Nate

Nate knocked on the front door at Camille’s house early the next morning. His dad called, thinking it might not be the best idea to show up unannounced with news like this, but no one answered the phone. Nate insisted they go over anyway.

“I don’t like you missing school,” his dad grumbled glancing at his watch again.

“Dad, some things are more important than school.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you try explaining that to your mother if the dean calls her.”

Nate knocked on the door again. He could hear Poo going ballistic on the other side. There was no way the LaRue’s didn’t hear him.

Finally the door creaked open and an unfamiliar face peered out. “May I help you?”

Nate smiled politely at the old woman. “Uh, yes. I’m Nathan Hawthorne and this is my dad, Charles. We were hoping to talk to Camille and her parents. We’re sorry to drop by, but it’s important.”

“Oh I’m so sorry, dear. They’re not home.”

Dread filled Nate. Not home? Camille hadn’t looked well enough to be anywhere but in bed when he’d last seen her. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”

The woman gave Nate a sympathic look. “No I’m sorry I don’t. They just asked me to stop by and check on their dog while they were gone.”

“Where did they go?”

“They left for the hospital last night.”

* * *

Nate’s legs bobbed like pistons in the hospital waiting room. He’d been there for two hours and didn’t know anything more than Camille was in the ICU. The nurse wouldn’t let him back since he wasn’t family.

Nate couldn’t stop his mind from racing. He was terrified that this was his fault. What if he’d upset Cami so much that she’d accelerated her timeline? If she’d tried to kill herself and he hadn’t done anything to stop her . . .

He was sick to his stomach at the thought. Nate’s chest felt hollow and tight. He vaguely wondered if maybe he was having a heart attack. At least he was in the best place possible, should his anxiety get the best of him.

His dad’s heavy hand clamped down on his jittery knee. “Nate, take a breath. Worrying yourself to death isn’t doing Camille any favors.”

“Do you think you could try talking to the nurse again?” Nate asked. “Maybe we should tell them what Cami said she was going to do.”

Nate’s dad eyed him sternly. “Nate, if you think she tried to harm herself you need to tell me right now.”

“I don’t know anymore than I told you, Dad. I just know she was upset when I left her last night.”

His dad sighed. “Let me go talk to the nurse again.”

Nate checked his phone for lack of something better to do. He kept flipping through photos of him and Camille. She looked so alive. For someone who claimed to be tired of fighting, she certainly hid it well. She’d said he made her feel better. But could he really have helped Cami that much?

Nate studied her smile in each photograph as if trying to spot the lie—by the river, at Jackson Square, on his skateboard, eating beignets, watching the sunset, making donuts at Sweet Thang’s.

Sweet Thang’s! Did Ronnie know?

Nate was dialing the number before he even knew what he was going to say. Of course Ronnie knew. He was a self-proclaimed psychic! And he’d known Camille forever. He was probably her best friend. Nate didn’t know if he was more hurt that Ronnie didn’t tell him, or grateful for the time he’d allowed them to have together. Because now that Nate knew, there was no going back.

Ronnie picked up after four rings. “Sweet Thang’s, this is Ronnie.”

“Ronnie? It’s Nate.”

The phone was silent for a beat. When Ronnie spoke again all the joy had vanished from his voice. “Is it time?”

“I don’t know. I’m at the hospital. They won’t let me see her.”

“They will, sugar.”

“Ronnie . . . I have to ask you something.”

“I’ll save you the trouble, bebe. There’s some things even I can’t see.”

“But you said—”

Ronnie interrupted. “I told you it wouldn’t be easy, Nathaniel. But that it’d be worth it. Did I lie?”

Nate took a deep breath. “No.”

“Sometimes love means letting go.”

“But I’m not ready.”

“We never are, sugar. But keep the faith. I think our girl’s stronger than even she knows.”

“Can you come here?”

“Already on my way.”

Nate hung up. It was strange talking to Ronnie on the phone—he somehow knew the questions before Nate got them out of his mouth. It was like he had a cheat sheet into Nate’s mind and it unsettled him. He pocketed the phone and looked around for his dad. He was standing near the desk talking to a doctor, who was taking notes on a clipboard. Nate’s dad caught his eye and waved him over.

“This is my son, Nathan Hawthorne,” his dad said introducing him to Dr. Hamilton.

“Nathan, would you mind having a conversation with me?” Dr. Hamilton asked.

“Sure.”

The doctor led Nate and his dad to a private meeting room just beyond the waiting room. When they entered, Camille’s father and a police officer were there. Nate stopped short and his dad walked into him.

“Nathan. Mr. Hawthorne. This is Detective Alva. And I trust you know Mr. LaRue.”

Nate nodded, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt such a sudden flash of heat that he thought he might pass out. The room went white and his dad steadied him.

“Please,” Nate managed to sputter. “Just tell me. Is she dead?”

Detective Alva spoke first. “No, son. Have a seat. We were hoping you could tell us what Camille LaRue said to you in regards to taking her own life?”

Nathan stilled.

Camille’s dad reached across the table and took his hand. “Nate, you’re not in any trouble. And Cami’s doing as well as we can hope. But anything you could tell us would be helpful.”

