The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (29 page)

"No, you're a lot more than that."

"Don't you get what I'm telling you, Ryan? I'm telling you that I am a criminal type. I am a perp. I am one of those people you have to deal with in your job."

"Don't be ridiculous, Camilla."

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out the window for a while. Didn't he get it?

"Tell me about your father."

So she did, spilling all of it. The ridiculous, grandiose plans he'd come up with that always ended up with people getting hurt and him getting in trouble. She told him about the awful time she was in high school and her dad made headlines because he tried to get into Vacaville.

"Vacaville? The mental facility?"

"Yeah. I was so embarrassed. He was giving interviews to the local paper from his jail cell, claiming he heard voices telling him to run a ponzi scheme. It was all a plan of his to avoid prison by being declared criminally insane. Didn't work, of course. None of his plans ever worked, in the long run."

"So was he ever out of trouble when you were a kid?"

She thought back. "There were a lot of charges. A lot of different times. Sometimes he'd get off. Sometimes he'd be gone for weeks, or months. Then it was just me and my mother, stuck in some small town near the jail he was being held in. Then we'd move somewhere else when he got out, and he'd promise my mother he'd stay out of trouble. Then he'd get tired of working all day at a carpentry job and he'd plan some grand scheme to make a big killing."

"Like what?"

"Ponzi schemes, like I said. Investment scams. One time he pretended he was psychic and tried to get a neighbor lady to give him money to communicate beyond the grave with her dead husband. My mom was so embarrassed she got a job as a cashier so she could pay the lady back and keep her family from pressing charges."

"He's a lot like Dennis."

"Yeah. Only not as good at it as Dennis was. It's amazing somebody didn't throw him in a freezer," she added bitterly.

She bowed her head. Placed both palms at her sides, pressing them against the car seat. It was warm to the touch. But she felt cold. Chilled to the bone.

"No wonder," he said.

"No wonder what?"

"No wonder you were a perfect victim for Dennis. No wonder you let everyone else's opinion hurt you. No wonder you don't have the pride you should have in yourself."

That wasn't what she'd been expecting. "You don't hate me?"

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Camilla! That's what I’m talking about. You aren't a criminal. You didn't steal from the neighbor lady. You didn't run the ponzi scheme. Can't you see that you were just a little kid?"

He stopped speaking like something had choked him. They each turned away to look out their side of the car. He just didn't get it. How it felt to be the daughter of a guy like her father.

Slowly as the miles swept by her frustration at him cooled, and she began to realize he did hear what she'd said, but somehow he didn't seem to think it made a difference. He really didn't understand how much this changed everything. "I shouldn't have asked you to come," she mumbled.

"Why not? I can help you get through this. I know it's tough."

"Don't patronize me. You don't understand."

"What don't I understand? Wait. Are you saying he was abusive? Is that what you mean?"

"He was no more abusive to me than Dennis was to Oliver."

"Dennis didn't hurt Oliver. You've said all along he loved his son."

"Love is more than being nice to a child! It's giving them stability, teaching them confidence, helping them become whole adults!" She hit the dashboard with her fist. "He did nothing for me!"

"I just got that repaired." he said mildly. "This is an antique. Be careful with it."

"I’m sorry."

"I’m teasing, Camilla. I had no idea. This is why Oliver—"

"Why he what?"

"I was going to say why he means so much to you, but that's not fair. I know you love him." He glanced over at her, those blue eyes making her uncomfortable, like they had when she'd first met him and felt the cool assessment in every look he gave her. He was still stuck thinking he was going to protect her. That she was some helpless victim, not part of a terrible family with a legacy of crime and a destiny to repeat her father's patterns.

"Dennis read me like a book, Ryan. Like you said when we first met. I don't know how he knew. But he knew I was like Oliver. I identified with him. I knew what he needed. He needs what I never got."

"Where's your mother in all this? Was she also...?"

"A criminal? No. Just my dad and me."

