113 Katama Rd

by Katie Winters

  “That’s Amelia,” Olivia answered without a hitch. “I’m the—”

  “Teacher.” Brett snapped his fingers playfully. “I second-guessed myself.”

  Casper Jennings. Why did that name sound familiar? Camilla furrowed her brow.

  “Casper. What brings you to the island?” Olivia asked as she twirled a dark curl near her ear.

  “Casper’s an old business associate of mine from before med school,” Brett explained. “He grew up with Derek.”

  “That’s right. I work in investments,” Casper told them. His eyes sparkled strangely.

  “Investments! Now, that’s a fascinating world, isn’t it?” Olivia continued. “Camilla, don’t you think that’s rather fascinating?”

  “Terribly,” Camilla lied. “What investment company do you work for, exactly?”

  “I work as a consultant,” Casper told them.

  “That’s so much more confusing than anything we get up to. Right, Camilla?” Olivia had put on her fake “dumb girl” voice.

  “I guess so.” Camilla again struggled with this name. Casper.

  Was it actually the name Jonathon had given her? Was this the man he’d spoken with, the one who was willing to set their family up on a path to “endless riches”?

  “So you consult people on how to invest in appropriate stocks, basically?” Olivia continued to dig.

  Casper’s laughter reminded Camilla of a Disney villain. “I don’t think you want to get into any discussion like that at a party like this, do you?”

  Olivia shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

  “Naw. You’re much too pretty for such talk,” Casper told her.

  Camilla’s eyes flickered toward Brett’s. His gaze captured hers for a long moment, even as her stomach soured. As Olivia swung back with a response, something that put Casper even more in his place, Brett leaned toward her ear and said, “Dance with me.”

  Camilla pressed her lips together. Brett eased back from her just the slightest bit so that his lips were only a few inches from hers. She had imagined it a million times, kissing him. Now, she wanted to be as far away from him as she possibly could. Her stomach swirled with the possibility of this Casper man being the source of her family’s ruin. How did Brett come into this? Had he just gone on a date with her to play with her even more?

  “I have to go home, actually,” Camilla told him. She then reached over and gripped Olivia’s elbow so hard that Olivia yelped.

  Brett blinked strangely at Camilla.

  “Are you feeling all right?” he asked.

  His tone was difficult to gauge. If Camilla had to guess, he detested being turned down and didn’t care so much about her wellness.

  But maybe she imagined that, too.

  “If you would excuse us.” Camilla’s voice was syrupy sweet as she led Olivia away from the men.

  Toward the side of the ballroom, Olivia grumbled with disdain. “I can’t believe the nerve of that guy. Telling me I’m too pretty to be smart about stuff like investments. I just want to smack him across the face.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the guy Jonathon talked about,” Camilla muttered. “That’s the guy who promised Jonathon a changed life and ultimately took everything.”

  “How can you prove it?” Olivia asked.

  “I don’t know. I really don’t.”

  At that moment, Brett and Casper erupted into raucous laughter all over again. If Camilla wasn’t mistaken, they now belittled Olivia and Camilla, maybe discussed their growing crow’s feet or the fact that they, with their millions, could get much younger, much hotter women. She knew she was being utterly paranoid.

  But there was something about Casper, something that Camilla didn’t trust. She had to get to the bottom of all of this. And maybe, just maybe, she had reason to trust Jonathon, after all.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two hours later, just past eleven-thirty, Camilla stepped into the garage and yanked open the exterior refrigerator, the one that Jonathon had previously filled with his beers, set aside from the rest of the food for his Sunday football games. These days, there were only a few beer cans filed away in the back of the fridge; strings of beef jerky lined the bottom vessels of the fridge. Then in the center was the birthday cake, which Jennifer had dropped off the previous afternoon. It was decorated elaborately — after all, Jennifer’s mother never spared a moment nor an expense. In the center, there was cursive icing that spelled out: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANDREA.

