Red Moon Rising

16. consequences

Chapter Song: New Ceremony (Acoustic) - Dry the River

XX

I give him his distance. I don't try to listen. I think there's a part of me that can't experience this with him, that can't hear those words again. She's gone. In this moment there's a claw deep inside my chest, maybe a bit of wound that never healed when mom died. I don't want Cam to live with that pain too. I don't like that I can see it on his face now as he tries to hold himself together enough to listen to what his dad is saying. He shouldn't have to hear it over the phone. He was so close to getting to say goodbye to her. I think I would have liked to hug her one last time too, to thank her for everything she did for me when my mom passed, for inviting me into her family. I wish I hadn't spent so much time this past month hating her for how she treated Cam.

"How are Amy and Alina?" His voice is so quiet that I wonder if his dad will be able to hear him. And then, the first tears begin, and he settles on the edge of the bed. We have no chairs or table, and so that place has become where all conversations occur, good or bad, perched on the edge of our mattress. I don't know whether to go to him now or give him space, but his voice is quiet and he isn't looking at me, and so I retreat to the kitchen and start the stove to make some tea.

Cam draws a deep breath, and I close my eyes as he finally asks the question. "Dad...can I come home?"

There's too much silence, and I realize that Cam isn't breathing at all anymore. I look over at him and the phone is lying on the bed, and Cam is bent over his lap with his fingers laced behind his neck.

"Hey," I whisper, sitting next to him and sliding my hand over his back. He leans into me, still holding his head, back tense and quivering. I realize that he's holding it all in, for my sake or his I'm not sure. When he takes a breath, it's more of a sob, and then he's quiet again for a long time. "I'm so sorry, Cam. I'm so sorry." And I cry too, because I want to carry all of his pain for him but I can't, not even a tiny bit. I hold him and cry, and let him know that he can cry too, and then he does.

"She thought that I cursed our family," he manages. "She spent her last days thinking that I killed her."

"That's not true, Cam."

"And as much as I want to believe this is all bullshit, I can't help but wonder if I really did kill her. If maybe I'll end up killing someone else before this is all over."

"Before what's over? Cam, this isn't your fault. Baby, look at me, okay?" I wipe the tears from his cheeks, but he looks so very broken, so not himself anymore.

"I just want to go home, you know?"

I hold him and stroke his hair, and he takes several deep, ragged breaths, before pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

"Do you mean that?"

"No. I don't know. I miss them so much, but I'm not going to be forced back like that."

"Like what?"

"My dad said I couldn't come back until I agreed to meet her."

"Your match."

"Yeah. And...I couldn't speak to you anymore."

"He can't do that Cam—"

"But he can! He can prevent me from seeing Amy and Alina if he wants to. You know he took my number from their phones? They remember it, but they'll get in trouble if they use it."

"That's fucked up, Cam, you know that right? Using your mom like that..."

"He said he didn't have to tell me about mom. After...what I did."

"You didn't do anything. He can't pin this on you. He's probably feeling a lot of guilt and sadness himself. He's probably feeling helpless after watching his wife die, and it's easier to blame you for it than face those feelings."

"Maybe."

"Not maybe, Cam. I need you to really hear me when I tell you that you did not make this happen any more than I made my mom die." He looks up quickly at me, and his fingers find mine. "I know how monstrous and huge this all feels right now. But you can't blame yourself for this any more than anyone who has ever lost a parent too soon."

"I know you're right. I just..."

"He shouldn't have said those things to you. He's going to spend his life regretting that he let you blame yourself for this."

"I think he really believes it," he whispers.

"It's easy to believe anything when you're grieving. When someone you love dies, it's so much easier to find something to blame than to face how cruel and unpredictable life can be." I kiss his temple and run my hand over his back, feeling the shuddering rise and fall of his shoulders. He doesn't say anything, and I know that it will take more than this to make him believe me. But right now he doesn't need to be convinced of anything—he just needs to grieve. I crawl farther onto the bed and Cam follows me, pulling me to him and pressing his lips into my hair. Even when I try to comfort him, I still find that he is comforting me too. I trace the edges of his collarbone and run my fingers over the scruff forming along his chin. He's breathing a little easier now, and when I glance up at him his eyes are partly closed, fluttering lightly. I know he isn't really sleeping, but thinking, delving too deeply into how he killed his mother. He's thinking about the last words they exchanged, the pain he caused her, the way his family must have talked about him after he left.

There isn't anything I can say to make those thoughts go away, not now, and so I hug him close and kiss his chest and try to offer him as much love as I can possibly give. Cam's family is a loving family, despite how they've treated him the past month. Carl and Ashley always saw Cam as something of a golden child, and he's their only son. I don't think Ashley really ever though he'd cursed them, or blamed him for her sickness—I think she was so, so hurt that he left, and it was just easier to try to cut him out to force him back then play along with the choice that hurt so much. I bet she was heartbroken when she heard that Cam and I weren't matched. I bet she never stopped feeling sorry for him even when she was dying. But Cam doesn't see things the way I do—he doesn't realize that to Ashley, he was always her little boy. He sees himself as a provider for a family that he let fall to pieces. I don't know what to say to lighten that burden, or if there is anything to be said at all. I don't know the right words, but I can sit with him and be present—I can offer him my love. I can only hope that it will be enough to ease the wound that I sense opening inside of him, a rift in his chest that only threatens to consume him.