“You knew Bill,” I started again, my thoughts clearer now. “All this time, you knew
exactly who I was. You never said anything.” My voice was shrill, and I was already out of
breath. Cameron was breathing perfectly normal.
“Yes,” he admitted, slowly again.
“Yes, you knew Bill, or yes, you lied to me?”
“I didn’t lie to you.”
“You omitted vital information.”
“That’s not the same as lying.”
“Spare me the grammar lesson,” I growled.
He sat on the stairs and clasped his hands. “This isn’t what you think.”
“Oh? Tell me—what am I thinking?” Because I had no idea—jumbled words were all I could
manage to think about. “You seem to have all the answers.”
“Em—” he started, but I wasn’t finished.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“No,” he admitted. There was no pause, and he looked straight at me. “There are some things
that you’re better off not knowing.”
“Do not make decisions for me! You might know who I am, but you don’t know me well enough to
know what’s good for me.”
He exhaled and rubbed his temples. “Listen, Emmy, I know that you’re mad at me—”
“Mad isn’t the word.” I was furious, enraged, incensed, going on crazy.
“Fine,” he interrupted. “You’re beyond mad, but I swear to you that I’m just trying to keep
you safe.”
“No, thank you,” I quickly but politely rebuffed. “I’ve seen what you do with the people you
should be keeping safe. Throwing money at me won’t make this any better or keep anyone any
safer. Besides, I can’t be bought.”
Cameron opened his mouth like he was going to say something, and then stopped. Then his forehead
scrunched. I could see him trying to digest what I was saying. “Wait … what?”
“Throwing money at your children, at your son, won’t make him safer. It’ll just make him
resent you more.” I had intimate experience with this.
He stared at me and nodded once. “Ah. I understand what you are saying now. You’re talking
about Daniel.” I noticed a barely audible tremble in his voice. I had obviously hit a nerve
there and decided to chase it.
“What kind of man would leave a child to be raised without a father? Paying off your son’s
mother doesn’t make you less of a deadbeat.”
Cameron flinched faintly. He then got up, sliding his hand down the banister as he stepped down,
and calmly, too calmly, walked out the front door.
I had meant for my words to hurt him.
Cameron gently clicked the door behind him, and I heard someone clamoring up the stairs. When I
turned around, Carly and Spider were standing at the top of the basement stairs, and Rocco was
rushing up behind them. The grim look on Carly and Spider’s faces told me that they had seen
enough of the show.
“Did you know all along too?” I accused.
“Know what?” Rocco replied, popping his head between Carly and Spider while dripping pool
water everywhere. Carly and Spider simply stared back in response. That was enough for me to
understand how deeply the treachery had run. I did what I knew best: I dashed to hide.
“What’s going on?” I heard Rocco ask in a botched whisper as I reached the second floor. This
was followed by the sound of a hand hitting wet skin.
“Ow! Carly! That hurt! What was that for?” Rocco complained. I slammed Cameron’s bedroom
door, blocked out the rest and immediately fell into a routine—anything habitual—that I
desperately needed. I showered, brushed my teeth with force, roughly combed through the knots in
my hair—considered chopping it all off, but figured that looking like a fourteen-year-old boy
wouldn’t solve anything. I got dressed, sweatpants and sweatshirt—unseasonal for the hot
weather, but necessary for the drama. I made the oversized bed and vigorously fluffed the
pillows. I yanked the heavy curtains shut and plopped myself on the small couch, hiding in my
cave. Then I decided to put a movie on.
During all of this, I wasn’t thinking about how much I missed Bill, missed talking about him
with someone outside of myself. I wasn’t thinking about how betrayed I felt or how angry I was.
I was especially not thinking about the ache on Cameron’s face when he had walked out on me.
When my thoughts would start veering from the movie’s plotline, I turned the television’s
volume up. When I heard Meatball whine at the door, begging to be let in for the night, I turned
the volume up higher. When my stomach growled and grumbled in protest of my protest, I turned it
up even higher.
By the time I was on the fifth movie—a really bad disaster movie with lots of explosions and
earthquakes and people screaming for their lives—it was as dark outside as it was inside the
room, and my ears were ringing from the deafening detonations. But during a lull of action
scenes, there was a crash next to me and an “ouch!” A lamp was turned on. Cameron was standing
on one foot, holding on to the other.
“Sorry,” he yelled over the revitalized explosions, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer.” He
hobbled to the couch, grabbed the remote control with the hand that wasn’t rubbing his big toe,
and turned down the volume.
Chapter Nine:
Misery