Keep Her

Part II

That night, Cam unlocked her apartment door and let her long hair out of its tight pony tail. In the next room, she knew that her boyfriend, Eric, was sound asleep, so she tip-toed into the bathroom and showered. The silence was hardly enough to drown out the demons. It was hardly enough to drown out the sorrow, the pain, the memories, the guilt.

She closed her eyes, letting the hot water stream over her skin and achy muscles.

Every time her eyes shut, she was there. Twelve months to the day later and the pain was just as acute.

All she could think of when her crying sister held her close was... the biscuits. Her mother was dead and all she could think of was biscuits.

"H... how?" She breathed into Felicia's curls.

"Daddy said... it was a car wreck. Oh, G-d, Cam!" The words crumbled into incoherent sobs. And all Cam could think about was biscuits.

And one fact kept going through Cam's head. Again and again like a broken carousel. Gail Saroyan died because her daughter wanted biscuits.

Then the tears came. Hot and bitter, they came. And the worst part of all, they didn't come to mourn the loss of her mother, they came because of guilt. A terrible guilt that would reach so deep that it would change everything.

Cam shook her head wordlessly and pushed past her sister, leaving an astonished Felicia in the foyer and watching after her sister as she raced toward her childhood bedroom.

Later that evening, her sister, father, and several family members knocked silently at her door, then walked away as Cam would not answer. Nothing could fill that void. Nothing could remove that pain.

Cam turned off the hot water faucet and walked into the bedroom. Her boyfriend's long tanned arm stuck out of the sheets, fingers touching the floor, his face turned toward the window. So much had changed. Just a year had changed it all. Was she running from her pain? Dropping out of school, chasing after a dream that wasn't rightfully hers?

Cam grabbed her pillow and the blanket at the foot of the bed, then walked into the living room and curled up on the couch. No matter what, she could never run.

She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. She dreamed dreams of her mother. She had the best laugh, stunningly unusual green eyes, a knack for cooking just about anything you could wish for. It was a shock that her daughters weren't larger women, growing up with a mom like that.

The night after her mother died, Cam was sleeping at her desk when a floor board creaked. Cam sat up warily, "Felicia, get out--"

"Hey, baby girl." Gail walked over to her daughter and wiped her daughter's tear-stained face. "Don't cry, Camille. You know it breaks my heart when I see you cry."

Cam's laughter commingled with her tears. "Mom?"

"Don't you dare harbor any guilt over this, Camille." She smiled. "I know you, baby. I know you're feeling terrible about this, aren't you? It was just-- a chance in a million. I would've gone to the store anyway. We were out of toilet paper." She winked and ran her hand lovingly along Cam's hair. "It was painless," she whispered.

Cam reached up and touched her mother's hand. "Really?" Tears slid down her cheeks.

"Yes," she whispered again. "One minute I was thinking about your granny's pie, the next--the only thing I felt was such an amazing feeling of love and acceptance, total and complete calm." She smiled. "When people say they're in a better place, it's not just a cliche saying, baby girl." She reached for Cam's hand. "Listen, there's something I want to give you. If you look in my dresser, third drawer down behind my pink blouse-- Remember that necklace you wore to your first grade pictures?"

Cam laughed a little. "I thought I looked so beautiful."

"You always have, Camille. I want you to have it. It's not much, but it'll always remind you that I'm here," she touched her chest. "And I will always love you. You have always been my greatest advocate, the kind of woman I wanted to be. Strong and beautiful. I am so proud of you, Camille. So incredibly proud." She leaned down and kissed Cam's forehead. "Don't forget your dreams, baby girl."

She straightened and touched Cam's cheek once again.

Cam watched as her mother walked out of her bedroom.

A second later, she was standing in front of her mother's bureau. Third drawer. Behind the blouse. She reached behind it and grasped the cool metal. She knew that it was the very necklace her mother was talking about before it even hit the light. Cam held it in front of her. Light reflected from the tiny stones.

"Your mother wanted you to have that."

Cam turned at the voice. Her father, balding with a mustache, reached up and wiped his eyes with a cloth handkerchief. He walked toward Cam. "She always told me that if anything happened to her that you should have that. She knew you loved that thing," he smiled at the memory. "You were special to her, Camille. After your sister was still born, we almost gave up the notion of having another child altogether. Then along came Camille. Your mom and I were eating pop corn and watching Lucy reruns and at first I thought that Gail had just thrown popcorn at me, but it turns out that it was you--"

"Dad, I've heard this story--"

He walked toward her. "They said that it couldn't happen again. You were born into this world, nuchal cord and all, screaming your little lungs out. That defines you, Camille. You are a fighter. You are strong and such an amazing woman. Your mom knew that. You were so much stronger than she or your sister could or ever will be. This," he touched the necklace in Cam's hand, "is yours by birthright. It's yours because your mom wanted you to know how treasured you are to her." Tears slipped from his eyes and landed on his collar.

Cam and her father embraced. "Daddy... I'm so sorry."

"Gail was my best friend," he said, his voice cracking. "I don't know how I'm gonna do this without her."

"You will, Daddy. You will. You have us."

He nodded and turned toward the door. "Your mom was always so proud of you, Camille."

Cam's eyes opened. She sat up on the couch, stood, and walked toward the kitchen where she began to make a cup of tea. Nothing was the same. It never would be.

Her eyes settled on her work schedule that was stuck to the refrigerator with two magnets.

Dreams.

So much money had been drained from her education fund to pay for lawyer's and doctor's fees-- Becoming a pathologist was beyond anything she could ever wish for or dream for.

This was life.

Waking up at eight, working until seven. Issuing tickets. Coming home. Showering. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Thanks for the reviews! I wanted to write something a little different. Everyone writes the B/B Hookup tales. ;) Plus, Cam rocks IMO.