C
am stood at the open refrigerator door, staring at the empty shelves. Mayonnaise and a block of multicolored government cheese. Mama hadn’t shopped for groceries…again. The only thing in his hungry stomach was a growl. He tried to remember the last thing he had eaten. Dried out pizza, one lousy fruit cup, and a pile of mashed potatoes at the cafeteria yesterday. He’d eaten everything on his plate and anything his friends had left because he’d known what was coming.
The weekend.
Weekends were the worst. At least Monday through Friday he could count on free lunch at school, even if dinner was never guaranteed. If it was a good night and Mama had customers…well, after they were done, there would be a little cash. Mama would send him out for McDonald’s or whatever was cheap and open. He didn’t know how to feel about those nights. Was a Big Mac worth it? Worth the sounds the men made when they screwed Mama? She told him not to say “fuck,” even though some of his friends already said it. Mama didn’t make much sense sometimes. He couldn’t say fuck, but she could do it for money with men she didn’t know. Even at ten years old, Cam knew there was something wrong with that.
Cam noticed a bag of Wonder Bread on the counter. He hoped there wasn’t anything furry and blue or green on the bread. All the slices had mold, except for two. Cam fist pumped because that was all he needed. He made the most pitiful lunch ever, a mayonnaise sandwich. It wasn’t his first and probably wouldn’t be his last. If you were
hungry, a mayonnaise sandwich tasted as good as the cubed steak they got sometimes on Thursdays at the school cafeteria.
The apartment wasn’t much bigger than one of their food stamps, so when the door opened, there was nowhere to hide. The living room and kitchen crawled on top of each other in the cramped space, and there was no way someone could enter the place and not be seen. So Cam saw the big man as soon as he walked in, infecting the room with the sweet, musky blend of nasty cologne and his BO.
Cockroaches and rats didn’t pay rent, but they sure lived here. Sometimes Mama would say they had just as much right to be here as Cam since he didn’t pay any more rent than they did. So he knew about rat’s eyes, and the man blocking the way out had rat’s eyes. Black and cold, round and hard like the marbles Cam had lifted from Family Dollar on a dare. The first day Mama brought Ron MacKenzie home, it had been hot enough to turn on the fire hydrants outside, but Cam had been cold and shivered when this man walked through the door. Under those rat eyes, he was cold now.
“Your mama home?” Mac must have shoved most of the room’s air into the hall because when he closed that door, Cam couldn’t breathe.
“Uh, no. She’ll be home soon.”
“How you know she’ll be home soon?”
“She’s always home soon.” She fucked here. She smoked here. This was home. Where else would she be for very long?
He always thought if Mac ever had the chance, he would hurt him like he hurt Mama sometimes. Cam was scared this was his chance.
“Your mama’s a slob.” Mac picked up the Styrofoam cup off the coffee table,
looking at the bite marks Cam had left around the rim before tossing it on the floor. “And a ho.”
Cam bit the inside of his cheek, sinking his teeth into the words he wanted to throw back at Mac. His mama might be a ho, but she kept this place kind of decent. When she wasn’t on that pipe or busy fucking customers, she wasn’t a slob. He felt like he should defend her just that little bit, but he’d seen rats gnaw through shoes. And he’d seen Mac beat Mama, so he kept quiet.
“You one of them pretty boys, huh?”
It wasn’t the first time Cam had heard that. In Barfield projects, the lines were drawn in black and brown, so anybody in between stood out. And he was definitely in between. Not black, not white, not brown, but some crazy swirl of all three that made him stand out like a sore, mixed-up thumb. He didn’t look like any of his friends. He used to get beat up all the time because people thought his curly hair made him softer than them, but Cam had fought more than one of Mama’s customers off. Losing a time or two had toughened him up quick. His outside might be pretty, but his inside already knew what ugly was all about.