  It was Andrea’s twenty-second birthday at midnight. After the trauma of the previous months, along with all the horrors of working menial jobs, Camilla wanted to make sure there was a beautiful spread of joy, sugary-sweet cake, bubbly champagne and late-night pizza, all for her daughter. She wanted to help Andrea forget.

  When Camilla reappeared in the kitchen, Olivia appeared in the doorway, carrying a large paper bag. She set it on the counter and leafed in to find two bottles of Merlot, a bag of Lays potato chips, and a container of spinach and artichoke dip. Immediately, she yanked off the top of the dip and said, “I don’t know what it is about drinking all that wine at the reception, but it’s made me ravenous.”

  “That’s the funny thing about food when you’ve been drinking, right? It’s about ten times better than any other food,” Camilla agreed. She drew the top off the cake and displayed it at the center of the counter, next to the still-empty wine glasses, the number of bottles they’d accumulated, and the paper plates.

  “Are you girls almost ready in there?” Camilla hollered. Back in the living room, Jennifer, Amelia, Mila, Chelsea, and Mandy had gathered to arrange Andrea’s birthday presents and sip wine (and, in the case of the pregnant ladies, sparkling water).

  Chelsea appeared in the kitchen, eyed the chips, and then dragged out a full handful. “You guys are so lucky. That wedding sounded like it was beautiful.”

  “It was,” Olivia said as she gently twirled her daughter’s curls.

  “Did Anthony have fun?” Chelsea asked.

  Olivia gave a slight shrug. “He’s not the most social of guys, is he?”

  “No way.” Chelsea lowered her voice slightly. “I’m sure he was kind of annoyed at all of Derek’s rich friends.”

  Olivia gave a bug-eyed look that told them both this was precisely correct.

  “Is Isaac coming tonight?” Chelsea again turned toward Camilla.

  “No. He has something special planned for her tomorrow. We talked about it. Girls-only tonight.”

  “Cool. Let the gossiping begin!” Chelsea cried.

  Andrea had taken Camilla’s car to the mansion for her horrendously-long shift. A few minutes after midnight, headlights popped up on the driveway. Camilla called to the others, “She’s here! Hide!”

  Camilla dropped down behind the island in the kitchen; Olivia followed her lead, while Chelsea popped down the hallway and the others gathered on either side of the foyer, hidden by various pieces of furniture. All the lights were out and there was no sign of a party at all.

  There was the noise of the key in the door. Then, the door creaked open, and Andrea stumbled in. As her mother, Camilla was in-tune with Andrea in ways she knew were instinctual and animal. She knew, based on the stumble Andrea took as she stepped forward and the way she threw her bag to the side of the foyer chair, that she was exhausted.

  Maybe the surprise party was a mistake.

  But the moment Andrea snapped on the light, everyone popped out from their hiding places and screamed, “SURPRISE!” Andrea’s hands covered her mouth as her eyes grew as large as saucers. Laughter rang out from all directions and Chelsea rushed toward her and wrapped her arms around her, jumping up and down.

  “You old lady!” Chelsea cried.

  Andrea’s tear-filled eyes found Camilla’s through the swirling chaos of their little party. She swiped a tear from her cheek as she stepped toward Camilla. Her white outfit, the horrible thing she’d had to don for the night, was covered in wine stains and sauces. Exhaustion beyond her
twenty-two years permeated her face.

  “Oh, my gosh. I had no idea you were doing this!” she cried as she fell against her mother.

  Camilla wrapped her hand over her daughter’s head and swept her fingers across her hair. Camilla’s eyelids fell over her eyes as she exhaled smoothly. For a moment, everything in the world was exactly right. She had Andrea; her best friends were all under one roof and there were things to celebrate, things to laugh about, and things to live for.

  Minutes later, Andrea stood over a beautiful birthday cake. The candles flickered gently, casting shadows and orange light across her cheeks. The others sang “Happy Birthday,” then watched as Andrea squeezed her eyes shut and blew out the candles. It wasn’t difficult for Camilla to guess what she had wished for—maybe the opportunity to go back to school, maybe; money for a beautiful wedding of her own; or to go back in time, before any of the messiness had begun.

