The Dysfunctional Test (23 page)

The conversation with Troy last night still had her hands shaking, her heart hurting. Troy’s childhood had been far worse than she ever thought. Through the years, she tried not to think about what he must have gone through. He seemed fine now. But as she watched him last night, trying to hide the obvious tears, she knew it wasn’t over for him. Not by a long shot. No wonder he didn’t take life seriously, why he moved from one woman to the next.

She wondered what number she was on his very long list of lovers. Wondered how she rated compared to them.

She’d never had sex like that, not that she had much to compare to. Troy made her forget everything but him and her. She’d never been able to shut down like with him. Just feel. The world fell away, and they were just two people, enjoying each other. He made her believe, for just a little while, that he meant the things he said. Like she was actually beautiful and funny instead of ordinary. She closed her eyes. He even had
her
believing the illusion.

In the early morning hour, before sunrise, she allowed herself the fantasy of them. Still together once home in Milwaukee, maybe living together, doing everyday things like arguing about whose turn it was to do the dishes. Sharing their day over dinner, and then making love half the night. Slow dancing nude in a silent room, pretending to hear music lofting in from an open window. He’d say something silly, and she’d laugh until the breath was gone from her lungs.

She opened her eyes to reality. Troy and his list were cruel. Making her think these things were real, possible. Life wasn’t like that.

Reality was her relationship with Maxwell. Having sex in the same position, sex that could be timed by the reliability in his movements. Him leaving right afterward without so much as a kiss on the top of her head or a good-bye. Dinner conversations about whether a condo would be more commonsensical than a yardless two-bedroom ranch. About the strategy for their next meeting. No whispered endearments late at night. No laughing under the stars. No kind words.

“Whatcha doing?”

Camryn jumped and pressed a hand to her pounding heart as she looked down at Emily. “Shh, everyone is still asleep. I’m making muffins. Do you want to help?”

Muffins weren’t a birthday cake, or a mend for his past, but maybe he’d smile.

“Yeah,” Emily said, climbing onto a stool by the island.

Camryn set a bowl in front of Emily and handed her a whisk. After adding the dry and wet ingredients for a new batch, she said, “Okay, stir that together now.”

Emily stuck the whisk in the bowl and tried to stir. Apple cinnamon muffin mix went flying onto the counter. “Oops.”

At least this batch didn’t have blueberries. Camryn smiled, placing her hand over Emily’s and demonstrating how to stir. “Like that, honey.”

She moved over to the coffee maker to start a pot while keeping an eye on her niece. Once brewing, she checked Emily’s progress. “Good job. I’m going to run upstairs for a second. Stay away from the oven, okay?”

Though Emily nodded her consent, Camryn set the self-cleaning latch to lock the oven in case her niece got any wild ideas. She scribbled a note on a piece of scrap paper, then carried a muffin and the note upstairs.

She turned the knob to their bedroom and tiptoed to the nightstand. She set the note and muffin down and peeked at a sleeping Troy. On his stomach, his arms and legs were sprawled over the bed like he’d been practicing skydiving in his sleep. Shaking her head and smiling, she quietly closed the door on the way out.

Emily was still hard at work stirring when she returned to the kitchen. “It looks good. It’s missing something, though.”

Emily thought that over. “Chocolate?”

Tempting. “Hmm. No, not chocolate. I know! It’s not the batter missing something, it’s you.”

Emily looked down at herself as if she forgot to get dressed. “What?”

“This,” she said, lifting the whisk and drizzling a tiny bit of batter on her head.

Emily smashed her hands on her head, smearing the batter into her curls. She then proceeded to wipe her hands on the front of her pajamas. “
Oooh.
Daddy is going to be so mad. I’m telling on you.”

Camryn bent over and kissed her cheek. “Go ahead. I’m older than him, I can take it.”

Emily eyed her through speculative eyes. Cautiously, she dipped her finger in the bowl, and then dabbed it on the end of Camryn’s nose. She paused, waiting to get yelled at.

