Chapter 3

Conversations

It was Sunday afternoon. Camille had spent the weekend in her usual manner – she helped her mother in the bar by getting all sorts of supplies and doing extra shopping on Saturday morning – not all stores delivered, so Camille regularly picked up Catherine's orders at a few specific places –, then she had a look into the books just to check if there was anything glaringly wrong going on (Catherine mixed wonderful cocktails, but her book-keeping abilities left a lot to be desired), and in the evening she helped out serving drinks and keeping an eye on the customers. On Sunday morning, she got up early and went for a run – it was way too hot to run during the daytime, so although she loved sleeping in every once in a while, Camille usually chose to rise early on Sundays so she could get a little extra exercise. She needed to keep moving to feel balanced, and unfortunately, she didn't have much time for exercising during the week. She had joined a fitness class on Wednesday evenings recently, and she would have liked to work out more, but she had to be realistic – her tasks at the station didn't always come to an end at the same time, and she never knew when her mother might need her in the bar in the evenings, so it was hard to commit to something, given those circumstances.

After breakfast with Maman, lined with a little bit of general chit-chat about the market and the suppliers where she had picked up groceries and all sorts of necessities, she had visited Aimee at the graveyard. That had become a regular routine. She missed her tremendously. What a trauma it had been to lose her…

Aimee had been one of the very few friends that hadn't settled down as wives and mothers, and it always had been fun to get together with her, though that hadn't happened all that often, given her busy schedule and the trips she had to do for her shows. Most of Camille's schoolmates were married and had kids, and while they still sometimes got together, Camille felt that she didn't quite fit into this circle of women any longer. While she loved children, she didn't find it very interesting to listen to stories about how "little Johnny just started to roll over", "little Celia just began teething" or "the twins have started school just a month ago and already have learnt soooo much", not to mention the discussions about various brands of nappies and baby food. She was the only one who had left Saint Marie for a longer period of time, lived overseas and got training there, who had gone the professional route – and who had returned to her home island eventually. Two or three of her schoolmates had moved to the US or to Europe for their studies, but they never had come back.

So, Camille was the odd one out in every respect, and while it didn't bother her most of the time, it was a little lonely at other times. She and Aimee had had a special bond, and when it was cut off, Camille suffered miserably. Of course, if Aimee's plans to move to Florida for her career had materialised, they would have been separated as well, but it obviously would have been different.

It had become a habit to go to the graveyard every Sunday, and sometimes Camille found herself talking to Aimee – not aloud, but in her head. It was like a silent conversation between the two of them. She found that strangely comforting – at first it had seemed a little morbid, but now that several months had passed, it had become a regular part of her life, and she didn't question it any longer whether or not it made sense to talk to someone who was dead. She felt that Aimee was listening and perhaps giving her little signs – and that meant that she wasn't gone completely.

Today, she had briefly broached the subject of Richard's departure and her worries that he might not come back. And she had asked Aimee if she was a fool to pine for a man who didn't know how to show emotions. Aimee had teased her for not going on blind dates anymore after the Erzulie festival – Camille hadn't intended to tell her about Richard, but Aimee was no fool – upon being told about the evening, she had guessed that Camille would have loved to go out with him and realised that her friend was going through the tortures of the lovelorn as she just couldn't quite fathom Richard's feelings for her. She had never met Richard. A fact that now made Camille sad.

Standing at the grave, she hadn't dared to go into the subject too deeply as she didn't trust herself – she might get carried away and begin to cry as it had happened while she was sitting on the steps of the shack – but she had come up with a few reflections that went around in circles in her head. She had thought back to the day of Aimee's death and how helpless and devastated she had felt during the following days. Much of it was a blur now, but she knew that she had not been of much use in the investigations, she had been too impulsive and upset, and in her sadness and urgent desire to find the murderer, her judgement had been clouded, so she had overreacted.

Richard had been… oh well, let's face it: he had been awkward. No, really… He had been unbelievably awkward, more so than ever before, and it had upset her at first. But then she had realised that he was just not used to expressing emotion – other than anger or frustration, as he could show in his endless rants about the least little things. He had been trapped in his own insecurities – he wanted to be compassionate, but at the same time he didn't want her to feel pitied – he knew that pity wasn't what she needed or wanted. He didn't want to invade her privacy, either. Given his social skills – or rather, his lack thereof – it had been really, really hard for him to find words at all, and for her, it had been a challenge to hear him out when he turned to talk to her in his stumbling, incoherent manner. But then the murderer had been caught, and she had been so grateful. It couldn't bring Aimee back, but at least she knew that justice would be done.

And it had been so sweet how he had said that he had wanted to help and support her – his speech had been halting, as it always was when emotional matters came up. He was a brilliant speaker when it came to professional things, but in personal matters, that was completely different. It had touched her to the core how hard he had tried to overcome his apprehension and how he had actually been scrambling for words. He had mentioned how difficult it was to tell people how important and special they were. She had an inkling that he was referring to his feelings for her – but she hadn't dared to dig deeper. So, instead she had just said something like "I've never heard you talk like that before".

She might have come up with something more insightful and less inane if she hadn't been so devastated, but well, she had just lost her friend, so anybody with half a brain would realise that she wasn't in a particularly bright state. She had regretted her earlier outburst towards him - that he didn't know how she felt because he had no friends and all that – she had known that she had hurt him. She had seen the look in his eyes. But much to her relief, it had turned out quickly that he didn't bear a grudge – he had understood. He was a strange, strange man (she could feel that Aimee would agree with that – it was pretty much stating the obvious, after all).

That evening had been a weird mix of grief over Aimee's death, relief that her murderer had been found and arrested, comfort found in Richard's nearness (and he had sat really close to her – although it clearly was uncomfortable for him to sit on that log of driftwood – or had it been the jitters because he was not used to being physically close to a woman?) and the small, timid hope that he'd work up the nerve to make a move towards her. Not now, not yet, not in this moment – but hopefully in the future.

Now, months had gone by, and they had not come one step farther. Right, there had been a few fleeting moments when they seemed to be totally in sync, and they certainly bickered a lot less than before. But that was not progress – or was it? Could it be that he just didn't know what she wanted? Or maybe he did – but didn't want the same (embarrassing thought!)… Or he just had no idea how to approach her? Was he cowed by her apparent self-confidence? Admittedly, she could sometimes come across as almost brash and impudent. He had seen her flirting with other men. She had even tried to flirt with him very occasionally – and once in a blue moon he flirted back, only to get completely flustered then. Did he think that she was only playing games? And had she completely put him off by hugging him on his departure day?

Camille wasn't usually so unsure of herself, but this man had really unsettled her. She had not got involved in any serious relationships since her return from France to Saint Marie – at first, her undercover job had just made it too difficult, then she had been trying to find her feet at work (which seemed so bland after the excitement and uncertainty of the undercover work), and eventually… well, eventually, she had become too interested in Richard. The funny thing was… at first she had been able to see right through him and read him perfectly well, but the more she fell for him, the less she was able to analyse his behaviour towards her. It had become quite difficult for her to look at his actions and reactions – as far as they concerned her – in an un-emotional manner. "Oh, the joys of being in love…" she thought sarcastically.

"What do you think, Aimee – have I blown my chances with him? Do you think he'll come back and something good will happen between us? Or am I making a fool of myself, and this is all rubbish?"

She felt like a teenager standing at a magic wishing well. It was bizarre how she kept standing there, waiting for an answer. When she was ready to give up and leave, a little bird fluttered up from a headstone near Aimee's grave, and as it merrily flew away, Camille decided that this was a hopeful sign in her book. "Thank you" she murmured, turned around and left.