Along Came Trouble (Camelot 2)

“You pinch-faced, gutless, slinking weasel of a man. How could you do it?” She poked him in the throat, and he made an outraged choking noise. “He’s a baby,” she said. “He’s just a baby.” She shoved his shoulder, and it felt good, so she raised her hand to do it again, but then the guy defended himself and gave her a shove in return.

That was when Caleb got between them, holding her back with his forearm as he pushed the photographer back so hard, he lost his balance and went down hard on his ass.

He said oof, just like in a comic book. She hadn’t known life could be so much like the comics. People said oof when you knocked them down. She wondered what they said when you kicked them.

Caleb didn’t let her find out. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, and it was only then that she realized she was crying, and that she had been for some time.

“Sean, get the camera.”

Caleb’s agent, a tough-looking blond guy, put his foot on the photographer’s wrist and held it down as he pulled the camera out of his grasp.

“Give me the card,” Caleb told him.

It was only a tiny piece of blue plastic. Caleb tucked it into the front pocket of her shorts with a murmured, “Keep this.” Then he dropped the camera on the ground.

“Oops.” He leaned over to pick it up. There was no trace of humor in his voice, and the brittle crack of his foot connecting with the camera housing was no mistake. “Damn. Clumsy today.”

Sean walked three steps toward the camera, bent down to get it, and crushed the lens under his heel. “Shit. Sorry, boss.”

He picked the wreckage of the camera up and tossed it to Caleb, who didn’t even pretend to try to catch it. When he took a step backward and ground what was left of the camera into the asphalt, Ellen shuddered as though he’d crushed a living thing.

“Oh, man,” he said, with a smile she could only classify as menacing. “Didn’t see it there.”

The photographer’s face had gone a deep pink. “This is outrageous,” he told Caleb, sweeping his finger to encompass all three of them. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

Caleb shrugged. “I doubt it. But if I do, I’ve got a great lawyer.”

A police car drove up, and the flashing lights threw Ellen into something like a fugue state. She watched, out of focus, as Caleb talked to the cops and Weasel Face got cuffed and loaded into the car. She heard the words “warrant” and “Plimpton” and “custody.” Richard hovered around, asking questions of the police and of Caleb. Making demands.

She knew she ought to be reacting, but she simply stood there, feeling her pulse throb in the palms of her hands. Her whole body janked up and confused.

When the black-and-white drove away, Ellen heard Henry laughing through the screen door that opened onto the kitchen of Maureen’s little bungalow, and the color washed back into the world. She put her back against the closest tree and sank to the ground, still trembling and shocky, but herself, at least. Present in the moment enough to wonder how Caleb had known to call the police and why nobody had asked her any questions. And to know she’d focused her anger on a stranger and skipped over the person who most deserved it.

“Where’s Richard?” she croaked.

“I’m right here.”

He sat off to the side of the small house in one of Maureen’s deck chairs, in full view. Ellen stared at him, expecting the rage to come back. Waiting for righteousness to flood through her and prepare her for battle.

Instead, she just wanted to cry again. He was such a lousy father.

“You’re in violation of our custody agreement,” she said, her voice drained and emotionless.

“No, I’m not. It’s Saturday.”

Was it? This was his idea of a visit, then. Just Henry and Daddy and the man with the camera.

It hadn’t been a coincidence when he and Weasel Face had shown up downtown the other day. They’d been together, probably meeting for coffee or something. Was that what all of his talk of amends and reconciliation had been about? An opportunity to get her and Henry in front of a camera so he could make some quick cash?

Appalled curiosity pushed her to her feet. Richard wasn’t a bad parent. He was an irredeemably lousy parent. A bad man. A bad person.

“Do you even have a soul?”

Richard stood up slowly, eyes hard. “It was going to be a tasteful article. I was planning to give you the money for his college savings.”

She couldn’t even think what to say to that. His defense belonged to some moral nationality so completely foreign to her own, she didn’t even speak the language.

“Stay away from him.”