“You’re doing it all wrong.” Camryn stuck her hand in the bowl and smeared the mix over her cheeks. At least she’d smell good today. She wiped the remainder of the batter from her hand into her own hair. “See, like that.”

Emily giggled and pointed. “You look ridoc…redunk…”

“Ridiculous,” she corrected. “You do too.”

Her niece stopped laughing and tilted her head, staring Camryn down. After a long examination, Emily asked, “Did you remember where you lost your smile?”

“I don’t know what you mean, honey.”

“Uncle Troy said the reason you don’t smile is because you just lost it for a little while. Did you find it? He said you would.”

Troy said that? “Yeah, I guess I did.” She grinned for effect, and for once, the expression didn’t feel foreign on her face.

“Oh, my goodness,” Anna said, coming into the kitchen. “Would you look at you two!”

“Auntie Cam did it, honest!”

Anna looked doubtful, so Cam saved her niece. “It’s true. All me. Sorry.”

Anna started looking at her with the same speculative glare as her daughter, so Camryn turned and filled the last muffin tray for the oven, then began placing the finished muffins in a bowl. After setting them on the table, she poured herself a cup of coffee and turned to Anna, who was wiping batter off Emily’s face while grinning.

“Anna, would you mind taking that last batch out when the timer goes off? I’m going to sit out on the patio for awhile.”

“Sure,” she said, looking at her as if addressing a stranger. “You okay, Cam? Perhaps a shower or…more sleep?”

Camryn shrugged. “Later maybe.”

Jackie, one of the Hortons’ staff, came in the back door and set her keys down on the counter. She glanced around the kitchen, then paid particularly close attention to Camryn. “You made breakfast?”

“Emily and I did, yes. Do you mind? I couldn’t sleep.”

She smiled, waving her hand. “Of course not. I’ll just…clean up, then.” She looked around the kitchen as if expecting a clan of cockroaches to waltz by.

Camryn loved to cook, and she usually wasn’t this messy about it. Even though it looked like she got caught in a Duncan Hines explosion, the kitchen was pretty clean. “There’s only the muffin pans and the mixing bowl to wash.” Camryn smiled at Emily. “Everything else got on us.” She looked back at Jackie. “Would you like help?”

“Oh no. Thank you.” The look on her face pleaded,
please don’t
.

Anna tossed the washcloth in the sink. “I’ll take Emily upstairs for a bath.”

Jackie got to work on the pans, so Camryn slid the patio door on its rail and stepped outside with her coffee. Watching a pink sunrise over the horizon, she sat down and took a deep breath. Another first for her.

A quiet mind.

The house was so far back from the main road that there wasn’t a car to be heard. A woodpecker tapped in the distance. A whippoorwill called out, the sound oddly relaxing. She was used to noise. Car horns. Irate morning commuters. At the very least, church bells from down the street when in Milwaukee. She didn’t know whether to find the quiet peaceful or disturbing.

Her dad came outside twenty minutes later. He halted before reaching a nearby chair, staring at the caked batter in her hair and on her face.

She shrugged. “I ran out of soap.”

His mouth hung open. Then he laughed and sat down next to her. He took a cautious sip of coffee and glanced at the mountains. “What are you doing out here without a book or a laptop?”

“Just sitting.”

“Did you have a fight with Troy?”

“No.”

“Nana? What did she say now?”

Camryn smiled, looking at his bald head and narrow face. “Nothing, Dad. I’m just sitting.”

“Never known you to just sit.”

She drank the last of her coffee, pretending not to notice him staring at her.

“You know, Camryn, one Easter Sunday, you must have been nine or ten, your mother dressed you in one of those fluffy pink dresses for church. Everyone said how beautiful you looked. They gushed over you. You stomped your foot and screamed. You claimed you didn’t want to be beautiful, you wanted to be smart.”

She didn’t remember this at all. Furthermore, she was wondering what this had to do with just sitting outside. “And?”