Mac took the few steps separating him from the front door and the kitchen. Cam looked away from him, focused on pulling the crust off his sandwich. Even looking away, he still saw Mac. He was as big as the Hulk, but instead of being green, his skin was the color of pennies, red and brown at the same time. Even his hair was the color of red mud. It only made his eyes seem blacker. Even as dark as his eyes were, you could still make out the mean in them. Not that Cam needed to look into his eyes to know how cruel Mac was. The real cruelty wasn’t that he beat Mama if she didn’t bring in enough money lying
down for customers. It was that when she did good, he gave her the drugs.
Mac stood right behind Cam, like a big red oak tree. Cam gripped the handle of the butter knife he’d used to spread the mayonnaise on his sandwich. Fear swelled up in his bladder, and Cam thought he might piss his pants. He ran the streets sometimes with the older boys. Painting bridges and alley walls with spray cans and sneaking into the skating rink. The older boys taught him useful things, and they had told him he should never be alone with Mac because he liked boys. Cam wished now he had asked questions because he didn’t really know what that meant, but he didn’t want to seem like a little kid. Right now, he knew that’s exactly what he was.
Mac startled him when he touched the hair hanging almost to his shoulders. He’d told Mama he needed a haircut, but she had waved her hand and said she’d get around to it. Now Mac’s thick fingers had something to grab him by. Cam tried to pull away, but Mac tugged until Cam’s back was pressed right to Mac’s front.
“You gonna be a good boy for me?” Mac’s words slithered into the quiet like a black snake. “You gonna make me proud?”
Cam bit his bottom lip, not sure what to say, so he just nodded his head in jerks.
“Good. Good.” Mac ran his fingers down Cam’s neck and inside his Ninja Turtles T-shirt, brushing over his chest.
Cam jerked away and crossed the few feet to the refrigerator, pressing his back to the door.
“Mama’ll be home soon.” The tremble in his voice made him sound like a little boy, but he couldn’t help it.
“Your mama does what I say.” Mac spread his thick lips wide over crooked teeth
the color of margarine, his smile like an alligator’s. “You will, too.”
Mac moved faster than a man that big should. He was at the refrigerator before Cam could draw his next shaky breath. Cam didn’t have time to think, only respond. He jabbed the butter knife into the thick wall of fat around Mac’s waist. The knife wasn’t sharp, but it did a little damage. Mac paused, patting his shirt where a small bud of blood blossomed through his white T-shirt.
“You little shit!” Mac looked from the blood on his fingers to the knife Cam still clutched. “I was gonna go easy on you, but not now.”
Cam took off toward the door. The apartment had always seemed no bigger than a matchbox, but that door seemed a hundred feet away right now. His hand was on the knob when Mac’s fist pounded into his temple. The room flashed and strobed like the lights at the skating rink, and the pain in his head made him slump to the ground. Mac grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back into the kitchen.
“You gon’ get this now.” One of Mac’s meaty hands pressed Cam’s neck into the rough wood of the rickety kitchen table. The other was at his belt. Cam heard the jangle of the buckle loosening. He strained against that heavy hand, panic making him twitch and squirm like the snails they salted on the playground. Mac slammed Cam’s forehead into the table, and the world went black for a moment. That black felt so good, but it didn’t last long enough. He woke up to pain in that tiny hole he’d only ever used for one thing. So much dirty pain. He screamed for his mama, but she didn’t come. The neighbors didn’t come. He whimpered and he begged, but there was no letting up. Mac laughed and grunted behind him, and Cam just knew that the pain would soon split him in two, but it didn’t. No one busted through the door to save the day like on the cartoons. The bad guy
won.
Mac liked little boys. Now Cam understood what the older boys meant, and it was too late.
Cam fled the nightmare, jackknifing in his bed. Terror chased the blood through his veins. He ran shaky hands through his hair, damp and tangled from the hell between his sheets. He patted his arms and chest, hoping the feel of his own strength, of the defined muscle would reassure him. He wasn’t some snot-nosed little kid who couldn’t defend himself against the neighborhood monster. He was a man. He was grown, but fear still wound up his legs and weakened his knees. There was only one thing that ever evened the ragged breath in his chest and slowed his heartbeat.
