“I like the sound of that. What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about Cameron.”
My heart skipped. He’d never asked me about Cameron. Why was he asking now? I had trouble controlling the expression on my face. Why was he asking me this? There was nothing he needed to know about Cameron.
“Like, how did you guys meet?”
It was a simple question, but my heart balked. I didn’t have to talk about this! I stammered, “I—I, uhm—we met in high school.”
“High school sweethearts?”
“Yep.”
“Love at first sight?”
“Not exactly.” My heart was pounding. I didn’t want to talk about Cameron. I tucked my trembling hands between my thighs.
A beat of silence passed before Pat continued to prompt me. “So, how long were you guys together?”
I shook my head and lied, “I—I don’t remember.” I couldn’t breathe. “Uhm, maybe like ten years?”
Twelve years, four months, and thirteen days. Not long enough thanks to me.
“Wow. That’s quite the history.”
“Yep.” I tucked my hair behind my ear, my face burning like fire.
“What did you enjoy doing together?”
“Well, he—we liked, uh, slow Saturday mornings, visiting new cities, uhm, drives through the countryside.”
Don’t forget partying, Jules.
I hadn’t allowed myself to entertain thoughts of Cameron for a long, long time. This sudden, unexpected, forced conversation was making my head hurt and my stomach turn. Cam was a teddy bear of a man. The students and faculty at the school loved him. He was funny, accepting, and would fold anyone into a prize-winning hug. He was a champion of foursquare and helped even the most challenged students understand simple math concepts. He was a whiz at explaining things, eloquent yet down-to-earth with his words. He radiated warmth and kindness, making me look like Cruella in comparison.
And headoredme.
A memory flashed into my brain uninvited. Cameron singing along to all the country songs on the radio, whipping along the back roads, his hand hovering precariously over my knee. The way he’d squeeze it, laughing with borderline sociopathic glee when I screamed and kicked. The sultry look in his eyes when he pulled into his favorite abandoned parking lot to neck with me. The argument we had right before—
A tear formed.
As did my anger.
Accusations ripped up from my throat. My volume surprised even me. “Whyare you making me talk about this?”
Pat startled, and I winced inside. Only a second went by before his hand came to my arm. His voice was quiet, gentle, unobtrusive. Very Pat. “I’m not trying to make you talk.”
“That’s what it feels like.”
“Let’s stop then.”
I stiffened, sniffed, and quickly regained my composure. “Okay.”
“How about I do the talking?”
I nodded, snuggling next to him again.
“I’ll tell you what I loved about Gracie.”
