I look at her pointedly. “You’re coming with us. You need to eat and get some rest.”
“No, I couldn’t—”
“You can, Eliza,” my dad grumbles and then gives an exaggerated eye roll to Camille. “This woman is always taking care of other people. Make her go home and rest.”
To Camille, he orders this.
Not me.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, because he’s already figured something out—that Camille is no pushover. I can tell he respects her already.
It doesn’t take much, really. A few encouraging words from Camille and some stronger words from me. “Mom… either you walk out this door of your own accord, or I’ll pick you up and carry you out of here.”
That convinces her, and she bustles over to my father’s bed, making sure he has ice water and the remote control close by. She kisses him, and he pats her back, assuring her he’ll be fine for the rest of the night.
When Mom goes to the wardrobe to get her purse, Camille moves to Dad’s side and offers her hand. He shakes it.
“It was an honor meeting you, Mr. Gale.”
“Bill,” he insists. “I mean… since I can call you Camille and all.”
She laughs, and it’s one of those laughs that punches you in the gut. Filled with genuine humor, a little on the husky side, and an open honesty into who she is.
Christ, it makes her even sexier.
I lean over and pat my dad once on the side of his leg. “You good? Need anything?”
“Good,” he replies, and then does something that almost buckles my knees. He nods toward Camille. “I don’t think I understood what you do until today.”
I don’t reply, waiting to see where he’s going.
“I’m proud of you,” he mutters, and I can see he’s embarrassed to make that admission—truly a one-eighty—not because he doesn’t think I deserve it but because he’s doing it in front of Camille and my mom.
“Thanks, Pop,” I say lightly with another pat to his leg, not making a big deal about it so as not to embarrass him further.
I’m not sure if this really changes his outlook on me leaving the military. But Camille definitely set the record straight that I don’t just babysit people.
Mom makes more goodbyes, reconsiders staying, and I have to pull her from the room while Camille laughs at her antics. We walk my mom to her car and wait until she pulls out before we move across the parking lot to the rental we picked up at the airport.
“I can’t believe you’d lie like that,” I tease Camille. “A list of the highest-value targets?”
“Well,” she says with a laugh, “if there were a list, I’d be high up on it.”
“You know my dad will go tell all his retired navy buddies about this, and someone is going to tell him you were full of shit and he fell for it.”
“I won’t be around for the fallout,” she says slyly, and I laugh.
At the same time, I can’t help but feel a little unsettled at the reminder my time with Camille is defined and limited. In a few weeks, she won’t be around at all.
CHAPTER 10
Camille
The farmhouse is cozy and quiet. The smell of smoke from the living-room fireplace still lingers in the air, even though it burned out long ago. Jackson, Eliza, and I sat in the living room for three hours after we ate—leftover chili she’d made the day before, which was delicious—and we talked while the fire blazed, crackled, and eventually dwindled.
Jackson didn’t build it for heat but ambience after his mom said, “I can’t ever get your dad to build a fire anymore. Says it’s a waste since we have central heat.”
So practical.
So very different from my parents. If my mom wanted a fire, my father would construct a fireplace that could fit ten football teams inside, not because he loves her more than Bill loves Eliza, but because he’s so wealthy, he’s never had to be practical. It makes neither man wrong.
Just different.
It was fun listening to Eliza, who spent a good deal of time bragging about Jackson, from his time playing youth soccer to the exciting work he does for Jameson. She, of course, is proud of his naval service, but I got the distinct impression the reason she didn’t showcase it is because he gets so much grief from his father about leaving the military. I could tell from the way she speaks that she’s the peacemaker in the family, helping to mend the frayed relationship that occurred when Bill made it known he was disappointed in his son for not following all the way in his footsteps.
It’s ironic, really.
I think it’s brave Jackson chose his own path, and in an indirect way, that’s the message I was passing along to Bill at the hospital. The work Jackson does now is as important as what he used to do for his country.