Chapter 25: One Of A Kind

Cami slowly opened her eyes. For a minute she thought she was still in NOLA—until the anemic rays of sunshine slanting through the window reminded her that she was in the middle of a Connecticut winter. It might not be Alaskan-cold, but it wasn't Louisiana-warm either.

Ironically, she used to complain about the heat and humidity of a New Orleans summer, but she missed it now. A few moments ago, she had been back there. Her dream had been so vivid she could almost feel the steamy air on her skin.

She blinked a few times to ground herself in reality. She was in Hartford, in the spare room of her friend's ramshackle rented old house. And her friend would be in the kitchen, waiting for her to appear for breakfast.

Cami pulled back the covers cautiously, hopped out of bed and made a dash for her bag to grab her change of clothes. She was grateful to Georgia for providing a place for her to stay every Friday night, but there were always problems with the heat, which made her morning ritual in the bathroom down the hall a test of mind over matter.

Thankfully, she had jeans, a comfy chunky-knit sweater and a warm pair of boots to fend off the cold this morning. In fact, she was almost toasty by the time she entered the kitchen.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was large and old-fashioned and full of nooks and crannies. Georgia didn't seem to mind it, though. She actually enjoyed using the ancient cast-iron stove.

She was cooking pancakes on it as a kettle whistled furiously next to it. "Get that, will you?" Georgia said, flipping one of her creations.

"Got it," Cami replied. She made tea for herself and coffee for Georgia, then took the mugs over to the small rickety plastic table in the center of the kitchen.

Georgia tipped the last of the pancakes onto the ones she'd already finished and brought over the plates. "I wish now I opted to take next week off instead of trying to clear my desk." She dumped the plates on the table and slumped into the chair opposite Cami's. "I feel like total crap this morning," she said. "I didn't even drink that much last night and—"

She stopped abruptly and there was a prolonged silence.

Cami looked over at her. "What? What's the matter?"

Georgia was staring at her. "You look like I feel. Are you okay?"

"God, I thought it was something serious. I'm fine. Maybe I look a little peaky because I don't have any makeup on. And beige is not my best color."

"I'm used to seeing you au natural," Georgia replied. "And you know you're still freaking amazing without makeup. You had one of those dreams again, didn't you?"

Cami had no clue how Georgia did it. She always knew when Cami had experienced one of her recurring nightmares. "I would deny it to make my life easier, but I know you won't stop until I admit the truth. So yeah, I had one of those dreams again."

"I was right," Georgia said, looking up at the ceiling as if she'd made a bet with some divine being. "Tell me about it."

"You've heard it all before." Cami shrugged. "I'm in New Orleans. I see Sean, only it's a young version of Sean. Eight or nine, maybe. He starts to talk about his demons, about the sins he's committed. Then he tells me to go away. And I do."

Georgia sliced into her stack of pancakes. "And how did it make you feel, in your dream?"

"Like it always does. Sad, frightened. Guilty."

After chewing on another slice, Georgia asked, "How often are you having this same dream?"

"About once or twice a month," Cami replied.

"And you've been having them ever since you moved back from New Orleans?"

Cami nodded. "More or less. But they seem to be getting more frequent."

"Why do you think that is? Are you thinking about Sean more these days?"

"I don't think so. I thought I had made peace with what he did, Georgia. I mean, I've accepted that he was ill, that he wasn't in control of his actions that day. I know I couldn't have done anything to prevent it from happening, that I couldn't help him. But I guess my subconscious won't let go."

"That's only normal, sweetie," Georgia said, reaching over and giving Cami's hand a squeeze. "It's one thing to understand the tragedy of what your brother did on an intellectual level. It's another to process it emotionally. You've gone through an extremely traumatic experience. Your whole family has been affected. Losing a loved one, particularly like that, isn't something you're just going to suddenly 'get over' one day. So stop beating yourself up over it."

Cami looked down at her plate. How was she supposed to tell Georgia that it wasn't the dream that haunted her—in fact, she welcomed the pain and the joy it stirred in her—but the fact that during her waking moments she didn't feel anything? She couldn't even remember the details of that horrible day. And it wasn't just that aspect of her life slipping away from her. The gaps in her memory about other important events in her life and the disconnect from the emotions she ought to be feeling terrified her. What if the psychosis that had gradually overtaken her brother was coming to claim her sanity too? What if his demons became hers?

Georgia nibbled on a forkful of pancake, oblivious to the turmoil going on in Cami's mind. "So…your dream. Did the creepy stalker make an appearance this time?"

Cami knew this would come up sooner or later. She should never have mentioned the mysterious stranger who usually appeared in her dreams of New Orleans.

She fought against rolling her eyes in exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell you he's not creepy?"

"No, of course not. A dude telling you he's going to come find you is totally not threatening at all."

