Page 21 of Chasing Clouds

How did things go so wrong?

Walking around a China hutch I recently brought in, I lightly drag my fingers over its newly sanded surface and feel each of the imperfections that make it so unique. I found it in an estate sale over off of Forsyth Park. The only things wrong with the piece are a few scratches on the front leg and the fact that it looks a little outdated. In my mind, I saw it transform to a distressed gray color with chunkier legs, new drawer pulls, and lighting. It’s going to be stunning.

Hearing the creak of the back gate, I turn and see Patrick striding into the back yard. My skin starts crawling; what I wouldn’t give to have Reid here with me. It’s not that I need him here—I can handle Patrick on my own—but there’s nothing wrong with wanting some backup.

He stops short when he sees me standing next to the window of the carriage house, likely having expected me to be inside. His eyes widen and then narrow.

“Patrick, what are you doing here?” I ask as he opens the screen door and enters.

“We need to talk,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his perfectly creased pants.

“No, we don’t. I have nothing to say to you.” Attempting to put some distance between us, I move to the little coffee machine I keep in the back corner next to the sink.

“Camille, you can’t be serious. Look, I’m sorry you found out about Brittany, I really am, but that’s over. It’s all over. I need you to stop trying to prove whatever it is you’re trying to prove and come back to me.”

What I’m trying to prove . . . am I trying to prove something? My first thought is no, I just want out, but then I realize yes—yes, I am trying to prove to myself that I’m worth more than this. My life deserves more. Keeping my back to him, I drop a pod into the machine and let my anger boil right along with the water.

“Camille,” he says impatiently.

“Patrick, I’m only going to say this once”—I turn to face him—“so you need to listen and listen good: I am never coming back to you, ever. I never should have let this charade go on as long as it did. I’m sorry for you, and I’m very sorry for me, but it’s time to let this go. It’s time to move on—I have.”

I know shoving in his face that I’m now with someone else isn’t very nice, but I honestly feel it’s the quickest way to end this.

“Charade?” He tilts his head. “You know, two nights ago you were the one who was preaching to me about faithfulness, loyalty, and family. Does that all of a sudden mean nothing to you? Are you really going to choose him over me and your family? I’m truly sorry I hurt you, but you don’t want this life, a life with him. I know you—we’re cut from the same cloth.”

“How do you know what I want? You’ve never even taken the time to ask me. Everything for the last five years has been about you and your future. Also, in case I need to remind you again, it seems to me I already chose him.”

Adding some cream to my coffee, I pick up the mug and walk toward him. I move into his space and he steps back, which is exactly what I want. Keep going, pal—right out the door.

His cheeks splotch red as his irritation increases. “You don’t even know him! Me, Camille—you’ve known me your entire life.” He throws his hands out.

“You’re right, we have known each other a very long time, but you’re wrong—I do know him. What on earth would make you think I don’t?”

His brows furrow down. He’s trying to decide if I’m lying or not, and I find I don’t really care. I may not have known Reid for a long length of time, but I do know that in the last thirty-six hours, he’s given me kindness, safety, honor, and my freedom. That’s more than Patrick has ever given me.

“You’ve never mentioned him, not once.”

“Funny, I could say the same about Brittany,” I say quietly, calmly taking a sip of coffee.

“I told you, that’s over. Wait . . .” He takes another step back and his eyes pierce me—hard. “Were you with this guy the whole time you were in New York?”

“Does it matter? It’s not like you can stand there and all of sudden tell me you were completely faithful in Boston. You’d be a liar, and we both know it. Besides, you’ve told me plenty of times that I’m not the love of your life.”

Guilt flashes across his face and he lets out a deep sigh.

“That’s not true. You know I love you. I need you, Camille.”

“You love a version of me that doesn’t exist. I am not now, nor will I ever be her, and how selfish of you to stand there and tell me you need me. What about what I need? Have you ever thought about that?”

His expression goes blank as he stares at me like I’m a stranger. Reaching up, he rubs the back of his neck then looks around the coach house like it’s the first time he’s seeing it—and who knows, maybe it is. Just like my father, he’s always hated this space, hated that I like to work with my hands. I keep my fingernails unpolished as they’d just chip anyway, and I frequently have calluses. To me, they’re proof of something beautiful I’ve made, but to him, they’re a mark of something below us.

Whatever.

They can disapprove all they want.

I didn’t care then, and I definitely don’t care now.

THE SOUND OF a saw or something wakes me. Somewhere nearby there is construction happening, and my eyes burn as it feels way too early in the morning—or maybe it’s because I haven’t slept much for the past two nights. Squeezing them tight, hoping to relieve some of the tension, I crack my eyes open and see that Camille is gone. I didn’t really expect her to be here as things are awkward enough, but a strange and unwanted longing to be near her sinks in.