“First of all, Camilla, my condolences on your grandfather’s passing. He was a great man, and I’m honoured to have called him more than a client, but also a friend, over the years.”
Cam nods sharply. “Call me Cam, please.”
I see the tears starting to gather again and hear her huff of frustration. She has always shied away from emotions, and I know it’s bothering her that she can’t control her own. I let my arm fall across the back of her chair, my hand coming to her shoulder, my fingers automatically stroking up and down her arm. Cam leans ever so slightly into my side, the only indication she’s accepting the comfort I’m offering.
Something I can only describe as relief flits across the lawyer’s face when he takes in our position. “I can see this news might be better received than I anticipated. Cam, your grandfather approached me ten years ago and asked me to set up a trust account for you, payable upon his death, with some stipulations. Over the years, he managed to accrue a healthy amount of money through some very smart investments. All of that money went into this trust.”
Barkley slides a sheet of paper across the table to Cam, whose eyes widen to saucer size as she reads it. Without saying a word, she passes it over to me. As a Chartered Professional Accountant, I’ve seen my share of bank statements. And there’s a lot of zeros written behind the numberfiveon the line that readstotal.
If I’m shocked, I can only imagine how stunned Cam is, but her attention is zeroed in on Barkley, who’s now passing a letter over to her.
“The last time Wilbert and I discussed his affairs was just two months ago. I can assure you, he was of sound mind and clear intention, no matter what you may think after reading it. His request was that in the event of his death, I was to ensure this letter reached your hands as soon as possible. He said it would hopefully explain his decision, and I believe his words were ‘minimize your rebellion.’”
Barkley’s lips turn up at those last three words as Cam scoffs and I fight back my chuckle. As Cam slowly opens the envelope and pulls out the letter, Barkley stands and begins to gather his papers. “I was told to give you the statement of funds and the letter, and then leave you. But if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to reach out.” He places a business card on the table. “Before I go, I feel I must assure you of one thing. The stipulation placed on the trust is ironclad. Your grandfather and I debated it at length; I tried to convince him it was an antiquated and patriarchal idea, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Stubborn old man.” The lawyer shakes his head ruefully, and it’s easy to see the sadness on his face. His eyes dart to me, then back to Cam. “I can’t remove that stipulation, Cam. But hopefully, if my instincts are correct, it won’t be an issue.”
He glances back at me again, giving a tilt of his chin toward the door. My confusion is mounting over the cryptic statements he’s making, but I get up and follow him to Cam’s front door.
“She’s going to need you, son,” he says under his breath, looking over my shoulder at Cam, who’s still seated at the table. “What Wilbert set up is archaic and to be frank, ridiculous, but it can’t be changed. My only advice is this — don’t let it come between you two. Love should always trump money.”
I shake his outstretched hand robotically, still trying to process what he’s saying. It’s disconcerting, feeling as if I only have half the information I need to understand everything. And I can’t shake the idea that he misunderstands my relationship with Cam for something more than it is.
After closing the door behind Barkley, I turn and study Cam. The letter is face down on the table, and her lower lip is trapped between her teeth, the way she would do during university when we’d be studying and she was struggling to understand something. I want to walk over there and tug it free, and read that damn letter, but I won’t. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. There’s no forcing her into anything.
“Do you want to talk or finish the movie?” I ask, keeping my tone even and calm. Her head droops, but she stands up, shuffling over to the couch.
“Movie.”
The resignation and pain in her voice damn near kills me and I want so badly to ask what the hell was in that letter. But I go to join her, and press play on Westley and Princess Buttercup.
I know Cam’s really lost in her head when she doesn’t keep up her usual running commentary, dissecting every piece of “romantic nonsense” as she normally calls it. Some of our best debates have been about books and movies; where I see the joy in a happily ever after, she sees the tragedy in tying yourself to another person forever. This part of her, I do at least understand. You don’t lose both your parents in a car accident as a child without coming away with some scars.
By the time the ending credits are rolling on the screen, Cam’s head is resting on the arm of the sofa, her feet are in my lap, and she’s snoring softly.
I sit there watching her, relieved to see her face relaxed into what I hope is a peaceful sleep. Gently, I slide out from underneath her feet, then lift her into my arms. Of all the times I’ve imagined carrying this woman into a bedroom, it was never after her grandfather’s funeral and on the heels of some sort of big revelation from a lawyer.
Oh, and we were more than friends in my imagination. A lot more.
But that fantasy is one I put aside a long time ago. My happily ever after is not with Camilla Byrne, no matter how much my heart tries to tell me it should be. She’ll never be in my life as anything other than a friend, she made that clear when we met.
I can still picture that moment, the two of us barely nineteen, the beginning of our second semester at university. I was sitting down, waiting for the first calculus lecture to begin, and in she walked. She was beautiful, mysterious, and had an edge I had never seen before. When she sat down beside me, stuck out her hand, and said “Hi, I’m Cam” I was a goner, certain I had met my soulmate, and the rest of my life had begun right there in that lecture hall.
In some ways, I was right. My life did begin that day — my life with Cam as my best friend. But if she was meant to be my soulmate, then the universe fucked-up somehow. Because two days later, over a pitcher of cheap, lukewarm beer, Cam informed me she was “happy to have me as a friend because there was no pressure for more.”
It took me some time to get over that rejection, but Cam was none the wiser. She was the sun and I orbited around her, constantly being drawn to her bright light.
After laying her gently on her bed and draping a blanket over her, I make my way back to the couch, grabbing a second blanket from a closet in the hall on my way. The letter Barkley left for Cam sits on the table as I walk past, calling out like a distress beacon. One I have no choice but to ignore.
Instead, I settle on the couch and pick up my phone to open the group text with my brothers. They all know Cam from the many years of our friendship and her visits to Dogwood Cove, and I know they’re waiting for an update on how she’s doing.
BECKETT: Hey guys. Sorry I haven’t texted, it’s been a crazy day. I’m here, funeral was today, Cam’s sleeping now.
I hit send. The message is short and to the point, and I’m sure they won’t let it slide. If there was ever a classic example of over-involved family, it’s mine.
Sure enough, only a minute passes before my phone lights up with multiple responses.
MAX: Is she okay?
JUDE: Shit, today? Did you know it was today?