  Camilla sliced the cake, which was marbled on the inside, lined with fudge icing. Jennifer drew a big jug of ice cream out of the freezer and added a scoop of vanilla to each plate. One by one, they each grabbed a serving and headed back into the living room, where Camilla put on a record and sat at the base of the couch, as the women she loved the most began to gossip and tease one another.

  “You should have seen Emma this morning,” Jennifer said as she cleaned the tongs of her fork of icing with a gentle flick of her tongue. “She almost lost her mind. She looked at me and was like — Jen, is this really it? Is this the guy I’ll spend the rest of my life with? Am I missing out on something? Am I making a mistake?”

  “What did you even tell her?” Andrea asked, her eyes wide.

  “I asked her if she’d ever met anyone like him. I asked her if she thought her life would be interesting. She said that no matter what, every day of their relationship, she’s been surprised in some way. She said being with him is like having many doors open in her mind.”

  “Aw. That’s one of the more beautiful descriptions of love I’ve heard in a long time,” Amelia said with a sigh. “I feel the same way about Oliver. Already! It’s like, suddenly, my eyes have opened to a million little possibilities for the future.”

  “You sap,” Mila teased Amelia. “You’ve known Oliver for like five minutes, and already you’re talking like you want to write sonnets about him.”

  “Maybe just one. Or two. And a symphony.” Amelia tossed her head back in laughter.

  “Don’t worry, Amelia. I’m just jealous,” Mila said with a sigh. “I would do anything to meet someone again. And I feel like I have. I’m on all those stupid apps. I read all the blogs about ‘how to appear confident but approachable,’ or whatever. I met Peter when I was just a young thing. I don’t think I ever considered how easy it was to meet someone back then. It was like our story was written in the stars. Sometimes, I talk to him at night, and I say, ‘Peter, look what mess you left me in!’ And I feel like he’s getting a kick out of it. He’s like, ‘this is the only way you can grow.’ And I know he’s right. But damn, is it hard to grow sometimes.”

  Olivia turned her eyes toward Camilla as though she expected Camilla to say something about Brett Oliphant’s appearance at the wedding. Camilla’s tongue felt terribly heavy; it would have required immense strength for her to speak. And in a moment, Chelsea had begun to describe what it felt like for her to fall for Xavier, her first and, according to her, “forever” love.

  “I just have this feeling that we’re going to change one another’s lives,” Chelsea said wistfully.

  “I had that, too. Back in high school when Joel and I first got together,” Jennifer said. “Even though everyone told me I was young and idealistic and all that, I still had this feeling. And our son is a testament to that feeling, I think.”

  “So you can trust your gut?” Andrea asked suddenly. “This instinctual feeling you have right here —” She tapped her stomach playfully, even as her face remained serious. “You think there’s real power there?”

  “Absolutely,” Mila said. “Your gut is much better at all this than the brain. Your brain runs around in circles, and your gut? It never really changes.”

  “It’s steadfast,” Amelia agreed.

  Andrea seemed to turn this information over. She then slipped the tongs of her fork through her cake and chewed at the sugary decadence contemplatively. Camilla longed to walk around through the folds of Andrea’s mind. She realized that, with all the chaos of the previous month, they hadn’t sat down to have a real heart-to-heart in quite some time. Maybe Camilla had been too hyper-focused on her own circumstances surrounding her failed marriage.

  “Well, my gut’s telling me to have another slice of cake,” Chelsea said suddenly as she jumped to her feet. “Anyone else?”

  Only a few others agreed to a half-slice. Camilla followed Chelsea into the kitchen to help. From there, she listened to the vibrant banter between these women as they exchanged advice and stories, words that stirred with love.

  Just past two in the morning, Andrea and Camilla stood in the foyer and hugged everyone goodbye. Mostly everyone was tipsy from the alcohol and had called Ubers to take them back home. They squeezed Camilla’s hand and shoulder and said, “What a wonderful party this was!” and “Thank you so much for everything.” They then turned full attention to Andrea to say, “You’re officially twenty-two. Where did the time go? I remember when you were running around in only diapers.” To this, of course, Andrea scrunched her nose and said, “Sorry that I stopped performing for you. I’ll try to bring more of that energy into year twenty-two.”

