to physically squeeze the address from Harmony. He also had to divulge to her what he wanted with it. She’d given him her blessing and he’d laughed, but accepted.

             
He parked along the curb, and then walked up to knock on the door of her apartment. When it went unanswered, he knocked again. Harmony had sworn that Meg was staying in Toronto for Christmas.
Where the hell was she?
The door to the apartment next to hers opened and an old man with an apparent catch in his back appeared.

             
“The little lady won’t be back until after her show.”

             
“Oh, is she doing the news tonight?”

             
“Well, it being Christmas and all she’s doing a special
Christmas Around The World
segment. It’s exceptionally interesting, and she isn’t hard to look at. Quite enjoyable, I’d say.”

             
The old pervert knew Meg?
“When will the segment be over?”

             
“Eight o’clock.” It was six now and fucking cold—piercing cold. He’d need to find a place to lay low for a couple of hours. “You’re welcome to come inside and wait.”

             
He followed the old guy inside where he immediately saw Meg as bright as the sun glowing from a large television set. She wore an attractive bright red suit with a green silk shirt. She was gorgeous and being taught how to cook. That was dangerous. His Meg was a fright in the kitchen.

             
“You’ve got it bad then.”

             
“Pardon?” Cam looked around and realized he’d been stopped in his tracks and stood frozen in front of the television, blocking the view from the old guy’s chair.

             
“Excuse me.” He walked over to a wing chair and took a seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

             
“I didn’t give it.” What a peculiar old bird was this neighbor of hers. “It’s Owen.”

             
“I’m Cam. Thanks for the invitation. It’s cold as ice out there.”

             
“You’re from the South like her.”

             
Cam nodded. “How do you know Meg?”

             
“She helps me quite a lot. When she goes to market, she’ll pick up a few things for me. She also takes my clothes when she’s taking hers to the wash-dry-fold. I had a fall the other day and she stayed with me.”

             
That was Meg. If there were someone in need of aid, she’d drop everything, no question, and give all she could.

***

             
Christmas day had the channel twelve news team operating with a skeleton crew. Because Meg had nothing better to do, she’d volunteered to anchor the morning and evening shows. She’d been excited because they’d allowed her to present her own piece detailing Christmas traditions from around the world. She’d actually brought in a German designer of nutcrackers who had detailed the process of crafting and design. She’d also interviewed a Danish filled-pancake maker and, as a result, was about to bust a gut. She’d eaten her weight in ebleskivers and consumed way too much glogg.

             
Holding one hand over her overly full belly she took the three large steps to exit the bus. In her other hand, she carried a dozen filled pancakes for Owen. He’d need to take them all or she was at serious risk of birthing a food baby. She trudged through the dirty icy mix, happy she’d swapped her rubber boots for her suede pumps. She was about to knock on Owen’s door when she felt an overwhelming sense to turn her head and look over her shoulder.

             
Standing in the drizzle, his hair glistening from the wet was Cam.

             
He smiled and approached her. Touching her elbow in a familiar gesture, he said, “Nutmeg.”

             
“Oh, my God.” Smiling, she touched her palm to his not so warm cheek. “What are you doing here?”

             
He shivered and clasped his hands together, blowing into them for warmth. “Can we go inside so I can tell you?”

             
“Of course.” She took the keys out of her pocket and unlocked the door. She quickly turned the radiator up in the kitchen. “You’re so cold.” She took off her coat and turned on the electric kettle. “There’s a hot cup of cocoa coming your way in about five minutes.”

             
He leaned against the counter. “Sounds good,” he shuddered.

             
“Cam, where the hell is your coat?”

             
“I didn’t think about it before I left.” She ran her hands over his arms, attempting to warm him.

             
Staring into her eyes his hands reached for her cheeks, cupping them in his hold. He leaned in and placed a slow, sensual kiss on her lips. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”

             
She felt an overwhelming sense of joy at his touch and his words, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d hurt her.

             
“Meg, that day at Max’s I was so drunk I was halfway conscious. It’s no excuse for how you found me, but I didn’t have sex with that girl. There’s been no one but you for over a year now. I’d like to make that up to you or at least spend forever trying.”

             
She believed him. In all their years he’d never lied to her. “Cam, what are you doing all the way in Toronto? How did you even know where to find me? Do you have a gig here?”

             
“That’s a lot of questions and the kettle sounds like it’s ready.”

             
Yes, the kettle sounded outraged at being ignored. She rushed over and unplugged it.

             
“Meg, there’s no gig. I’m here for you and I’m not leaving. I quit.”

             
She froze in the process of pulling two mugs from the cupboard. “You quit your music?”

             
“Yes. I let my manager go and I canceled all venues.”

             
She poured hot water into the mugs. Cam’s music was highly regarded in certain circles—hoity-toity circles she called them. Two of his cuts had even appeared in big Hollywood movies. Other songs appeared in independent films where his music shone best. “Cam, you can’t quit your music.”

             
He reached for the packets of cocoa and shook them down. “No Meg, I can’t quit you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow. You once said you couldn’t live apart from me. I hope that’s still true because I’ve made plans to love you forever. He took her hands in his and massaged using his thumbs. “Meg, it’s Christmas day and, like Santa Claus, I’ve come bearing gifts.”