nose. Then just breathing, keep breathing , because any second she felt like her heart might pound straight out of her chest and stop working.
The ceremony was simple. Quiet. Not small; her mother had plenty of people who at least pretended to care about her when she wasn’t looking. But it was steeped in tradition. The ceremony was set up in the small Catholic church where Cami’s grandfather once had served as pastor (back when he was still alive and Cami was very, very small). Most of the people streaming through the doors were hospital workers or loyalists to her family name.
Some, she knew. They shook her hand, smiled sadly, and gave condolences. Most, though, were either unfamiliar or unrecognizable. Most recognized her and averted their gaze or looked at her like she was a time bomb ready to explode. Lynn’s crazy daughter. Lock her up before she makes a scene.
Cami couldn’t help scanning the room for a wild-haired man with a scar over his brow.
Although she did her best to keep any real emotion at bay ( Save it for your pillow, darling , her mother used to say), fear still rattled in her bones. Hard to tell what was a dream anymore and what was reality. Maybe she would wake up from this, too, and return home to her mother chastising her for coming home so late.
(Straight home from school. Don’t play in the woods; take Jayce to the river instead. Cami, you’re muddied from head to toe, what did I tell you?)
She’d always assumed her mother was overbearing, overprotective. Now, she had an idea about what Lynn had tried to protect her from.
But to make your daughter feel crazy, though. Her heart was still riddled with resentment. Her head thumped badly, like wailing on a spring mattress with a soft mallet, and she felt a full-blown migraine impending.
It was all too much. Cami needed sleep. Pills. White padded walls. She needed to be carted away for even thinking this way. Bound wrist and ankle. Have the madness fucked out of her. It was outrageous. A mental lapse. Delusional.
But if it had all been in her head, how to explain the bruise—?
Thinking about it made it burn, itch, and Cami sat in her pew and adjusted Jenny’s scarf. His hands had been strong, so strong, his grip so tight. She felt like she was choking again, air barely scraping the dry cavity of her throat—
A hand squeezed her shoulder and Cami yelped, jumping in her place. Jayce flattened back at her reaction and tried a warm smile instead. “Sorry,” he whispered from his spot in the pew behind her. “And…sorry.”
His eyes were wet, his voice sincere. Like Aunt Sadie, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Cami nodded dully and felt the sudden urge to crawl into his lap and cling to him like a little girl. “Thanks,” she said stiffly.
He closed the gap anyway, coming around to pull her into a hug. He smelled like sandalwood and smoke and her nails made dents in his back.
She pulled away first, sniffed, then sat back down again. He kept her hand, though, with his fingers interlaced with hers, and held it over the back of the pew. Even placed a small kiss to her fingers. She let him.
Aunt Sadie clung to her other hand and blubbered through the service. Jenny sat beside her mother, silent, but at least she wasn’t texting. Cami tried to listen to the priest, something about selflessness and God’s gift and taking care of others.
“All rise,” he said. The church thrummed with the sounds of feet tumbling onto the stone floors. Did nothing for her migraine and Cami winced against the noise.
Lynn’s coffin was black, sleek, like a bullet at the end of the church. People began filing up to pay their respects. Cami’s heart butterflied in her throat when Aunt Sadie’s hand latched onto hers and urged her to the front of the line. Jayce attempted to fall back, but Cami gripped his hand even tighter and pulled him along the chain with her. No way in hell she was doing this alone.
The coffin was framed with an explosion of
The ceremony was simple. Quiet. Not small; her mother had plenty of people who at least pretended to care about her when she wasn’t looking. But it was steeped in tradition. The ceremony was set up in the small Catholic church where Cami’s grandfather once had served as pastor (back when he was still alive and Cami was very, very small). Most of the people streaming through the doors were hospital workers or loyalists to her family name.
Some, she knew. They shook her hand, smiled sadly, and gave condolences. Most, though, were either unfamiliar or unrecognizable. Most recognized her and averted their gaze or looked at her like she was a time bomb ready to explode. Lynn’s crazy daughter. Lock her up before she makes a scene.
Cami couldn’t help scanning the room for a wild-haired man with a scar over his brow.
Although she did her best to keep any real emotion at bay ( Save it for your pillow, darling , her mother used to say), fear still rattled in her bones. Hard to tell what was a dream anymore and what was reality. Maybe she would wake up from this, too, and return home to her mother chastising her for coming home so late.
(Straight home from school. Don’t play in the woods; take Jayce to the river instead. Cami, you’re muddied from head to toe, what did I tell you?)
She’d always assumed her mother was overbearing, overprotective. Now, she had an idea about what Lynn had tried to protect her from.
But to make your daughter feel crazy, though. Her heart was still riddled with resentment. Her head thumped badly, like wailing on a spring mattress with a soft mallet, and she felt a full-blown migraine impending.
It was all too much. Cami needed sleep. Pills. White padded walls. She needed to be carted away for even thinking this way. Bound wrist and ankle. Have the madness fucked out of her. It was outrageous. A mental lapse. Delusional.
But if it had all been in her head, how to explain the bruise—?
Thinking about it made it burn, itch, and Cami sat in her pew and adjusted Jenny’s scarf. His hands had been strong, so strong, his grip so tight. She felt like she was choking again, air barely scraping the dry cavity of her throat—
A hand squeezed her shoulder and Cami yelped, jumping in her place. Jayce flattened back at her reaction and tried a warm smile instead. “Sorry,” he whispered from his spot in the pew behind her. “And…sorry.”
His eyes were wet, his voice sincere. Like Aunt Sadie, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. Cami nodded dully and felt the sudden urge to crawl into his lap and cling to him like a little girl. “Thanks,” she said stiffly.
He closed the gap anyway, coming around to pull her into a hug. He smelled like sandalwood and smoke and her nails made dents in his back.
She pulled away first, sniffed, then sat back down again. He kept her hand, though, with his fingers interlaced with hers, and held it over the back of the pew. Even placed a small kiss to her fingers. She let him.
Aunt Sadie clung to her other hand and blubbered through the service. Jenny sat beside her mother, silent, but at least she wasn’t texting. Cami tried to listen to the priest, something about selflessness and God’s gift and taking care of others.
“All rise,” he said. The church thrummed with the sounds of feet tumbling onto the stone floors. Did nothing for her migraine and Cami winced against the noise.
Lynn’s coffin was black, sleek, like a bullet at the end of the church. People began filing up to pay their respects. Cami’s heart butterflied in her throat when Aunt Sadie’s hand latched onto hers and urged her to the front of the line. Jayce attempted to fall back, but Cami gripped his hand even tighter and pulled him along the chain with her. No way in hell she was doing this alone.
The coffin was framed with an explosion of
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