Uncovering Camila (Wildflowers Book 3) Read online

  The hot water begins to turn lukewarm, signaling to Camila it’s time to get out before it gets any colder. As soon as she steps out of the shower, the sound of banging from outside punctures the silence in her apartment. Normally at 2 a.m. she’d be inclined to ignore any kind of noise, but once she’s out of her bathroom, she realizes it’s at her door.

  Camila stares at the door, willing the person on the other end to disappear. She doesn’t deserve this, although neither do her neighbors. Five more minutes of persistent pounding compels her to open it, without releasing the latch.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she says.

  “I needed to see you,” Marshall tells her.

  “Now you’ve seen me.”

  “Will you let me in?”

  “No good can come from it. Go home.”

  “Just let me say something, then I will.”

  The pleading in his voice reminds Camila of how desperate she’d felt when he sent her that text. The hurt, the hollowness in her chest was so palpable in that moment it threatened to choke her. If she weren’t so proud, she probably would’ve shown up at his doorstep too, trying to understand or to elicit some explanation. Yet he gave her nothing. This is irony, she thinks to herself.

  “Go ahead and say it,” she insists.

  He looks back at the empty hall and stairwell. “Out here?”

  She shrugs. “You’re the one who showed up unannounced it the middle of the night. I don’t think you get to be so choosy.”

  Marshall sighs, defeated and exhausted. He had dropped Zoe off at her modern TriBeCa apartment building with barely a good-bye. He thinks he mumbled something about getting together again, but he can’t recall clearly because all he could think about was seeing Camila, to tell her how sorry he was for handling everything so poorly. He feigned interest and smiled politely during his drinks with Zoe, who by all accounts, was the ideal woman. While she talked about a recent vacation in Mallorca with her friends, he went four rounds with himself in his head over Camila. Each time he came out the loser.

  Which is why instead of going back to his apartment, he went straight to Camila’s and hid out in the shadows until he could follow a deliveryman into her building. Adrenalin pumped through him as he climbed the stairs, determined and resolute to apologize, to make it right. A small voice inside told him there would be no way to make it right because it wasn’t going to change the two reasons they’re not together—he’s a professor and she’s a student. As he took the final flight two steps at a time, he chose to ignore that voice, deciding instead to leave it up to Camila.

  “Please, C.C. I’d rather not say it from this side of the door. I promise to leave as soon as I’m finished.”

  Camila slams the door in this face. She leans her forehead against it, summoning the will to open it again and listen to Marshall. Even though he doesn’t deserve it, at least this way she won’t be left with the lingering doubts and questions like she has with Eliseo. All of a sudden it hits her why it’s called ghosting. Being left that way can haunt you.

  She reaches up, slides the latch to the left and heads to her closet to retrieve some clothes. When she appears from behind her screen, she spots Marshall leaning against her desk. Camila swallows. The last time he was in her apartment, he’d taken her against the desk. They didn’t care that the lights were on or the blinds were raised so anyone could see inside. She was that lost in him, that overcome with such a desire for him that it didn’t matter. Camila’s still drawn to him like she was then. There hasn’t been enough time for her feelings to change. And seeing him in her apartment, where so many of their encounters took place, drives that home more.

  Marshall is remembering the same thing too. He runs his tongue runs along the bottom lip as he recalls the way she’d been spread out across her desk and the way they made love on the floor. He’d thought of almost nothing else during the concert but that night, lying on her faux sheepskin rug, listening to Laura Mvula as they touched and kissed each other throughout the night. Already it seems as if that was years ago, not only a few weeks. How quickly things can shift between two people. Recalling each moment with her makes him hard—every stroke, every lick, every caress and every whisper brings him back. It felt so good to be in the safety of her home, and in her arms. Marshall shakes his head. In one moment of panic, he’d ruined it all.

  Camila doesn’t take her eyes off him. She’s willing him to speak so she can go to sleep. Having him in her space is draining. She doesn’t want to want so much from him, and it’s taking a lot out of her to remain where she is, out of his arms and out of her bed.

  He clears his throat. “Such a New York thing running into each other like we did tonight.”

  “Not so random considering we were both at the same concert. I’m assuming you got those tickets so we would go together.”

  The faint smile on his face disappears. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I thought you’re here because you did.”

  Their eyes lock into a staring contest. Marshall didn’t think it would be easy, but he also didn’t think it would be so challenging. The right words and apologies always sound better in your head. By the time you get the courage to speak them, if at all, they don’t come out nearly as articulate.

  “I’m sorry.” Marshall blinks and looks away.

  Camila doesn’t respond. For a moment she’s uncertain if he’s apologizing for not knowing what to say or for the text or for taking another woman to a concert he’d intended to take her to.

  “There’s nothing I can say,” he admits.

  Camila shakes her head again.

