“I know they ignored you,” Hayden said. It was a statement not a question.
“I could never measure up to her,” Tilly said, erasing the bitterness from her voice. “I made peace with that a long time ago.”
“Good.” He leaned forward and gave her an earnest look. “They made us both feel like we weren’t good enough,” he said. “But you were, Tilly. You were twice as smart as Ruth and kinder and… I always knew you were going places in life. That you’d be the one to make a success out of yourself and prove to them they were wrong.”
Tilly shrugged. “I tried to,” she said. “Although nothing I did mattered. They didn’t even attend my high school graduation much less my college one.”
His heavy sigh filled the silence. “I’m sorry. You deserved better.”
She shrugged again. Maybe so. But it still had hurt.
“I heard you’re a writer now for theAJC.”
His comment caught her off guard. “How do you know that?”
A smile tugged at his mouth, reminding her of the sweet but mischievous boy she’d known before he turned into an angry teenager and their lives had fallen apart.
“I joined the Army, which by the way was good for me, even though I resented Dad for pushing me to do it.” He self-consciously touched the scar on his cheek, then dropped his hands back to his coffee mug. “Made me into a man. Taught me discipline and self-control. But… I saw things over in Afghanistan that changed me.”
Again, the far-away anguished look. Tilly barely resisted reaching out and covering his hand with hers. But she wanted to hear what he had to say.
“Go on, Hay,” she said, resorting to her childhood name for him.
He smiled at that, then his expression sobered. “Anyway, got caught in a landmine. But that wasn’t the worst part. Saw an entire village get blown up. A few of the kids survived, but not all. Children, just children, killed for no reason.” His voice cracked. “And the ones who did live… they instantly became orphans.”
“That’s awful,” Tilly said. “How sad.” At least she and he had family, even if they’d grown apart. “So, what did you do?”
“I was hospitalized for two months then went to rehab for physical therapy to learn to walk again. While I was there, I thought a lot about that explosion. I watched kids, injured like myself, fight to survive and I got to know some of them.” His deep voice turned to gravel with emotion. “I made up my mind when I recovered and was discharged, that I’d find a way to give back to kids to atone for everything I’d done wrong.”
Emotions gathered in Tilly’s throat, filled with questions she didn’t want to broach.
Finally he continued, “So if you want to know where I’ve been and I know the police are asking and looking for me, I stayed there and worked in the orphanages for a while then returned to the States and started a youth group/mentoring program for boys.”
Tilly gasped softly. Not the answer she’d expected. “That’s great, Hay. I’m proud of you.”
Pain and sorrow streaked his eyes. “Don’t be. I’m not innocent. Some of those kids who died… My unit had a part in it. Just like I did in our sister’s disappearance. I… ran because it was my fault.”
EIGHTY-FOUR
Athens
Ellie, Derrick and the detective silently agreed to give Cameron a moment to compose himself. They stepped from the room and returned a few minutes later with a wet paper towel and a soda for Cameron and coffee in hand for themselves.
Cameron sat slumped with his head in his hands, tears streaming down his gaunt, sunken cheeks. The kid couldn’t be faking it. He was honestly surprised and grief-stricken by the news that Jacey was dead.
She and Derrick claimed their seats again, the air charged with questions.
Cameron wiped his face with the paper towel, popped open the soda and took a long drink. Finally he wiped his mouth and looked at them with glassy, haunted eyes. “W… what happened?”
Ellie licked her dry lips. “We were hoping you’d help us figure that out.”
He stared at them blankly. “I… don’t know,” he mumbled. “Like I said, she left and I… thought she was coming back.”
“You didn’t follow her?” Derrick asked.
Cameron squeezed his eyes shut as if struggling to remember. Then he shook his head. “I told you no. I was too wasted.”
At least his voice held remorse. Guilt, too. That he would have to live with.
