“You’re more than enough, Camellia,” I slide my hand down her arm and intertwine our fingers.
“Didn’t feel that way when I left Flamingo Cove. This is why when Owen tracked me down, I said yes to dating him. Then, agreed to marry him.”
My thumb has a mind of its own. It circles the outside of Camellia’s hand over and over.
“It’s a tragedy about the accident with his parachute,” I offer.
She pulls her hand out of mine. “Tragedy, yes. But, it wasn’t an accident.”
I freeze. Everyone knew Owen Maxwell died on duty as a smokejumper in Alaska. There was a problem with the parachute, and it didn’t deploy.
“It wasn’t an accident like everyone believes,” Camellia fixes her eyes on mine.
“But the news reports, the obituary.”
“Lies to make things easier on his family,” Camellia explains. “Forensic techs from the insurance company went over everything. There was nothing wrong with his parachute. He simply didn’t pull the ripcord.”
The news knocks the wind out of me. I slump into the seat. “Well, shit.”
She nods. “I knew he was in trouble. I knew there was something off about him. He had been acting strange. Not coming home from work right away. I’d hear him talking to someone late at night in another part of the house. I dismissed this all as wedding jitters and swallowed down my pride. For the first time in my life, someone was choosing me. I didn’t want to think that he was…”
“Cheating on you.”
“Right. And when I heard Nadine talking about Nimble, well. It sounded so familiar.”
“Did they do an autopsy?”
Camellia shakes her head. “No. There were only remains. No open casket. And we cremated him. Not that there’d be much to test at this point. But now, I wonder if he was talking to himself or the voices in his head, not someone else on the phone. I wish I’d spoken up. Maybe he’d be alive today.”
“You can’t put that on yourself.”
“Can’t I?” Camellia raises an eyebrow. “I was so afraid of rocking the boat. So afraid that if I spoke up, he’d leave, that I said nothing. And that’s not the worst thing.”
My hair stands up at the back of my neck. “What’s the worst thing?”
“I didn’t love him,” Camellia takes a deep breath. “I was relieved when he died.”
My response is cut short by Ryker pulling us to a stop in front of a rustic cabin. “We’re here.”