  “But if I don’t try . . . ,” he pauses, pressing his lips into a line. “I didn’t expect when I met you . . . .” Marshall’s voice falters. He grips the edge of the desk, as if afraid he’s going to fall from some invisible precipice. It’s too late for that, though. He’s already fallen off that cliff and how hard the fall is going to be depends entirely on the woman standing in front of him. He can’t tell what she’s thinking. She’s always seemed impenetrable to him. Of course that was part of the attraction and the surprise in meeting her. She never ceased to impress him. He could never tell if he impacted her even a fraction of the way she did him.

  If she were to ever open herself to him again, maybe he would know that he did. She let Marshall inside her home because he was different from other men she knew. She liked the way she felt when she was with him. There was no needing anything more from him than she was receiving, no clawing at the door of his heart to let her in.

  Marshall folds his arms across his chest.

  “Every time you say how unexpected I am, it sounds like a backhanded compliment.”

  “It’s not what I mean.” He grimaces and pauses for a long beat. “I was with the same woman for almost eight years. We were friends in undergrad but didn’t start dating until we graduated. She went on to Harvard Law. I had some delusion that I would do as my father and become a partner, so I was a paralegal at Davis Polk for a couple of years. We were both busy between work and school. I think we just willingly took what the other offered. Distance makes it easy to ignore the more disagreeable qualities about the person you’re dating.” He laughs nervously.

  “It wasn’t until a couple of years ago that we ended up in the same city, and that’s when things started to devolve. I was too busy and stupid to notice at first, but the more I paid attention, the worse it became, for me at least. I’d convinced myself she would change once we moved in together. My parents, our friends, everyone talked about what a great couple we were. ‘The power couple’ they called us because of my career and her political ambitions. It’s pathetic to think I stayed with her because I was afraid of disappointing other people.” Marshall shakes his head.

  “Once my clerkship ended, we were expected to get engaged, but I couldn’t do it. I hated the idea of working for the DOJ, and I resented her for pushing that on me. I got my out when she admitted to sleeping with other people.
Although I should’ve never waited that long. I’d already been offered a post at Harvard that I didn’t tell her about. But NYU called out of the blue, and I took it as a sign that maybe I should come home.”

  Camila stares back at him, barely listening. He’s not telling her something she doesn’t already know or hasn’t guessed from their conversations. It explains his hesitation with her but not how quickly he turned away from her. She remains unmoved though. In the end, none of it changes what happened or what can happen between them now and in the near future. The only thing that can change is the passage of time.

  Marshall pushes off the desk and walks toward Camila. “When I say that you’re unexpected, I don’t mean that you’re not what I expect looking at you. It’s because I didn’t expect to fall in love so soon.”

  Chapter 40

  Camila turns over and stares at the dim fall light streaming through her window. She hasn’t slept at all, and she’s closing at L tonight. Maybe she’ll be able to sleep an hour or two before her shift, but that’s assuming she finishes her paper by the afternoon. She kicks her comforter off and swings her legs to the floor, still staring out the window. She pictures Marshall already out on his morning run, getting ready for the marathon this weekend. Camila can’t help but wonder if he thinks about her when he runs, thinks about what she said to him when he told her he loved her.

  She runs her hands through her damp hair then gets out of bed to make coffee, measuring enough grounds in the cafetera to make a few espressos. It’s sleepless mornings like this one that makes Camila miss Eliseo. Not for his company as much as for his limitless energy. He taught her how to alternate her coffee and energy drink consumption throughout the day to accommodate her late work schedule. He never seemed to need as much as she did, his energy levels seemingly superhuman. Being around him gave her energy, and she realizes now, when she needs all that she can get, how much she took Eliseo’s presence for granted. Then again, he did the same. Camila sighs as she pours out the first cup of coffee. No one is to blame, she repeats to herself.

  She peers through the dirty blinds out onto the street. Several cars are backed up behind a garbage truck collecting garbage. Impatient drivers blare their horns as the workers go about their jobs at their own pace, unconcerned about the traffic jam they’ve caused. It hits her how often people choose to ignore the unpleasant things about daily life in her City in order to get by. And how much she’s one of the several million just getting by, hustling between school and work.

  Camila releases the blinds and moves through her apartment slowly waking up. She purposely ignores the area near her desk. The memory is too uncomfortable, and if she thinks about it now, it will make her sick. She downs the last of her coffee and heads back for her second cup. Standing over the kitchen sink, she can’t keep the memory away any longer.

  “Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

  Camila rinses her cup and sets it down into the sink. She wipes her hand on a kitchen towel and walks to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

  “Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

  Camila spits out her toothpaste and rinses the head of her electric toothbrush. She bends over the sink and splashes warm water on her face.

  “Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

  Camila checks the temperature on her phone. Winter is overtaking fall by the hour. She slips on a pair of dark jeans and layers a black off-the-shoulder sweater over a tank top in case she doesn’t have time to change before work. Camila slides her feet into a pair of black leather motorcycle boots and throws on a wool jacket. She grabs the doorknob and stops. Marshall had his hand around it only a few hours before. He appeared so hurt and upset then.

