by Linda Warren
“You just had to go to the principal and get Patrick to tutor the football players. He didn’t even like those boys and they filled his head with a lot of nonsense. But he had to be a he-man and he wanted to please his daddy. It got out of control, though. Those boys did drugs and they told Patrick they could give him something to make him a man.” Leona took a breath. “That night of the party, we went out to dinner so the kids could have the place to themselves, but later Patrick told me everything. They gave Patrick some feel-good drug and they gave him something to put in Camila’s drink. It took away her inhibition, her ability to reason. When Camila became drowsy, Patrick took her up to his room. Patrick did a bad thing to Camila and he was so sorry afterwards. He cried and cried, but there was no way to change it. He just wanted Camila to forgive him. Patrick was such a naïve boy. He thought if he and Camila made love, Camila would love him. He said that’s why he did it.”
“Why did she hold out on him—sleeping with other boys and not him?” Grif asked.
“You foolish old man,” Leona shouted. “Camila was a virgin. I changed the sheets on the bed that morning and I’d be very surprised if she’s slept with anyone since. But you made it worse, Grif. Patrick wanted to marry her to make everything right, but you said your son wasn’t marrying a tramp. You’d disown him. He ran out and I never saw my son again. You killed him with your control and your bigot ideas. I hate you. I hate you.” Leona slapped at Grif’s face over and over.
Tripp pulled her away. “Mom, please, don’t do this.”
“It’s long overdue. I’ve been quiet too long.” She looked at Grif who seemed turned to stone. “To make matters worse and I didn’t think there was any way for my world to completely disappear, but you got rid of our only remaining child. You accused him of killing his brother by spreading lies about the drugs and coming on to Camila. You told him to leave and never come back and Tripp didn’t even know what was going on. Tripp didn’t kill Patrick. Camila didn’t kill Patrick. You did by wanting him to be someone that he wasn’t.”
Grif didn’t respond and some of the things Leona had said were sinking in. If Leona knew Camila had been a virgin, then she knew that Jilly was Patrick’s. But not once in the past twelve years had she made a move toward Jilly. Or had even tried to acknowledge her.
As if reading Camila’s mind, Leona turned to her. “I knew Jilly was Patrick’s and I’m ashamed that I never did anything about that. But I grew up where a wife was obedient to her husband and I adhered to all Grif decreed like a weak, helpless woman. But to be honest, after I lost Patrick, I stopped living. I just existed in my grief and I wasn’t any good to anyone, especially a child. But the moment I touched her, I knew she was going to be my salvation.” Leona took a step toward Camila. “I’m so sorry for all the pain Patrick caused you.”
“I loved Patrick,” Camila said, “but I wasn’t in love with him. I’ve known him since kindergarten and we were the best of friends. He was kind and good to me and that’s what I remember about Patrick—all the good times we had—not that one night that changed so many lives.”
“Thank you, Camila. I hope you will continue to allow Jilly to visit me.”
“No, Leona, Jilly will not be coming back here. I don’t want her to face any of this unpleasantness.”
“Yes, she will. I’ll see to that,” Grif spoke up, but his voice wasn’t as strong.
Tripp confronted his father. “Why, Dad? Why are you doing this?”
“Because Patrick would want his daughter here.”
“Patrick loved Camila and he’d be very upset that you were hurting her.”
“He’s not the only one who loved her. You did, too.”
Camila’s stomach clenched tight, but she couldn’t force herself to leave.
“Camila was Patrick’s girlfriend and I respected that. There’s never been anything between Camila and me. She’s an attractive woman and I recognized that—that’s all. You accused me of flirting with her and upsetting Patrick to the point of him crashing the car. I lived with that guilt for thirteen years. But I’m not to blame for Patrick’s wreck.”
Silence crept into the unspoken questions, the unspoken pain.
