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Shirlene
Ever since our ride out to Cape Henlopen today, I sense Cam’s lowered a barrier when it comes to me. I thought I’d put him straight about my feelings—a relationship would be a disaster—but he set the dinner table tonight with his grandmother’s good china from the buffet drawer, as if he was celebrating something. When Hattie says she’s taking Arlene for a stroll on the boardwalk after dinner, I’m concerned about being alone with Cam. I don’t want to argue again, and I sure want to avoid any discussion about us being involved, so I try to make small talk while he and I clean up.
“These plates with the tiny roses are lovely.” I stack the last one in the dishwasher.
“My grandmother said they were her mother’s. Chase and I were under strict orders not to mess around with them.” He dries his hands.
“They must be as old as my china,” I say. Cameron has to understand I’m old enough to be his grandmother. In fact, I’m likely older than she would be.
Cam leans against the counter next to me. He smells fresh from the shower he took before dinner. “Grandma insisted my brother and I take turns doing the dishes. Chase hated it. Thought it wasn’t a man’s job.”
Chase sounds like a piece of work, to use the kids’ language. I hope Hattie doesn’t stay out too long. I store the salt and pepper shakers away in the cabinet and begin straightening the spices so the labels face front, as Stan liked them.
“We weren’t brought up that way, but Chase developed his own opinion on things. One time, he broke a dish, and he buried it in the sand. Grandma never knew until she found it washed up on the beach.” Cam laughs. “My happiest memories of my brother are from here in Rehoboth Beach. Otherwise, it’s pretty dismal.”
“Why was it happier here?” I close the cabinet door.
“Grandma ran a tight ship. She established more structure than Chase had at home. I’m sure if he’d lived with her full-time, things would have been better for him.” Cam lowers his head. “I wish I’d done more for him.”
“You were a kid. What could you have done?”
“I’m a lot older. I should have forced him to listen to me.” He begins tapping the heel of his right foot.
“You aren’t responsible for your brother.”
“What if he ends up permanently homeless or sick or both?”
“Then he’ll be homeless. He’s made choices. He’ll continue to make them.”
“My parents never treated him fairly.” Cam paces in front of the sink.
“How is that your fault?”
“I was the golden boy. I did well in school and sports. My parents had no time for him.”
“This is survivor’s guilt. You survived your parents’ mess, and he didn’t. If Chase were a kid, that would be something else, but he’s an adult.”
Cam takes a bottle of ginger ale out of the refrigerator. “Barely. He’s only twenty-two.”
His statement irks me. After all, my husband was fighting the Germans when he was Chase’s age. I was married and had a one-year-old boy by twenty-two, and I was only a few years older when Danny was killed. Oh, Danny. My guilt is constantly simmering beneath the surface. I don’t want to think about that now. I need to stay focused on Cam’s brother.
I pace over to hand him a glass. “Chase is accountable for himself. The only person you’re responsible for is you.” I’m standing too close to Cam, so I move to the stove. “And Arlene. When she’s grown, she’s her own responsibility.”
Cam’s eye’s narrow. “Isn’t that something.”
“What do you mean?”
Cam sets his soda and glass on the counter and strides to my side of the room. “You felt responsible for Stan. Still do even though he’s gone.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I sense there’s more going on than grief, Shirlene.”
My jaw tightens as he comes perilously close to the truth. “Stan and my situation is different from yours and Chase’s.”
“Why?” He leans in toward me.
“It just is.”
“Not good enough.”
Cameron can’t begin to understand the damage done to a marriage when a child dies. The guilt that lives coiled in my stomach hisses and slithers up into my throat. I begin coughing.
“What’s wrong?” Cam’s voice is filled with alarm. “What can I do?”
Nausea rises in my chest. I’m embarrassed to throw up in front of him, so I rush out of the kitchen and into the little powder room under the stairs. I avoid looking in the mirror and splash cold water on my face for a several minutes. Finally, the queasiness subsides. I dry myself with a hand towel and find Cam waiting outside.