"It's not like that," Cami said, chuckling. "It's…"

Georgia leaned forward. "Yes?"

"It's hard to explain, but it feels…comforting, somehow, when he says that. I think it's meant to be reassuring."

"Are you sure it's comfort you're experiencing? Or something else, seeing that Mystery Man is a hot guy with a cute accent."

"I'm going to ignore that question." Cami picked up her mug and took a loud slurp of the contents to demonstrate how completely she was going to ignore it.

"Of course you are." Georgia brought her coffee cup to her lips and looked at Cami over the top of it. "When was the last time you got laid?"

Cami lowered her mug onto the table with a thud, spilling some of the contents in the process. "I'm going to ignore that question too."

"Oh, come on," Georgia said, impervious to Cami's embarrassment. "You know as well as I do that when you dream about a cute guy, it's an expression of your romantic and/or sexual frustration. I've known you for three years, and in that entire time, you've dated two guys—Kyle in accounting for three months and that insurance guy whose name I can't remember for maybe six weeks. Unless you're having one night stands that I don't know about, you're celibate as hell. So I ask again: when was the last time you got laid?"

Cami thought about changing the subject, but once Georgia latched onto something, she was like a dog with a bone. And it wasn't as if they hadn't discussed sex before. In great detail. "What do you want me to say? I'm picky, okay? I don't need to date just for the sake of having a man in my life. I'd rather be alone. I'm waiting for something…special."

Cami realized how lame that sounded as soon as she said it, and it didn't surprise her when Georgia grimaced in response. "How can you find something special when you don't even give guys a chance? Like the dude who was hitting on you last night. What was wrong with him?"

"The lawyer with the purple bow tie? No thanks."

"So you're eliminating an entire profession now?" Georgia said. "What have you got against guys with a stable job and money in the bank?"

"He was wearing a bow tie," Cami replied. "It's not like he was in a tux going to a formal event. He had suspenders on. And he wasn't wearing socks."

"It's a look. A fashion statement," Georgia said with a straight face.

"Is that statement supposed to be 'I'm an overgrown child whose mommy forgot to lay out my socks for me this morning'?"

"Says the woman who sleeps in a room with faded Chad Michael Murray posters next to her bed."

"Liar! I took them down the first night, and you know it," Cami said with a laugh. "And it's completely different. I hadn't been in my old bedroom since I left for college."

Georgia just looked at her without expression. "You are the last one who should be judging other people's taste. I hate to break it to you, babe, but you wear the fugliest piece of jewelry I've ever had the misfortune to look upon."

Cami played with the ring on her finger. Although she had fallen in love with the chunky, offbeat accessory the moment she laid eyes on it in a tiny NOLA antique store, she knew it wasn't everyone's cup of tea. "Okay, touché," she said. "But I'm still not interested in Bow Tie Man."

When Georgia leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, Cami knew her friend hadn't finished with the inquisition. "Yet you are interested in Mystery Man. Describe him for me, this dream guy."

"I told you I never see his face."

"Not what he looks like. What is he like? What makes him so dreamy?"

Cami made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. "Can we get off this topic?"

"Nope." Georgia grinned smugly. "You know I won't let up on you until you tell me what I want to know."

"Whatever." Cami propped her elbows on the table so that she could rub her temples. "You want to know about him? Okay. He's…charming. Charismatic. Confident—no, cocky, but with an underlying vulnerability. Intelligent. Has a sense of humor, but he's dark too. Powerful. Slightly dangerous. Complex. Unpredictable. Definitely one of a kind."

Georgia raised one eyebrow. "You got all that from a thirty second dream?"

"Leave me be, woman. It's my fantasy."

"Uh-huh! You admit it!" Georgia leaned forward. "I never would have guessed it, but you—the sensible, analytical Cami O'Connell—are attracted to the bad boys."

"In my dreams, maybe," Cami said, "but I don't actually date them. I know better than that."

"It all makes sense now," Georgia mused, grabbing their cups and getting up from the table. "You don't give ordinary guys a chance because you think they're gonna be too boring and safe. Too one-dimensional. You need a challenge, someone who's going to excite you intellectually and physically and keep you guessing. Mark must have been one hell of a guy."

"Mark was nothing like the man in my dreams," Cami replied. "And you know what? I liked that. I liked that I knew exactly what Mark would say and do, where he'd be at any time of the day. I liked his predictability. Because that's called being responsible. Reliable. Mature."

Georgia rinsed their cups in the sink and turned back to Cami. "He sounds very…worthy."

"I know you're insulting him, but he was a good man." Cami got up and brought their plates over to the sink. "Now can we stop dissecting my non-existent lovelife and talk about something else? Shoes, maybe? Climate change? Chad Michael Murray?"

"Sure," Georgia replied over-cheerfully. "But answer me one question first. Why does Mark sound more like he was your bank manager than your boyfriend?"