No shaking up. No unrest. Just solid surety of their place in the world.
It was nothing like that now, any of it.
“I was an ass, Tam, and I never intended to be. I’m not even sure now what I intended. Beyond you and photography...goddamned baseball, homework and the obligations that went along with being my father’s son, I didn’t realize. What was coming, and how easily the ties that bind can be broken. If I made you feel less, it’s becauseIfelt less.” With a half-laugh, he swept his hair from his brow. “And here I sit—you're right—closing in on thirty-three, and I still haven’t figured it out. I really hoped I’d like myself by now. Instead, it feels like I’ve failed every person who counted.”
“Oh, sugar, I’m here to tell you, life doesn’t turn out the way we plan.” She plucked a slice of lime from her glass and bit into it. “Did you really think it would?”
“Actually, I’m not all that surprised.” Pulling a toothpick from his shirt pocket, he twirled it between his fingers, longing for the cigarette he no longer allowed himself. “But I don’t like knowing I’m dragging other people into my house of indecision. It’s enough making myself miserable, not knowing what’s around the bend, feeling like I made poor choices.” He tapped his toothpick against the table. “But all of a sudden—no joke, in the last week or two—I don’t want to pull anyone else inside. Tangle their life up with mine unless I’m sure they can handle it.Ican handle it.” He exhaled sharply. “Ruin a friendship or something.”
“Is that what you think? That you ruined our friendship?” She choked back a startled laugh and dropped the shriveled lime into her drink. “I won’t lie—I thought about forever-afters. A long walk down the aisle with Reverend Macon waiting to unite us before God and family. A size six, flowing white gown I shouldn’t be wearing because I wasn’t a virgin. Posies in my hair—mostly natural blonde back then, mind you—my heart in my eyes.”
“It isn’t funny, Tam.”
“Gracious, Camp, we only took what was ours for the taking. I never objected. Why would I? I wanted it almost as badly as you did. And later”—she paused, lids sweeping low, fingers tightening around her glass—“later, every woman in town was hoping to make a mark. To be the hometown girl you fell in love with.”
“For fuck’s sake.” He jammed the toothpick between his teeth.
At her touch, he made a powerless sound of protest and rocked back, proving just how far he was off his game.
A wounded expression flickered in her eyes, like an animal searching for cover. “You’re of a different mind,” she said, withdrawing her hand with as much dignity as she could muster. “Isn’t all age, either. You care enough about someone”—she lifted her glass, her smile uneven behind it—“to care.”
“I don’t care aboutanythingexcept my photographs.”
“Not caring about anything is what has you here, searching for answers?”
He rolled the toothpick back and forth, jaw popping. The situation was complicated, like he’d told Fontana earlier. A fucking mess, even after studying it from every angle, and he had examined themallover the past few days.
But he was stuck.
Attracted. Curious. Still humming like electric current, hours after impact.
And surprise, surprise, he understood that trying to steady himself with a throwaway act—like sleeping with the womanacross from him,rightnow, inthistown—would only erode the last salvageable scrap of his soul.
“If there were someone…on the off chance there is, would, um—” He drummed his fingers on the table, a bead of sweat working its way down his back.
Was he thinking what he thought he was thinking?
Yes. And thinking it seriously enough to make him sweat.
“Spit it out, Camp.”
After throwing a ridiculous glance over his shoulder, he lowered his voice. “Is sex enough?” Tossing his toothpick to the floor, he propped his elbows on the table, a wailing George Jones ballad nearly swallowing his next words. “Satisfied? I asked it. Is sex enough?”
Tammi’s lips quirked, teeth flashing. “My, that’s one question I didn’t figure on hearing.”
“Forget it,” he said and started to rise, his knee knocking the table into violent motion.
Her nails dug into his wrist, followed by a strong tug and a command to sit that sounded so like his mother’s Campbell obeyed without thinking twice.
Tammi shifted just beyond the dim ginger haze cast from the neon sign above her head. From this angle, he could only see the face of the past.
He wondered if Fontana’s was the face of the future.
“Camp?”
He shook his head, refocused. Tammi’s smile had definitely drifted into murky, melancholy waters.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispered, wishing he had a cigarette. Just one quick drag to steady his nerves.
