Aloud, she told her father, “I nearly died, Dad. A mandiddie.”
“Pfft.” He rolled his eyes. “Do the crime, do the time, right?” He held his big arms wide. “Just like me.”
She blinked at him. “You don’t feel any responsibility for what happened?”
A wrinkle appeared between his bushy black eyebrows. “Why wouldIbe responsible? I didn’t intend for any harm to come to anyone. Least of all you.”
“Just like you didn’t intend for any harm to come to Carlotta?”
A thundercloud as dark and menacing as Julia’s outer wall came over her father’s face then. “I’m no more responsible for the bomb that took out Carlotta than I am for those dumbass fishermen from Maine. If you came here to bust my balls over your baby sister, I’d rather you have stayed away.”
“You might not haveintendedfor anything bad to happen to Carlotta or to me, but there’s a big difference between intention and impact. Your actionsimpactothers, Dad. They negatively impact the people you love. Doesn’t that bother you? Don’t you feel just alittlebit—”
“I never did anything but love and support you and your sister!” her father bellowed, prompting the other families and friends visiting loved ones to stop their conversations and glance in Cami’s direction.
“Simmer down, D’ Angelo,” warned the guard by the door. “Don’t make me drag your ass outta here.”
“I’d like to see you try,” her father muttered beneath his breath, a sardonic smirk tilting his lips as he once more crossed his arms.
It hit Cami then. There were two kinds of people in the world. Those who understood that regardless of their motivations behind or purposes for doing things, it was how their actions affected others that was important. And those who thought as long as they didn’tintendharm, it didn’t matter if someone got hurt.
Her father was the latter. Always had been, always would be.
Which meant there was nothing she could do or say to mend the rift between them. Which meant she’d always be looking over her shoulder, waiting for the next slip or the next bomb or bullet meant for him to find a home in her. Which meant it was time.
Time to sever that last tie.
“Thank you for the board games and camping trips, Dad,” she told him as she pushed up from the table. “I’ll always look back fondly on those times.”
“That’s it?” he demanded when she started to turn away.
Taking one final look at her father, she blew out a ragged breath and nodded. “Yeah. That’s it.”
Ten minutes later, she walked across the parking lot toward the sedan she’d rented at LaGuardia. The air outside smelled of damp concrete and motor oil. But she far preferred it to the antiseptic stench that had permeated the prison.
Checking her watch, she hoped traffic on 287 wasn’t bad. The drive from Sing Sing to Staten Island usually took an hour and a half, and she was supposed to meet her mother for an early dinner at Giuliana’s Ristorante before catching her flight back to Florida.
Rummaging in her purse for the rental car’s key fob, she nearly dropped everything when she heard her mother call out from nearby.
“Mom?” She frowned when she saw her mother scurrying toward her. “What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at Giuliana’s?”
“I couldn’t wait to see you,” her mother said, pulling her in for a quick hug. Cami closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar perfume before her mother stepped back. For as long as she could remember, her mother had worn L’Air Du Temps. “How did your visit with your father go?” her mother asked with what was supposed to be a raised eyebrow. It was hard to tell under all the Botox.
The lump was back in Cami’s throat. It was joined by the burn of tears. “About as I expected,” she admitted wretchedly.
Her mother’s left eye twitched. “You didn’t blame him for what happened to you, did you? It wasn’t his fault, you know.”
Cami shook her head. “No more than it was my fault, I guess, for letting as much as I did slip to you. No more than it was your fault for passing along the information to him.”
Her mother sighed heavily. “Why does everything have to be someone’sfault? Accidents happen.”
“They happen a lot more when your parents are criminals,” Cami muttered.
“I have never had so much as a speeding ticket,” her mother sniffed, shoving her nose in the air so high Cami thought it wonder she didn’t give herself a nosebleed.
“But you knew who Dad was. All these years, you knewwhathe was and what he did for a living. In my line of work, we’d call you an accomplice.”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Camilla.” Her mother waved a dismissive hand.