Tears trailed down Grif’s aged face. “It was my fault,” Grif muttered. “But I couldn’t admit that so I blamed you and I blamed Camila. I could live with myself that way.” He gulped in a breath. “My son is gone and I killed him. I killed my son.”
“Dad.” Tripp knelt by his chair. “It’s time to stop placing blame. Patrick made some bad choices, but now we have to go forward.”
“To what? You don’t want me to have my granddaughter. I thought if I could do that for Patrick some of the guilt would go away.”
“The only way the guilt is going away is to do like Jilly told you—to be nice, and you start by apologizing to Camila and to Jilly.”
“Ah, fiddle-faddle. I’m not good at that.”
“Dad.”
Grif looked at Camila. “Missy, this pretty much changes everything. I blamed you for a lot of years for teasing my son and leading him on, but I learned today that’s not what happened.”
“No,” Camila said, surprised she could speak. “I was always honest with Patrick about my feelings. I suggested that we not see each other in school, but Patrick said he could handle his feelings. I learned later that he couldn’t, but it was too late.”
Grif swallowed with difficulty. “Like Leona said, I’m sorry, too, for the pain my son has caused you and for…for my callousness. Please let Jilly come back.”
She took a long breath as the past loosened its grip. “I’ll leave that up to Jilly. Whatever she decides, I’ll support her.”
“Fair enough,” Leona said.
“I have to go.” Camila headed for the door, needing some space, some time.
“Camila.” Tripp caught her at the door.
“Please.” She pulled away. “I can’t do this right now,”
She hurried to her Suburban before he could stop her. She had to think clearly for Jilly and she couldn’t do that when he was within touching distance.
♦ ♦ ♦
TRIPP WATCHED THE TAILLIGHTS of her car until they disappeared. He went back into the house feeling as if he were walking through a nightmare and couldn’t find his way out. He never wanted Camila to be hurt again, but his family couldn’t seem to stop hurting her.
“How’s Camila?” Leona asked.
“She’s upset, understandably so.”
“What in tarnation is going on?” Morris asked, walking into the room in his pajamas, scratching his bald head. “Why is everyone up?”
“Go back to bed, Morris. Everything’s under control.”
“Suits me.” He turned away. “My tails draggin’ the ground and I ain’t awake enough to beat my gums to make any sense in a Texas truck stop on a…” His voice trailed away into his usual nonsense chatter.
Tripp just shook his head. “Now let’s go to bed. And Dad, don’t do anything like this again.”
Grif struggled to his feet. “Just wanted to do something for Patrick.”
“I know, but next time talk things over with me first.”
“Ahhh,” was the response Tripp got and he took it for a yes.
Tripp glanced at his mother. “No more slapping.”
“Don’t know if I can promise that,” Leona replied. “I want to slap him about three times a day. Might make it part of my daily routine.”
“Since she can see, she’s gettin’ mean,” Grif said. “She’s a mean old woman.”
“You should recognize the symptoms,” Leona snapped back.
“You’re a mean old woman. My face hurts.”
“It should after what you did.”
“Listen up, you two, this arguing is going to stop. Camila’s not going to let Jilly come into this tension-filled atmosphere. She wants Jilly to be happy and so do I. It’s time for some fun and laughter in this house.”
They both remained quiet.
Tripp handed his father his cane. “So I guess Jilly’s not important enough to make a little sacrifice.”
“I’m sorry I hit you,” Leona said.
“Never knew you had a mean right,” Grif responded.
“Just remember that.”
“Bed,” Tripp intervened before he lost every ounce of his patience.
He finally trudged up the stairs and fell across the bed. He didn’t bother with the light or removing his clothes. What a night! He was totally spent.
Why did his father have to bring up Tripp’s feelings for Camila? Tripp hadn’t lied. There wasn’t anything between them—not then. But now he’d tried on several occasions and Camila had made her feelings very clear. When did he accept defeat? When did he give up and get on with his life?
When he could stop thinking about her, every minute of every hour of every day. That sounded like never, and all Camila wanted to do was get away as fast as possible.
