by Zoey Dean
Sam shook her head as if to clear it. "My mother was having sex with your father?"
Cammie gestured unemotionally to the papers. "It's all in here."
319
Sam put her palms on the boulder to steady herself. "This doesn't make sense."
"Yes it does. If they killed my mother."
Sam gasped. "That's insane."
"If it's so insane, why has it been a big secret all these years? Why did your mom leave town? She never sees you, never calls--"
Sam slapped her hands over her ears. "Stop saying that."
"Why, Sam?" Cammie pressed, loud enough so that Sam could still hear. "Why?"
Sam's hands fell to her sides. She shook her head. "You're jumping to conclusions. Sick conclusions."
"Maybe the right conclusions. That's what we have to find out."
Sam had never seen such determination in Cammie's eyes before. "What are you going to do?"
"It'll be light in a few hours. Even though it's Sunday, my compulsive father will be at the Hermosa Beach set by eight A.M. I'll be waiting for him. With this." She tossed the envelope up and down, like Sam had seen movie criminals do with their murder weapons.
Sam had no idea what to do or what to believe. If she read the affidavit that Cammie said was in the envelope, would it make more sense?
God, poor Cammie. She really thought that her father had --
Ugh. Clark and her mother. What a repulsive concept.
320
She turned to look at her friend. Cammie's hands were literally shaking. That was a first, too. The two of them had been through so much. They bitched and gossiped and fought with each other, but in the end, they knew each other better than anyone else on the planet knew them.
She took Cammie's trembling hand in her own and squeezed it.
"What's that for?" her oldest friend asked, her eyes looking out to the dark abyss of the Pacific.
"When your father shows up, we'll both be waiting for him."
Cammie Sheppard was a lot of things, but grateful was a characteristic no one had ever ascribed to her ... not until that moment on that rock by the ocean, when Cammie squeezed Sam's hand back.