“Daddy and I think you’re ready for Sunday school, Camilla,”Mom had said from the front of the car.
Surrounded by fire, I turn on my back and stare at the ceiling as the swinging light bulb turns into a car ride with my family. Dad was behind the wheel, and Mom was at his side, dressed in her Sunday best. I sat in the back between my brothers, looking past them out of the dingy car window to the passing streets. Sunday was the only day I was allowed to leave the house, and I took in as much of the dusty little town as I could during the ten-minute drive.
North Carolina summers are sweltering, and the car had no air conditioning. I melted in a knee-length yellow sundress and pushed my sweaty hair off my forehead as I met my mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. At fourteen, I knew not to act too excited about anything because Daddy would take it away the moment I did. So, while my heart pounded with anticipation, I simply nodded at the change in routine.
Sweat pooled between the back of my thighs and the torn leather seats. Daddy swatted my hands when I tried to wipe the sweat away, accusing me of pulling my dress up indecently. He yelled at my mom for letting me wear a dress at all.
“So help me, Camilla, don’t you embarrass me. My only hope is this helps you where I’ve so clearly failed.”
Daddy explained that he sought counsel from other church members about his bad, bad daughter.
“I told them, nothing I do puts the fear of God into her. I told them, I’ve been given a strong-willed girl and I’m terribly scared for her soul.”
How could a child who wasn’t allowed to leave the house be bad? Now I know better. Eating when I was hungry, crying when I was locked inside a closet, going through puberty and developing like a normal girl wasn’t bad behavior. But on that hot summer day when my father led me into the Sunday school classroom and let me out of his sight for the first time in my life, I was convinced of my own wickedness.
And like my father, I thought Elijah Read was my salvation.
Stopping before I reel any farther down memory lane, I grab my cell phone from the nightstand and scroll through the call log. Every single call is from the same number except for one. In a week or so, Lydia will confiscate this burner phone and trade it for another. I’ll lose Wilder’s number when she does, so I memorize it by pressing it into the call box and deleting it over and over until the numbers are burned into my mind.
Then I press his sequence of numbers one last time and presscall.
The rush of blood surging through my veins is loud enough to drown out the noise in my head, and I bite my bottom lip while it rings, once, twice—just twice.
“The last time someone from that apartment called me this late—”
“We had sex,” I say, not recognizing my own voice.
Strong-willed, wicked girl.
Wilder chuckles. “I was going to say people died, but yeah.”
“No one has died.”
He clears his throat, sounding more awake when he asks, “Is everything okay?”
Nodding as if he can see me, I say, “I am now. I just… I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“You’re playing with fire, Camilla,” he answers with a small laugh.
A smile spreads across my face as I look around at all the candles burning in my room. I turn on my side, tucking my legs closer to my body, and say, “Don’t I know it.”
I never go back to sleep, but Wilder stays on the phone with me until the first signs of the new day peek through my bedroom window. We say our goodbyes, and I slide out of bed to start a pot of coffee and to take Dog out. My head’s heavy with sleeplessness and my legs feel like they’re made of jelly. But I draw power from the rising sun, safe from the dark for the next twelve hours.
I’m on my second cup of coffee when Lydia and Talent emerge from their room, each a little worse for wear. Due to the late night and whiskey or the late night and fire lighting, I don’t know. On their way out the door, I pass each of them a cup of caffeine to-go.
Lydia takes her cup and says, “I’ve rescheduled your appointment so at least one of us can get some rest today. Take advantage of the time off, Camilla. I’ll see you tonight.”
There’s no rest for the wicked.
As soon as they’re gone, I jump into the shower and dress afterward like I have a job on the top floor of the highest building in the city. Which isn’t too far away from how I dress on a regular working day. I even wear the heels.
Since Lydia thinks I’m hunkering down at the apartment all day, I don’t call Yael for a ride to the office. He answers directly to her, logging every mile he drives in a day. If he told her I requested a car like he’s obligated to, Lydia would end it before I walk out the front door. So I call an Uber instead.
To soften her up a little, I ask the driver to swing by Lydia’s favorite coffee shop on my way to Ridge & Sons. She’s adopted my caffeine vice in our time together.
“Can you wait for me? I’ll be right out.” I drop the driver some cash off the record and step onto the sidewalk in front of the shop.
It’s rush hour, and there’s a line out the door to order. I chuckle to myself thinking,who do I need to sleep with to get to the front of this line?There are not many roads to Lydia’s heart, but caramel drizzle and cake pops are certainly a good start in the right direction. She won’t kick me out before she gets her hands on my offering, and I won’t give them up unless she agrees to let me stay.