From his crazy family, and from him.
♦ ♦ ♦
ALL THE WAY HOME, one thing resounded in Camila’s head over and over. The Danielses knew she had feelings for Tripp—feelings she would never admit to because it would only cause more pain. Why? she suddenly asked herself. Why would loving Tripp cause more pain? So many truths had been revealed tonight and she had to dig deep to dredge up her feelings. And it had nothing to do with Jilly. Trip had believed the rumors about her. When he’d admitted that, she’d said that it didn’t matter, but it did. If he could believe that about her… Her head pounded from all the insecurities and doubts.
“You loved her, too,” Grif had said. Camila was Patrick’s girlfriend and I respected that. That’s what she was to him and always would be. But she’d never been Patrick’s girlfriend the way Patrick had wanted, and she’d suffered so much over that. She’d paid a high price for not being in love with him, but she had Jilly and that was a very big reward.
She needed time to regroup and get herself together and sort through the confusion. She was sure that nothing else would be done about custody of Jilly. That would be an enormous relief for Jilly. And her.
She walked into her kitchen and removed her coat. She could hear the TV in the living room and she made her way there. Benita sat on the sofa, her feet propped up on the coffee table, munching on popcorn watching an old W. C. Fields movie. For once in her life, Camila was grateful for her mother.
She stepped over Benita’s legs and plopped down close to her.
“Hey, chick, is this the only place to sit?” Benita teased.
“Yes. I need to be close to my mother.”
Benita reached for her hand. “How did it go?”
“Bad, disturbing and good all rolled into one, but the custody thing over Jilly is settled. Grif just wanted a bit of Patrick in his home.” Holding Benita’s hand, she made a decision. “I need to tell you something and it won’t be easy.” She took a breath. “I want you to know how Jilly was conceived. And no guilty feelings.”
“Okay, chick,” Benita said.
She told her every little detail of that night.
“I wasn’t here for you,” Benita wailed. “I should have been here for you.”
“No guilt, Benita, remember? I had to stand on my own two feet and I became a stronger person able to raise my daughter. I’m only telling you this so all the secrets are out in the open and we can start living as a family—a real family.”
“I’d like that,” Benita said. “But I’m feeling a lot of rage at the moment and it might take me a while to get over that.”
“But you will.”
“For you, I’ll give it my best shot.” Benita set the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. “If we’re not going to have any more secrets, I need to tell you something, too.”
“Okay.” Camila sat sideways to face her mother.
“I know the rumors about my less-than-stellar reputation hurt you.”
“Yes,” Camila admitted.
Benita looked at her. “Do you know how many men I’ve slept with?”
Camila shook her head. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
“Four. I’ve slept with four men and I was married to all of them. Travis was the only one I slept with without a wedding ring.”
“But…but the gossip and the men bringing you home.”
“That’s all they did—buy me coffee and dinner after my shift ended and bring me home. The guys were the ones who embellished the evenings into something more. Men do love to brag.”
Oh no. Camila was no better than the other bigots in this town. She’d believed everything she’d heard. She reached for Benita. “I’m so sorry. Why did you never try to talk to me?”
Benita wiped the tears from Camila’s face. “Would you have believed me?”
Camila couldn’t answer because she didn’t really know.
“Don’t worry about it, chick. I gave them plenty of ammunition. I wore my clothes tight and I danced and drank, but there was always a stopping point for me. I’m what’s known as a tease, a flirt.”
Camila still was speechless, seeing her mother so differently. Taking Benita’s hand, she raised it up. “To trust, family and happier times.”
“Hear, hear,” Benita said.
Later, Camila sat in bed with her knees drawn up, staring into the darkness, letting all the insecurities and shame from her childhood rise to the surface. Benita’s confession was like opening a window into her inner self. She had judged her mother because of the gossip and her mother’s behavior. And it had all been false.