He nodded. "I see. When was the first time you were arrested?"

The question pulled her up short. He assumed she had a long history of arrests, too. She had so identified with her dad that she blended her own life story with his. What was she thinking? She had come clean to him about her father's prison record, but she was still in denial here. She wasn't dealing with the real truth, the truth behind the bare facts. Of course Ryan didn't understand. Of course he thought she was some habitual criminal. That was how she was describing herself. She laughed out loud.

"The arrest in San Jose after Dennis ripped me off is my very first brush with the law, Ryan."

"Then I don't get—"

"Of course you don't. I keep talking about my family like I've inherited a disease from them. My Secret Shame, like some ridiculous family curse." She laughed again, realizing how dumb that was once she said it out loud—brought it out of its dark corner in her mind and pulled it into the bright daylight. "I'm no more of a criminal than you are, Ryan. But all my life, my mother told me I was destined to be like my father. She blamed my dad, me, the neighbors, the police, the whole world for her unhappiness. But the whole world didn't take her seriously. Unfortunately, I did."

"You were just a kid."

"Like Oliver is."

"Aha." He paused. "I'm sorry."

"And I'm sorry I lied to you, Ryan. It wasn't fair."

"What did you lie about?"

"Haven't you been listening? They may have been lies of omission, but I was still dishonest with you. I made you think I was someone I wasn't."

"Really? So I don't know who you are? You didn't work your way through college?"

"Of course I did."

"You have a degree in accounting."

"Yeah."

"You were hired by Cordova Computing?"

"You know that."

"Felix Cordova gave you his personal recommendation."

She nodded.

"You held my hand when I, a total stranger, spilled my guts to you about my stepdaughter's death, and you tried to make me feel better."

"That wasn't anything."

"It was to me." He looked ahead. "We're coming up on the city now."

She nodded.

"Robin's actually a bit shy," he said quietly.

"Robin? Miss soul sister herself?"

"She had a rough time before she came to Pajaro Bay, and she's only slowly started making friends."

Camilla thought about that. "I thought I was the shy one."

"She needed your friendship as much as you need hers."

"Oh." She pondered that for a while. She never imagined Robin was anything but the confident, sophisticated woman she appeared to be. Maybe Robin—maybe lots of people—put on a brave front to keep from showing their vulnerability. Maybe it wasn't just something she did.

"You agreed to adopt Oliver," he continued.

"You know all this, Ryan."

"And you kept on working hard to take care of him even when you found out his father had ripped you off."

"Of course. What was I going to do? Dump him by the side of the road with a dollar for bus fare?"

He looked out the windshield and she watched him for a while.

"Well?" she finally said.

"Well, what? I'm waiting, Camilla."

"Waiting for what, Ryan?"

"Waiting for you to explain how you're not honest, and kind, and good, and smart."

She sat back in the seat, stunned. She'd never really thought about it. She just knew, the day she turned 18 and left home, that she was going to pretend to be someone else. Someone who was everything she wasn't—classy and smart, successful and good. Not her father's daughter, the one cops looked at pityingly when she flubbed the alibi that was supposed to keep her dad out of prison. Not her mother's daughter, an "embarrassment," a "disappointment," and all those other insults hurled at her through the years. Someone with all the qualities she imagined other people had. Someone different from what she was destined to be.

"You aren't pretending those things, Camilla," he said gently. "That's who you really are. It's the other stuff—the con man's daughter, the other insults you give yourself—those are the lies."

~*~

At the prison Ryan watched her go through the process for visiting—the paperwork, the search, the standing in long lines to take her turn. Through it all she had the same resigned look the other visitors had. All these women, patiently waiting to see their husbands, fathers, boyfriends. All the men back there in the prison with their screwed-up lives. All the women and children out here standing by them. Even though they didn't deserve it. Even though not one of the perps in there probably deserved a minute of these women's time.

He was sick of the wreckage criminals left in their victims' lives. All these women and children, their lives put on hold for men who couldn't get it together.