He’s holding a glass of water for me. “If you’re not ready to talk about it, I respect that.”
“I’m going for a walk.” I leave Cam with the glass in his hand.
I find a nearly deserted beach. Most people have headed home for dinner. The few stragglers are blocks away. I tramp through the sand to the water, picking up several small stones on the way. The breeze whips my hair. Herring gulls reluctantly move from their repose on the sand and out of my way. One or two complain as they shift. I palm one good-sized stone. It’s white and smooth. I hurl it into the waves. I throw one after another as tears stream down my face. I can’t keep the story of my boy from Cam any longer. Telling it will be a relief. It could make me more vulnerable to Cam and my growing feelings for him, but I’m so alone.
I sense Cam coming down the beach. Instead of rushing away, I run to him. He envelops me in his arms. He feels solid and sure. I melt into the warm comfort of him and cry.
“It’s probably too soon for you to process everything with Stan’s passing,” Cam whispers in my ear.
“No. It’s fine. I want to talk. I need to tell you what happened to Danny.”
He releases me. “Oh. Should we go back inside?”
“It’s better out here.” I need space to breathe. I pick up more stones, carry them a good distance above the high-water line, and dump them. Without asking why, Cam begins collecting stones too. As we continue to wander the beach, gathering pebbles and bringing them to the pile, he waits until I’m ready to talk.
“Danny died because of me.” I examine one particularly pretty stone. “I used to drink. Well, you know that. But I was completely sober the day I was taking him with me to the store. He was only four, with rusty-brown hair and the cutest rosy cheeks. We were singing. We didn’t have car seats back then. He was right next to me in the front passenger seat. His voice was angelic. I turned to look at him and missed the light changing to red. I drove into the intersection, and a delivery truck came from the right and hit us broadside.”
I release the stone into the heap. It makes a sharp sound as it hits the others. “Danny was killed instantly. At least he didn’t suffer, but he was crushed into my lap. My pelvis was broken. I knew my arms were also broken, because it hurt so much to hold him, but I kept kissing his bloody face and talking to him.”
I search for more stones. “Stan assumed I had been drinking. I mean, who drives through a red light?” Cam keeps pace with me as he wipes his eyes. “I told him I was sober, but he didn’t believe me. I said I was sorry a million times. He wouldn’t forgive me. But he couldn’t imagine his life without me. So we kept going. I wanted to be pregnant again, but Stan slept on the sofa.” I add more stones to the mound. “Eventually, he did come back to my bed, but I never conceived. I didn’t deserve another child.” A hard, biting laugh escapes my mouth. “Talk about survivor’s guilt. Why couldn’t the truck have been coming from the opposite direction? It would have killed me. My child might have lived.”
I notice several more pebbles and reach for one. I cut my finger on a piece of hidden shell and put pressure on it with my thumb.
“Just before Stan died, he confessed that he’d secretly had a vasectomy.”
Cameron gasps.
“It was the only way he could return to our marriage as we’d known it, but he couldn’t trust me ever again with another child.” I have avoided eye contact with Cam, but now I stare directly into his concerned eyes. “Stan asked me to forgive him, but before I was ready to do that, he died. I wish I’d lied and said the words he needed to hear.”
Cam speaks for the first time. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
“Thank you.”
“Can you forgive Stan?”
“Not yet.” I pick up a small rock and heave it into the sand. It makes a dull thud. “Damn him. Selfish bastard. It was an accident, Stan. An accident!” I scream.
Cameron takes my shaking hands in his. “It’s going to take time to work through these feelings, but for your own sake, I hope you can.”
I nod and look away. I’m getting too close to this young man. I wish I hadn’t unloaded on him. I’m a complete mess, and aside from our age difference, I’m in no condition to start a relationship.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“I need a break from all this.”
As we move away from the beach, Cam says, “May I ask a question?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a plan for all those stones?”
“Yes. I’m making a labyrinth.”