The depth of my anguish is reflected in Cameron’s eyes as he sinks down against the wall into a seated position on the floor. As terrible as I am feeling, I know that he has it even worse. His eyes focus just enough to connect with mine, and for that brief moment, we speak everything that we are thinking without having to say a word.
There’s a knock on the door, and I turn away from Cameron to look at it, dumbstruck. How can life continue with something as mundane as a knock at the door when our lives as we know them are crumbling all around us? When I look back down at Cameron, he is staring vacantly at a spot across the room. The door opens after we ignore the second knock, and Ollie peeks his head inside.
“Hey, Drew. Now that the power is back on, Val and I are going back to the game room if you—” He stops as soon as he follows my line of sight down to where Cameron sits with his head in his hands, bracing his elbows on his knees. “What’s wrong with Cam?”
“It’s Delaney,” I say weakly.
“Don’t tell me she came after you guys again?”
I shake my head, and Ollie’s brow furrows.
“Then what? She left already? Good riddance, honestly.”
I wince at his choice of words.
“Drew, what’s going on?”
I swallow to push down the lump in my throat and say the awful, terrible truth. “She’s dead.”
“What?” Ollie looks wildly between us. “How? Where . . .”
“I don’t know,” I admit, as I realize that I should have asked Cameron those same questions myself. Instead, I just accepted it and immediately moved on to assigning myself the blame. “Cameron went to check in with her about the generator, andthen when he came back, he said that she was gone. He’s soaked, so I think he may have found her in the pool.”
“Oh my God,” Ollie says, incredulously, then kneels in front of Cameron. “Talk to me, Cam. What happened?”
Cameron remains still as a statue.
“I think he’s in shock,” I say.
“We need to call an ambulance. The police,” Ollie says, as he shoots up and spins around in a circle as if the answer is hidden somewhere in my room and turns back to me when he doesn’t find it. “Have you called 9-1-1 yet?”
“No,” I admit, as even more guilt piles on top of the endless amount I am already dealing with.
“I’ll handle it,” he says, holding out a hand for me to stay where I am, like an adult stepping up in a crisis involving children. “I am going to go find Delaney, and I need you to call Cam’s brother, Jalen. Give me your phone.”
It takes as much strength as I can muster to make my body respond to his request, but I manage to shuffle to my bed to grab it from where I left it on top of the comforter. Ollie is right behind me when I turn around and already has the contact up on his phone to transfer it swiftly to mine. He hits the green call button.
“Tell him we’re at Ravenwood and that his brother needs him right away.” He pushes the phone back into my hand and I stare down at it blankly as it rings.
Ollie places his hands on my shoulders. “I know this is terrifying, but I need your help. We need Jalen to come here. Do this for Cameron, please.”
I nod weakly, and he lets go of my shoulders to head towards the door. Before he slips into the hallway, he pauses to add, “It’s going to be okay, Drew. I promise.”
His use of the phrase works to snap me out of my daze, but not for the reason he intended. When things continually go wrongin your life, the cliché words that people say in an attempt to be comforting tend to produce an involuntary recoil, even though you know deep down they mean well. And, “It’s going to be okay,” is one of the worst. Especially for me, when I’ve already accepted that my curse is going to make sure thatnothingis ever going to truly be okay for me as long as I live.
At least the situation didn’t warrant the use of the absolute worst phrase of all, which is that, “Everything happens for a reason.” I’d heard that so much after my dad died that I had to start physically biting my tongue to keep from pointing out to people that it was hard to find comfort in the thought that both of my parents died for a reason, when the reason wasme.
I am pulled from my own self-loathing when the call connects, and I will my hands to work so that I can click the speaker button.
“Hello?” Cameron’s brother repeats. “This is Jalen James, attorney at law. How can I help you?”
Cameron lifts his head, dazed. “Jalen?”
“Cameron, is that you? What number is this?”
“Cameron needs you,” I say, when it becomes clear that he is still too stunned to string together words. “Can you come, please?”
“Tell me where he is.”