When her dad looked at her, she had to catch her breath. He looked lost. Ashamed. “And I didn’t understand how to tell you that you could be both. Smart
and
beautiful. You were so adamant, so insulted, that we never dared bring it up again. Every once in a while we’d say you looked nice, but you’d get this look on your face like we’d hurt you. Before long, we just stopped saying it.”

Her fingers had gone numb, her heart rate slower than molasses in winter. “What are you getting at, Dad?”

His gaze met hers. “I never should’ve stopped saying it. I think you misunderstood our intentions. You
were
beautiful. And smart. You still are, always were. But now, you don’t know that anymore, do you?” He shook his head. “I’m very sorry.”

Her mouth trembled open, his face blurring before her eyes as tears formed. “Dad?”

Rising, he looked around, patted his pockets, and then settled his gaze back on her. “That’s all I wanted to say. I wanted you to know.” He checked his watch. “Do you know if the Brewers won?”

She laughed, wiping the tears away. “I don’t know.”

Nodding, he went to head inside. Before hitting the door, he paused, but didn’t turn. “I’ve never seen you look more beautiful than right now, covered in baking…whatnot and wearing pajamas. A smile looks good on you.” He turned fully to face her. “Do we have Troy to thank for that?”

No words formed, so she just stared at him as he saluted her with a coffee cup and went in.

Blowing out a breath, she sat back in her chair. She’d told Troy that people don’t change. It was something she firmly believed in. So why was she having long, deep midnight conversations and painting herself with muffin batter? Why was her family making a big deal of how she was behaving? It wasn’t so different from her usual self, was it?

Troy was making her do things, say things, feel things she normally wouldn’t. No man had her smiling first thing in the morning, looking forward to bed at night just to see what evil, funny idea he had in store next. She was finding herself thinking about him when he wasn’t around, wanting his opinion on things.

As far back as she could remember, she’d always cared about Troy. But now she wanted to hold his hand and kiss away the pain. Make love every waking second. She’d told him things last night she wasn’t even sure she was aware of. She was positive he never talked about his father with anyone. What had changed? Where was this coming from?

Troy still hadn’t told her what this list was about, but it was shifting things, not just between them, but inside her. He was making her… happy.

Swiftly, she stood and headed inside before she allowed herself to dream. Dreams and wishes were dangerous. They allowed a person illusions, uprooting facts and replacing them with empty, unrealistic desires. Dreams weren’t any more real than the idea she and Troy could be more.

When she opened the door, the family froze, staring at her as she entered the kitchen. Okay, she was a big mess. In more ways than one. “I’ll go shower,” she mumbled.

“Hold on,” Fisher said, closing the fridge. He set his glass of orange juice down on the counter. “What’s going on with you and Troy?”

She looked around at the faces in the room, frozen solid as her skin prickled like tiny ice shards. Did they know this was all a lie, and if so, how?
Oh, please. No, no
. They only had two more days to get through. Just two and everything would be back to normal. Bleak, boring and normal. She looked at Heather, but her sister only shrugged.

“What do you mean?” Camryn asked, hoping the tremor wasn’t obvious to everyone.

“Troy came downstairs this morning claiming he wasn’t hungry and just wanted to go for a run.”

Camryn looked at her brother in shock. Did her gesture with the note and muffin upset Troy? She wanted him to wake up smiling, like she had. Wanted to do something nice to say…

“A run?” she repeated, not understanding the information.

“That’s what
I
said,” Nana claimed. “People should only run if they’re being chased.”

“A run,” Fisher confirmed.

Her mother set down her muffin in front of her at the table. “I don’t see what the big deal is. Does he usually go jogging in the morning?”

“I…” Well, she wasn’t sure. It wasn’t as if they were really dating. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Tetaka Myrtle asked. “Aren’t you his girlfriend, Camryn?”

They looked at her, accusing, questioning. This whole thing was going to blow up in their faces. The family would spend the rest of the weekend screaming and belittling her for not only lying, but for hurting Troy. She was hoping to be back in Milwaukee when this “breakup” was to occur. That was the plan.