He reached under his bed and felt nothing but empty space. He fumbled to untangle himself from the sweat-drenched sheets, kneeling by the bed and running his hand over the hardwood floor until he knocked against the cold, hard comfort his hands always frantically sought beneath the bed.
Aaaahh.
His breathing slowed, going from gasps to a steadied stream of air slipping past his lips. Relief slowly oozed through the tightness in his chest, loosening his body cell by cell until he was solvent. Liquid and loose, the only thing solid was the cold, sleek metal at rest in his hand.
J
o glanced at the time displayed in the corner of the iPad in its docking station. Only a few tiny stacks of paper dared to clutter her glass-topped desk, with pictures of her family sprinkled in between. Images of Daddy, Aunt Kris, Walsh and Kerris, and now the beautiful babies, Brooklin and Harlim, filled the frames. The girls had about another month before they could come home, but Walsh, Meredith, and Mama Jess kept the pictures coming from the hospital. Jo made a note to ask her assistant Shaundra to clear her schedule so she could go back. She had made three brief visits since Kerris delivered a month ago, but it still didn’t feel like enough. Thank God Mama Jess was staying up there to help Kerris for as long as she needed. Kerris had reunited with her former foster mother while she’d been pregnant with Amalie, and Mama Jess helped Kerris through the hard times after the baby died. And now she was there for Kerris again.
Maybe she should add pictures of Mama Jess and Meredith. The two women had come to feel like family. She’d made one exception for the family-only rule, but she could make another. Jo’s eyes drifted to her one exception. The picture of Cam at the river one summer. The Walsh Foundation T-shirt strained across his strong chest while he hoisted two strings of fish he had caught. The wide, white smile against his tan would dazzle a susceptible female, but Jo no longer considered herself susceptible. She turned the photo facedown, tired of submitting herself to the torture of that smile.
Jo pressed the intercom on the phone just within reach.
“Shaundra, Cam Mitchell flies in tonight, right?”
“Yes, he flies in from New York, I believe. We’re meeting later this week to discuss his exhibit.”
Jo didn’t respond, too focused on the arrhythmic slam of her heart. She hadn’t seen Cam since that morning in New York, leaving the preliminary exhibit discussions to Shaundra. He hadn’t called Jo. She hadn’t called him. She’d finally gotten the message, and when she saw him, there would be none of the heart-fluttering, mouth-watering-then-drying-out, palm-moistening, breath-hitching behavior that usually accompanied an encounter with Cam.
Ruthless.
That’s what Jo had to be with her feelings. Like a weed in her garden that needed to be tugged and sprayed until its roots were pulled free of the ground and its body poisoned to nothing.
“Jo, did you hear me?” Shaundra stood at the open office door, her greenish-gray eyes narrowed in concern. “I said he’ll be here tonight.”
“I heard you.” Jo scanned her spotless desk for something to toss out or straighten.
“You didn’t answer.”
“I got distracted.”
Shaundra stepped farther into the room and settled into the sea-foam-green leather seat across from Jo’s desk. Calming colors for a passionate nature. That’s what Shaundra had said when she decorated the spare, elegant office where Jo got so much work done.
“Seems like you’ve been distracted all morning.” Shaundra toyed with the end of one golden brown dreadlock spilling over her shoulder.
“There’s a lot going on.” Jo pulled up an email on her iPad, her fingers zipping across the wireless keyboard. She knew it was rude, but she didn’t want to talk about why she seemed distracted.
“Shaundra, could you give me a few minutes to catch up before my next meeting?” Jo shifted her glance away from the iPad screen long enough to crinkle her eyes in an almost-smile but didn’t give her assistant time to respond. “Thanks.”
Shaundra unfolded her softly rounded figure from the seat and made her way to the door.
“Jo, if you need—”
“I will, Shaundra.” Jo trained her eyes on the cursor flashing its impatience, waiting for her to type the next line.
“You need coffee or…anything?”