  “Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

  Camila didn’t respond to that. As far as she’s concerned, those three words don’t negate the hurt he caused. They’re not an apology, and even though he apologized, there was no way either one of them could fix the situation they find themselves in.

  “Do you hear me, C.C.? I love you.”

  What more was left to say or do with those three words hanging in the air between them? She looks back at her desk, remembering the shock on his face when she told him, “Get out.”

  Chapter 41

  Marshall pushes himself faster and harder toward Battery Park. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t run this far, but he won’t stop until he erases last night from his mind. He knows running this hard so soon before a marathon isn’t a good idea, but neither is sitting at home replaying the events from the night before and wishing he could go back and never have sent that text.

  Three words are all it takes to ruin a relationship, especially one as fragile and new as theirs. He should’ve considered that, but he didn’t. He was too locked in his ego which made his fears appear so real and so much more significant than Camila’s feelings. Not once did he stop to consider how his actions would impact her. Instead he only cared about how they would be perceived by the administration.

  Marshall raises the volume on the iPod strapped to his arm in order to drown out these thoughts. Nothing will erase what happened no matter how many times he revisits it in his mind. Seeing the park in the distance, he picks up his pace, his quads burning from the near sprint. The high, the pain, that’s what got him through his parent’s divorce, the stress of school and his years with Ellen. Now he finds himself again needing to push himself, to punish himself for not choosing the things in his life that mattered most, but rather the things that were convenient.

  Marshall pushes himself toward the water with what little energy he has left. He catches himself at the rail, bent over, taking shallow breaths as his heart races. This will help him forget, even for a minute, how much he fucked everything up with the wrong three words.

  The blaring music in his ears is replaced by ringing. He looks down and a smile escapes his lips. He can never feel anything but happy when he sees Dahlia Baron’s name appear on his phone.

  “Shouldn’t you still be sleeping?” He asks.

  “I have twin babies. I never sleep,” she answers dryly. But he can picture the smile on her face when she says it. She loves her daughters more than anything in this world. Except her husband perhaps, although Marshall suspects she probably loves them a fraction more than him.

  “What’s your excuse for being awake?” She says. “You should be doing your duty as a childless adult and sleeping for the rest of us.”

  “I was running,” he replies, swallowing air.

  “That explains the heavy breathing. I’m glad I didn’t catch you . . . you know.” Dahlia laughs.

  “I wouldn’t have answered. You know that.”

  “Yeah, yeah, as if you’re getting any anyway.”

  Sadly she’s not far from the truth. Dahlia was always intuitive like that. She could tell what he’s feeling before he uttered a word. Marshall stares out over the Hudson and toward the Statue of Liberty. “I’m not far from your apartment you know. I think I’m looking out at the same view from your place.”

  “God I’m going to miss that City.”

  “So you’re really going to make that move?” Marshall heads to the grass to stretch his legs.

  “Yeah, it’s for the best. Lily will be the only family I have left—besides my dad. It makes sense for us to be close.”

  “I bet Rodrigo is happy about that.”

  “Happy is probably an understatement. He made an offer on a house the other day. Naturally, he’s sad about the circumstances that surround the move . . . .”

  Marshall doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to. He and Dahlia have been friends far too long to care about stretches of silence in a conversation. While they both love each other deeply, it was never a love that stretched beyond the bounds of friendship, probably because anything more than that would’ve stained the sibling-like bond they have. Even losing his virginity to her didn’t make a difference in their relationship. They each viewed it as a friendly favor that spared him going off to c
ollege as a virgin.

  “How is your mom?” He finally asks.

  “Feisty and bitchy as ever which leads me to believe the cancer hasn’t spread.”

  Marshall chuckles. “Poppy is a fighter. I’m surprised that she hasn’t . . . .”

  “Me too.” Dahlia sighs. “It’s weird to think that she won’t be in my life to make me miserable forever. Remember when we were in high school and she caught me dropping condoms filled with whipped cream out the window?”

  Marshall laughs out loud. “How can I forget? It was a month before I saw you outside of school. I don’t know how she kept you from sneaking out.”

  “She hired that butch bodyguard, remember?”

  “Your mom could not be fucked with.”

  “Nope. Seems like cancer is the only thing that can.”

  “Fuck. I hate that she’s sick. My mom is devastated. She can’t stop talking about it.”

  Dahlia’s voice is faint. “Me too.” She gulps back her emotions that threaten to overtake her. For as many problems as she’s had with her mother, she’s spent the past few months uncovering the love that always seemed to reside at the core of their relationship, despite how twisted and hurtful it’d been.

  “You guys are still coming for Thanksgiving right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Excellent,” Dahlia smiles into the phone. She misses her friendship with Marshall. Aside from Lily and Violet, he’s the only one who stood by her during her ups and downs when she returned from California almost ten years ago. “Are you still thinking of bringing C.C.? I want to meet her.”

  Marshall can hear a baby start to cry in the background. “Is that your cue?” He asks, hoping to get out of the conversation.