  When the others had left, Andrea poured Camilla and herself another glass of wine. Together, they sat out on the couch and blinked out through the grey darkness. Still, the speakers hummed with music, an old folk album that Mila had recently fallen in love with.

  “Mom, I’ve been thinking.” Andrea’s eyes remained toward the floor.

  Camilla’s heart stopped for a long moment as she prepared herself for what was to come.

  Andrea pressed her hand over her eyes as she inhaled. “I’ve just been thinking that maybe, I’ve been a little bit delusional about all this.”

  Camilla’s voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

  “I just mean, I’m working more than forty hours a week. I’m picking up odd jobs here and there. And my bank account is fuller than it’s ever been, but I’m still nowhere closer to any kind of real goal.”

  She dropped her hand to her thigh again. Her face suddenly looked much older than its twenty-two years. Camilla felt she knew what her daughter would look like, even twenty years from then. A whole lot like Camilla and hopefully a whole lot happier.

  She needed a way to help her daughter, to get them out of this mess.

  “I just don’t know why I thought I could have it all,” Andrea continued as her shoulders slumped. “There’s no way I’ll make it back to New York. There’s no way I’ll graduate from fashion school. And my wedding to Isaac? It’ll be special. Romantic. For sure. But it won’t resemble that wedding we just attended. It’ll be half the wedding we just attended. I’ll have to make all the decorations myself. It’s just, well, not what I dreamed of. You know?”

  Camilla’s eyes brimmed with tears. She longed to throw her arms around this girl, this woman. She longed to comfort her in the same ways she’d been able to fifteen years before. But time changed and had its way with us. And there was nothing to say to make everything right itself.

  “We’ll work this out,” Camilla said softly. She reached for Andrea’s hand and squeezed it; Andrea didn’t squeeze back. Her hand was like a dead fish.

  “I think I just really need to sleep,” Andrea whispered. “Thank you again for the party, Mom. Really. It took my mind off of things for a while. That’s all we can hope for these days, right?”

  When Andrea disappeared, Camilla sat in the darkness for a long, long time, her face flat against the palms of her hands. Everything had crumbled and there was nothing left to say. Camilla and J
onathon had nothing left to offer Andrea. She was left to face the cold depravity of the world alone and it made Camilla nauseous to even think about it.

  And all the while, Jonathon sat alone in that horrendous apartment, assuredly watching late-night television and eating microwaved meals, as his hand slowly stitched itself back together.

  With a jolt, Camilla again remembered Montlake Investments and this strange, sinister, constantly-laughing man, Casper.

  It was clear that a secret swam beneath the surface of everything else. Maybe, if she was able to figure it out, she would find a way back to her old world.

  Maybe, there was a way out after all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The following Monday afternoon, Camilla stepped out of her car and blinked through the stark June sunlight. There, on the ground floor, was Jonathon’s small apartment. The blinds had been drawn, and there was a general feeling of sorrow surrounding the entire property — down to the grass that started to spit out of the cracked soil and the crooked sidewalk. When Camilla and Jonathon had first moved into their home decades ago, Jonathon had grown obsessive about landscaping, about creating an environment of beauty for their family. Oh, how far they’d all fallen.

  Camilla stepped toward his door, inhaled sharply, and then rapped her knuckles against the wood. She had spotted his truck along the road, so there was no way that he wasn’t home. After all, where on earth did he have to go? He had put his second-in-command in charge of the building site and he’d pledged to get well between the caving-in walls of his bachelor apartment.

  It took a long while for Jonathon to reach the door. Camilla wondered if he’d been asleep or if he had simply just prayed that whoever was there would eventually make their way back to their vehicle. His eyes hardly managed to open due to the contrast of the sunny day and the dismal cave-like dwelling.

  “Camilla. What are you doing here?”