* * *

After Nate finished spilling his guts about anything that might have endangered Camille, which included telling her father about her planned suicide, their swim in the Mississippi, dancing in a frigid rainstorm and having sex in the back seat of her car, Nate was certain that even if Camille did pull through, he’d never be allowed to see her again.

Satisfied with Nate’s testimony, the detective finally excused everyone from the room. Nate hadn’t thought he could feel much worse, but he couldn’t shake the guilt that his reckless behavior had caused Camille’s hospitalization. And he still didn’t know what exactly was wrong with her. Everyone in the meeting had tossed around medical words that he didn’t understand.

Nate rushed to catch up to the doctor as they were leaving the small meeting room. “Dr. Hamilton. Can you tell me . . . was this my fault?”

The doctor gave Nate a sympathetic smile. “While over exertion and stress can exacerbate the condition, her coronary artery spasm was most likely the cause of years of chemotherapy.”

“Coronary artery spasm? Like a heart attack?” Again, Nate felt like he was having his own heart attack.

“It sounds much worse than it is. As far as heart issues go, it’s minor.”

“But she’s in the ICU.”

“As you know Camille has stage four non-Hodgkin lymphoma. As a result, her immune system is rather compromised. She’s in ICU as a precaution.”

“So she’s okay?”

“We’re monitoring things, but her prognosis looks good for now.”

“Do you think I can see her?”

“I’m afraid that’s up to her parents.”

Cami

Camille opened her eyes to the subdued glow of the hospital room. Her mother was sitting in a chair next to her bed. Camille tried to sit up, but remembered the leads attached to her chest. She was sore, but her breathing was coming easier.

“Hey, honey. How are you feeling?” her mother asked. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Camille’s mother was in full hover-mode. She always got that way when they were in the hospital, never leaving her bedside, smothering her with questions, fluffing perfectly good pillows, repositioning blankets, requesting second and third opinions.

“Can we go home yet?” Camille asked.

“Not yet, honey. They’re just making sure you’re stable.”

“I’ve been stable since this morning, Mom. I just want to go home.” Camille had a suspicion that there was something her mother wasn’t telling her. “Did you remember to ask Ronnie to come over to take care of Poo?”

“I asked Rene to stop by instead.”

“Mom! You know Poo hates Rene.”

Her mother waved her off. “She’s our neighbor, it’s more convenient.”

“Did you at least tell Ronnie I wasn’t coming in for my shift today?”

“He knows.”

Camille didn’t like the way her mother spoke with such finality. Something was definitely up. “Mom?”

“Honey, please stop worrying. All you need to do is rest.”

Before Camille could object, her father walked into the room.

“Hey, sweetheart. Are you up for some visitors?”

Her mother shot her father a warning glare.

“Who’s here?” Camille asked.

“Ronnie and Nate.”

Camille’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Nate’s name. It was echoed on the heart monitor by a loud beep.

Her mother stood abruptly. “Ray, we talked about this.”

“Josie, can I speak to you in the hall for a moment?”

Camille watched her parents step into the hall. She read her mother’s expression through the glass walls. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her mouth a firm line. Her father’s body language was the opposite, his hand gestures pleading and open.

A few minutes later, her parents walked back in as a united front, pretending Camille hadn’t just witnessed their silent argument through the glass hospital walls.

Her father spoke first. “Camille, we have to ask you something.”

“Okay . . .”

“Did you try to kill yourself yesterday?”

“What?” The heart monitor spiked again. “Why would you say that?”

“I just had a conversation with Nate and his father.”

“And a police officer,” her mother added. “Camille this is serious. Why would you tell that boy you were going to kill yourself?”

Camille was speechless. Betrayal roared through her veins like a tidal wave, but it receded just as quickly. What had she expected? It wasn’t fair for her to leave that burden on Nate. He’d have to tell someone eventually. At least now that it was out in the open Camille could relax. It was taking so much energy to lie to her parents.

“Look, I’m sorry I said that to Nate, but I meant it.”

Her mother looked appalled. “Why didn’t you tell us you felt this way?”

“Because you never listen to me, Mom. You push and push for all these treatments and I’ve done everything for you. But we all know this is it. There’s nothing else we can do. And all the drugs and chemo make me feel like I’m already dead. I just want to enjoy the last few months I have left. Is that really so bad?”

“Yes! Camille, you do not get to give up. I know this is a tough diagnosis but you can’t behave like this. You can’t just try to kill yourself because you had a fight with a boy. You—”

“I didn’t try to kill myself! I had a heart attack, because my body is tired.”

The monitor beeped faster.

“Well you’ll have to excuse us if we don’t believe you, Camille. You’ve been lying to us for months about your medication and treatments. And now you invite this boy into your life with all these bad habits.”

“Nate is not the problem, Mom! You are. I’m done. I don’t know what part of that you don’t understand. I’m going to graduate high school and then I’m done. I’m sorry. But I’ve given you everything I can.”

“And what about what we’ve given, Camille? Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“I’m sorry, Mom. But this is my decision.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Camille’s mother stormed from the room and her father moved to go after her, but Camille called him back.

“Dad?”

“Yeah, honey.”

She felt bad about the exhaustion she saw in her father’s eyes. She knew she was putting him in a terrible spot. But she didn’t have a lot of time. “Do you think I could talk to Nate?”

He smiled tightly. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart.”