Shaundra wasn’t a worrier, but there was one wrinkle on the whole of her creamy-coffee-colored face. And Jo knew that small line between her brows was for her. She pulled her hands away from the keyboard and let them fall to her lap, giving her assistant and friend her full attention for the few seconds she could afford.
“I’m fine, Shaun. Really.”
“It’s just that ever since you got back from New York that first time, you’ve been—”
“Busy,” Jo cut in, raising her brows to underscore that the conversation was coming to a close. “And I still am. Like I said, I need a little time to catch up.”
Jo felt Shaundra’s eyes on her for a few more seconds but resumed typing, putting on her
I’m concentrating so hard right now
face to deter any more probes.
When Shaundra headed back to the outer office, Jo flopped back in her ivory leather chair. The lean, clean lines were deceptive. The chair might look hard, unyielding, uncomfortable, but it was practically squishy and enveloped the often-tense muscles of Jo’s back like a marshmallow. Jo let her shoulders drop and pushed cool, calming air across her lips. She pulled her iPad off the docking station and laid it in her lap, pulling up a familiar album of photos.
Her heart squeezed around an emotion she didn’t even have a name for when she flipped to the photo she pulled up at least once a day. An epic spread of white teeth nearly overtook the small face the color of cocoa beans. A smile so big and bright everyone around the little girl seemed to fade away, at least to Jo. A wild, rough cloud of hair haloed the too-thin face. The child’s clothes were simple and clean but would soon be raggedy. Never enough food. Disease-infested water. No parents. No home.
What do you have to smile about, little girl?
And yet it was that defiant joy that watered Jo’s eyes and made her heart swell up in her chest like the freaking Grinch who stole Christmas.
“Everyone loves Tiki,” a deep voice said from just above her shoulder.
Jo jumped in her seat, nearly dropping the iPad. She navigated back to her home page and redocked the tablet on her desk. She looked up at the tall man who had entered her office without sound enough to pull her attention from the picture.
“Peter, you startled me.” Jo laid a hand over her heart, which pounded through the thin silk of her dress. “I was just looking at the first group of kids up for adoption.”
“Can you believe it’s finally happening?” Peter perched on the edge of her desk, his body broad but trim. His blue eyes swept over Jo’s face, feature by feature until her cheeks warmed up. When was the last time she had blushed? But under Peter’s affectionate focus, she did.
“How can I help you?” Jo leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.
Peter’s eyes immediately dropped to the smooth line of calf and thigh on display when her dress, the tease, fell away. Jo willed herself not to fidget or shift. She wasn’t some innocent girl unused to men’s attention. She didn’t typically seek it, but it never made her nervous. Men had been eyeing her body since she was fifteen years old. She barely noticed it anymore.
“Two things.” Peter held up his middle and index fingers, a smile teasing the line of his lips above his neatly trimmed, dark blond goatee. “One, Camille and Josiah are coming to visit, probably early next year. I just got off the phone with her assistant.”
“That’s great.”
Jo’s mouth took over her mood and smiled before she realized it. Camille Jameson, widow of the man murdered right in front of Walsh when he’d been kidnapped in Haiti, was a remarkable woman. Not only was Camille raising her son Josiah alone, but she also didn’t hesitate when Jo approached her about assuming a significant role in the foundation’s latest venture.
“She was the perfect choice to head up our private adoption efforts in Haiti.” Peter picked up a photo of the twins, grinning before setting it back down on the desk.
“Her visit could be perfect timing. Cam Mitchell has decided to hold his first art exhibit at Walsh House.” Jo studied her nude-colored manicure. “Considering how much attention he’s gained lately, might be some good publicity for our private adoption launch if we link the two. Maybe have Camille say a few words while all the cameras are there, if her visit coincides.”
“That’s a great idea.” Peter picked up the photo Jo had turned flat. “This is him, right? Cam?”
Jo didn’t even glance at the photo but kept her eyes on Peter’s handsome face and nodded.
“I’d heard he was close to your family, but to have his first exhibit here? Quite the coup.”
