“That doesn’t sound like the Teddi I know.”
By this time, I was pumping my arms. “But you don’t know me very well, do you?”
Cameron stopped. I stomped a few more times and then stopped, turned, and looked around at him even though I wanted to keep moving until I was going, going, gone. “Please don’t make assumptions about me. Especially if they make me out to be the good guy.” I spit my words and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand even though I had tissues in my pocket.
“I’m not assuming anything. You asked me for help and then you told me there’s tension between you and Beck because you left. You leaving here is really kind of sad, I think. It certainly doesn’t make you the bad guy.”
“I ran out in the middle of Celia’s funeral.”
“You were upset.”
“I didn’t go back. That was the last time I saw Beck. Until yesterday, that is.”
“Oh.”
I paused and fiddled with the edge of my pockets.
“It must’ve been awful,” Cameron said. He touched my elbow, but I wasn’t sure if it was to draw me closer or to keep me at a distance. “Who was there with you?”
“The place was packed. But I was alone.”
Celia and I had always attended funerals together, or at least knew the other was there. Synagogue, funeral home, graveside. Grandparents, townspeople, two kids our age during high school. That day, I was alone; I didn’t know where to look. Up or down, in or out?
At least at a wedding there were drinks and hors d’oeuvres. When alone as a wedding guest, I talked to the bartender, sipped cocktails, nibbled my way through the mashed potato bar. Maybe funerals should have cocktail hours too.
Mini latkes with applesauce.
Kosher wine to drown your sorrows.
Monogrammed tissues.
I’d draw the line at funeral favors.
Celia would have taken that tangent to town. Our irreverence was legendary and soothing—at least to us. And now, to me.
“I’m sorry it was so hard for you,” Cameron said.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“As far as I can see, neither do you.”
“How can you say that? I left all these people behind to deal with the fallout without me. I went off to Chicago, moved in with a friend from college, and didn’t look back. Literally.”
“You were in pain.”
“For six years?”
“Apologize then. Explain everything to Beck. Everyone makes mistakes.”
“I can’t. It’s complicated. And it wasn’t a mistake. That’s the problem.”
“Look, I remember you and Celia and Beck as kids. I remember a lot of fun times. Those don’t get erased with one bad decision.”
Oh, if it had been only one.
“You’re assuming I’m the person I was when I was ten. I’m not. And I doubt you are either.”
“You chased me and Beck around the backyard until all of our sides hurt from running and laughing. You climbed trees and built forts with Celia and then went inside and did whatever other things girls did back then. Played with dolls? I didn’t know you very long but I remember someone who was brave and adventurous and fun. That’s part of your DNA. I can’t believe you’re that different.”
“Things change. Celia’s gone. That changed everything for me. And for me and Beck.” I gasped and turned away, the truth tugging on me like I’d been tangled up in a fishing line and was being dragged out to sea, where I’d drown.
Cameron stayed quiet, but I knew he was there. His shadow overlapped mine on the ground.
“I didn’t know.” He said it in a soft, yet full and deep voice, without any hint of surprise or sarcasm.
I shrugged and turned around. “No one did.” My eyes were filled but had not overflowed.
“Was it serious?”
Why did people always ask if a relationship was serious?
“No. I mean, I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter, because he hates me for leaving.”
“I don’t think he hates you. He didn’t say anything either way.”
“You talked to Beck about me?”
“Not about you, but he came over last night to see Deanna and I mentioned you’d been there and he didn’t say anything.”
My heart twisted, released, and then twisted again. “Beck and Deanna?”
“She took him out for dinner to thank him because he fixed her fence. He wouldn’t let her pay for any of the materials and he’s always stopping by to help out. I think he feels responsible for the house, even though she owns it. And I’m better with an espresso machine than a hammer.”
“They’re not dating?”
“Does it matter?”
I shrugged.
“Deanna said the word in Chance is that he hasn’t dated anyone in years. I think she’d like to be the one to change that. But, you know, he had some trouble after Celia died.”
“What do you mean he hasn’t dated anyone? Wait. What trouble?”
“You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Oh.” Cameron shook his head. “It’s not my place to say anything. Sorry I mentioned it. I just figured—” Cameron’s phone dinged. “It’s Deanna. I’m going to tell her to walk home without me.” He tapped his phone and pressed it against his thigh.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I am not leaving you in the alley in this…” Cameron scrunched up his face. “In this condition,” he said, waggling his finger at me.
I laughed, though I wished I hadn’t.
“See? I do know you. Hey, what are you doing right now?”
“Nothing for another hour. I’m picking Shay up after her class and taking her to the mall.”
“Come with me to the cemetery.”
I fanned myself with my hand, strangely lightened by the morbid suggestion. Then I borrowed a hint of the Southern accent I’d picked up at our hotel in Atlanta. “Why, Cameron Davis, you do know how to make a lady feel special, bless your heart, but no thank you.”
“I gave you a scone.”
“I bought the scone.”
“Details, Teddi Lerner, details.”
“What is your fascination with that cemetery?”
“I like history.”
“There are these things called movies, you know—or even books.”
“Yes, I know about books, I’m a teacher. AP History. But there are other reasons I go there.”
My chest felt heavy, my heart so exposed I wanted to zip it up. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean … I didn’t know…”
“No, nothing like that. It’s that I like to write stories so I look at the headstones and think of the people’s lives and what they might have been like. What happened in their dash.”
“Their dash?”
“Between the day they were born and the day they died, there’s always a dash. Sometimes there’s a list of labels, and that can help, but the ones that just have dates and a dash, I feel sorry for them. I wonder if there was nothing at all or just so much that no one could pare it down for a marble slab.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“I don’t think of it that way. I look at it as an opportunity, and I’m kind of obsessed with it. Maybe I could give someone life again with a story or a novel. Sounds pompous, I know. I don’t have a God complex or anything. I just think that the future sort of lies in the past. No pun intended.”
“Have you ever written one?”
“One what?”