CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Suffice it to say both Camden and I were in edgy, introverted moods the next day. He was hung over and silent. I was walking on eggshells and trying to give him space. I’d gotten an email from Gus saying he was couriering us the Social Security Cards first thing Monday morning before the drop, so at least everything on that end was shaping up.
At some point in the afternoon, Camden had decided to practice his guitar in the living room, just jamming out like a madman. He was singing along too. I love men who can sing well. Unfortunately, he couldn’t. But at least it was on-key. No, Camden’s skill lay in his guitar playing, and being hung over didn’t seem to affect it all. Maybe it was his way of working things out. I hoped so. He had about as many issues to work out as I did.
Of course, I tended to rely on drugs to get me through that. I was running low on Kava pills and was feeling particularly anxious, so I fished out the Ativan and popped a couple under my tongue while I was in the bathroom. Camden had asked me the other day if I liked what I saw when I looked in the mirror. To tell you the truth, I barely looked. Sure, I put on makeup and made myself look pretty. But I was never really looking at myself. I observed the person in the mirror like I was looking through a window at someone else. If I looked really closely, I would have seen glassy eyes, dark circles, and black hair that had a strip of blonde roots coming in.
With Camden strumming in my usual space, I retreated to the spare bedroom instead. I left the door open to avoid that whole jail cell feeling, then lay down on the narrow bed. To take my mind off myself and let the drug do the work, I thought about Camden and Ben. I thought about how awful it would be to make a mistake with your life and never see your child again. To keep a room for him in your house just in case you were ever fortunate enough to have him visit. To have that room sit there, waiting and alone, for someone that might never come.
I must have been pulled under into an Ativan-induced coma, because when I woke up, it was completely dark in the room. The only light was coming from the hallway, the light from the kitchen. To my relief, the door was still open.
And through my extremely groggy head and dry mouth, I discovered the reason I awoke. Why my heart was already pounding harder than usual.
There were voices in the house.
Camden. And someone else. A man.
I quietly eased myself out of bed and crept to the doorway. I slowly popped my head around the corner. I saw shadows dancing on the walls, shadows of two people in the kitchen. I jerked my head back around the door before anyone could see me and I listened.
The sound of a chair being pushed back. “I’m sorry,” Camden said.
“You’re always sorry, aren’t you?” a man replied. His voice was deep and emotionless, a bit like the way Camden could be sometimes. “Always sorry for your shit little life.”
And now this man was beginning to sound familiar.
“I didn’t even think you’d notice, that you’d even care,” Camden wailed. Yes, wailed.
“Of course you didn’t. Because you’re too selfish and too stupid to ever think. I noticed! The whole town noticed! How do you think it looks to me? Huh? Here you are, twenty-six years old with no girlfriend. Just some whore for an ex-wife and a son that I’ve never seen, and you’re using your name—our name—in an ad for gay men!”
What?
“It’s not an ad for gay men. It’s an ad for the shop. One of my clients happens to be gay. He’s one of my biggest supporters and has the most tats and—“
A fist pounded against the table, rattling the items on it. There was no question that Camden was talking to his father. I shuddered at the memories I had of him.
“Look at it!” his father boomed, and I could hear the rustle of paper. “Right in our newspaper. Visit Camden McQueen’s Sins and Needles for all your tattoo needs. And you use a picture of this guy, this fag.” He said the word with such disgust that I had to fight the urge to run out of the room and hit him. “The name McQueen doesn’t just belong to you. I wish it didn’t belong to you. It’s my name. I’m the Sheriff. I rule this town. Do you know how people are looking at me now? They always thought you were one of those fairies. Elizabeth and I were so happy when you got married. Then you screwed it all up!”
“This has nothing to do with Sophia,” he said meekly. I’d never heard this big, bad Camden ever sound so small. I swallowed hard.