He waited with her until her turn came. She clenched her purse so tightly her knuckles turned white. He wondered if her father had any idea that his adoring daughter had changed—that she wasn't coming to bring him presents and listen to his complaints about prison life, but was here to finally tell him off for all the damage he'd done to her.

He hoped this confrontation would be cathartic for her. He wanted her to stop feeling so bad about herself. He felt like such a jerk for not seeing the signs earlier. He'd thought her embarrassment was just the common guilt he often saw in victims of crime. They thought if they'd been more alert, acted more quickly, they could have avoided being victimized. He'd talked many victims through that mistaken idea.

But Camilla's problem was different. She had been victimized since birth by a jerk who had been a lousy, irresponsible father to her. He wished he had known that earlier. Maybe he could have saved her some pain.

They finally got their turn to go in to the meeting area. He felt the tension in Camilla's body ratchet up as they went in. Her body was radiating energy, and he watched her closely, worried that the stress might be too much.

Because her father had gotten himself into segregation, there'd be no hugs and sitting together during their visit. Good thing, since he imagined hugging the jerk was the last thing Camilla wanted to do.

She sat in front of the plexiglass barrier and waited for her father to come in and sit opposite her.

He watched her, wanting so much to help her, to fix it, but felt helpless to make it okay. A father in lockdown because he couldn't even stay out of trouble in prison. How could he fix that?

When the guy came in, Ryan was surprised. Of course, what was he expecting? The guy was old—looked much older than he must be. After all the years of prison life, he had that prison pallor, that sideways shift to the eyes as he unconsciously watched for danger sneaking up on him from all angles.

The blue denim prison garb hung off his body. He didn't look well, and Ryan wondered if he had health problems. Too bad. He deserved whatever pain he was in after the trouble he'd caused.

Ryan waited, standing a few feet behind where Camilla sat, his arms crossed and his stare boring into the jerk.

After a quick, curious glance in his direction, her father sat down opposite Camilla and picked up the phone.

She picked up the phone on her side. Ryan waited to hear what Camilla had to say to the man who'd caused her so much pain for so many years.

"Hi, sweetheart," he said to her. The loud, static-filled voice was easily heard on this side of the barrier.

Camilla's back was to Ryan, so he couldn't see her face. He wished he could, because he wanted to be ready to intervene if she got too emotional.

"Hi, pop," she said. "How you doin'?"

He shrugged. "Thanks for comin' to visit the old man."

"Do you need anything, pop?"

He shook his head. "The stamps are good. They got me in the hole 23/7, so there's not much I need."

"I got you a few candy bars from vending. The guard'll give 'em to you."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, kid."

"How did you get yourself put in the hole, pop?" Her voice sounded sharp, accusing.

"Just a misunderstanding." He shrugged, resigned. "I'm just a bad apple, kid."

"No, you're not. How can you think that?"

"I was born bad. It's just the way it is. I was in juvenile hall before I was old enough to smoke."

Jerk was trying to make her feel sorry for him, after all he'd done to her? Ryan saw how hopeless it would be for her to reach her father. She wasn't going to get through to the guy.

Like he'd never been able to get through to his own father. The anger in him made him ball up his fists. He never thought about his own father, unless Leah brought it up. Why did watching Camilla make him think about it now?

But Camilla wasn't sounding angry with her father. How could she not let it out? He wanted to see her rant and rave at the old man, let him know the damage he'd done.

But she put her palm up to the plexiglass, and he put his on the other side. "I made a mess, I know," her father said. "But you're doing okay now?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. I've started my own accounting business."

His expression changed then. If Ryan didn't know the guy was a jerk, he would've described him as a father glowing with pride.

"I knew you could do it, kid."

"Thanks, pop."

Camilla told him about Oliver, about the Honeymoon Cottage and her repairs, and he gave her advice on adding insulation, replacing worn roofing. It would have been a normal conversation between father and daughter except for the circumstances.