“He’s not just close to my family. He
is
family. I can’t think of a better place to introduce the private adoption launch than at his exhibit. Aunt Kris would be bursting with pride.”
“I’m not much of a tabloid guy, but I think I just saw him on the cover of one.”
“Really?” Jo measured out just enough casual and poured it all over her tone. “Interesting.”
“Yeah, apparently he’s seeing some French hotel heiress. Effie, Ellie, or—”
“Etty. Etinette Chevalier.” Jo uncrossed her legs and sandwiched her hands between her thighs and the leather seat. Sitting on her hands so she wouldn’t curl them into claws at the thought of Cam with that…girl. That spoiled, pink-haired…celebre-heiress…
“So you’ve heard the rumors?” Peter leaned forward a conspiratorial inch. “I heard she tattoos her lovers’ names on her body.”
“Aren’t you the gossipy busybody?” Jo teased Peter with her eyes for a moment before adding a smile. “I actually met her in New York. Cam was staying in her personal suite at the Chevalier.”
Peter whistled, low and suggestive.
“Guess the rumors are true.”
“I can’t confirm or deny anything because I don’t know—or much care, for that matter.”
Liar!
Jo fluffed the teal-patterned skirt of her Tracy Reese dress. “You said two things.”
“Huh?”
“You said you needed to discuss two things.” Jo perched an elbow on the back of her seat and slipped her feet out of the slingbacks she’d worn an hour beyond comfortable.
“Oh yes. The second thing.” Peter extended an arm, laying his hand flat on the desk for support. His blue eyes brightened even though his expression didn’t change. “I have tickets for the ballet tonight.”
“Score.” Jo reached down to massage the chafed spot just above her heel. “I didn’t know you liked ballet.”
“I don’t, but I heard you do.”
And there it was. The closest Peter had ever come to articulating the heat in his eyes when he watched her. The way he always conveniently ended up seated beside her in meetings. The way he lingered in her office after they’d said all they needed to say.
“Peter, I—”
“Now, before you say no—”
“Yes.” Jo couldn’t help but grin when Peter’s face abandoned all the bluster he’d been working up to convince her. “I’d be delighted to go.”
“You’ll go with me to the ballet tonight? Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
“I expected…I don’t know, to have to persuade you.”
“Why is that?” Jo tilted her head, toying with the fishtailed braid she had tamed her wild hair into today. “Aren’t you one of Rivermont’s most eligible?”
He really was. Like her, he came from a ridiculously wealthy family. Wealthy enough that he could indulge his philanthropic notions instead of training to run his father’s lumber empire. Not to mention his Nordic good looks. Any other girl would have noticed long ago. Jo wasn’t any other girl. And she hadn’t been interested in anyone except…Her eyes strayed to Cam’s picture, facedown again but still drawing her attention like a neon sign.
Peter leaned forward until only inches and breaths separated them.
“Not sure how eligible I am, but you weren’t impressed. I’ve been watching you.” He chuckled, his minty breath reaching her lips. “There’s no shortage of interested males, but you always manage to elude them.”
“And yet you waited until the day of the ballet to ask me. That was a pretty confident move.”
“A woman like you only responds to confidence, I think.”
Jo didn’t blink but held his blue eyes with little effort.
Peter’s hand wandered from her shoulder up her neck until his thumb could stroke the line of her jaw.
“I’ll pick you up at six.” Peter dropped a quick kiss on her temple before striding out of the office.
Jo stood in the middle of her office long after Peter had gone. She couldn’t help but think it was exactly what she’d done for the last fifteen years. Stood still waiting for something that would never happen with Cam. She might not ever fully understand why, but did it really matter? Whatever she had imagined between them at Christmas, it could be diced and chucked along with all the other half-truths, innuendos, and veiled promises she’d misinterpreted through the years. It was time to move on. To forget the almost-thing they had practically been that one time or two…if she wasn’t mistaken. Yes, it was time to move on, and maybe Peter was her next move.