Camila’s one goal in life had been never to be like Benita. So she’d lived her life accordingly, always putting Jilly first, never wanting her to experience shame. Unlike her relationship with Benita, Jilly had faith in Camila. She would never believe anything bad about her mother, and she was always the first to tell people how nice Camila was. She didn’t even falter in telling that to the Danielses. They had a strong bond and nothing was ever going to break that. Camila wished she’d had that same kind of faith in Benita.
She sighed, leaning back against the headboard and seeing her life so clearly now. Determined not to be like her mother, she’d become quiet and shy, not interacting with the other kids. She’d repressed her emotions, but that night when Patrick had put the drug in her drink, she’d become like her mother—wanting Tripp and tempting Patrick. She’d blamed herself for everything because—she took a deep breath—she’d believed the rumors about herself. Because she was Benita’s daughter.
Oh, God! She sucked in a breath.
She wasn’t to blame for anything. She didn’t deserve what had happened and Patrick had hurt her more than she could ever admit. Until now.
It had hurt when Tripp had said he’d believed the rumors about Camila, but she’d given him reason to believe. She could see that now with more insight. She’d done the same thing—believed the spiteful gossip about her mother. Benita wasn’t the tramp Camila had envisioned in her head. And Camila wasn’t either. Maybe there was hope for Camila. Maybe there was hope that she could love Tripp.
She sat there for a long time realizing she had to shed the shackles of the past to accept a future with Tripp. And she wanted that. She wanted to start living and experiencing life the way that she should—as a woman with a man she loved.
The night of Jilly’s party, she’d told Tripp that Patrick would always be between them. It wasn’t Patrick. It was her fear of being like her mother. She would let go of that fear now.
She ran her fingers through her long hair, feeling out of breath from all the inner revelations. The window, her heart, was wide open now. One thing niggled at her. How did Tripp really feel about her?
It took a minute, then she picked up the phone and dialed the ranch. Tripp answered on the second ring. For a moment she couldn’t speak as she struggled for the right words.
“Hello, is anyone there?”
“It’s me, Camila,” she managed to say.
“Are you okay?” A concerned, loving no
te was in his voice that she was beginning to recognize.
“Yes. I’m much better.”
“I want you to know I would never hurt Jilly or betray your trust in me. I had no idea what my dad was up to.”
“I know.” And she did. She knew Tripp would always be there for them. “Could we talk, please?”
“Sure. I’ll be right over.”
“No. Not tonight. It’s late and it’s been a long evening. There’s a meeting about renovating the gym tomorrow. Could we meet after that?”
“Yes. That’s fine. You don’t have to worry about the custody thing.” He seemed to think that’s what she wanted to talk about.
“I’m not. I want to talk about you and me.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
♦ ♦ ♦
TRIPP HUNG UP AND STARED at the phone. What did that mean? No matter what Camila wanted to talk about, he would be there tomorrow, and he would fight to be a part of her life.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Camila felt as if she’d just been released from prison and she kept smiling. Jilly was happy too—there would be no custody hearing.
Jilly made a face sitting at the table eating oatmeal. “I was like a total baby yesterday. I just wanted my mama.” She took a swallow of milk. “I’m a total knucklehead, too. I’m twelve years old and I can speak for myself. I’m telling Mr. Daniels that I’m staying with you.”
Camila sat down, knowing they had to talk about something else. “Jilly, why is Patrick’s photo in your drawer?”
“I thought of putting it on my nightstand, but I didn’t want to make you sad. It’s in my drawer, in my secret place. When I want to see what he looks like, I just open it and there he is, but…”
“But what?”
“When I look at him, I feel, like, funny. I’m supposed to have feelings for him, but I don’t. He’s just someone I don’t know. Is that really bad?”
“No, baby.” Camila hugged her. “Benita gave me something I want to show you.” She grabbed her purse and fished out Travis’s picture. “This is my father and I feel a little strange when I look at him, too. So I think I’ll put this in a secret place and look at it when I feel a need to.”