Camille was determined to move forward, despite how terrible she felt. She and Jackson busied themselves with work and the mountain of details to complete the remodel of their new place. If she tried hard enough, she could make herself feel happy. After all, her life was nearly perfect. She was kicking ass in the career she loved, she had the man of her dreams, she was surrounded by people who loved her. Hell, even her house was going to be a showpiece. If only she could stop feeling like everything was tainted by secrets, betrayal, and disgrace.

“I think we should go away. Like we talked about before… everything.”

She knew he was only trying to help. To distract her from the impenetrable darkness she couldn’t shake. “It’s not a good time, Jackson. We need to be accessible to the contractors and designers, and we’re both busy with work.”

He stopped her from rummaging through a box full of books and took her hands. “None of that matters right now, love. We’ll delay the move. Or we’ll take our chances that they’ll get it right. It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does.” It needed to matter. Or else she’d be stuck with all the other thoughts she didn’t want to have.

“No, Camille. It doesn’t. You’re hurting. You’re grieving. You’re shocked. You’re-”

She looked directly at him. “I’m not going anywhere, Jackson. I’m not going to run away from this. I’m not going to be afraid. I’m going to keep going, like I’ve always done. You might have noticed that I’m pretty good at it by now.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of your competence.” He dropped her hands. “I love you. I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

And then she encountered an expression she had never seen on that perfect face. Defeat.

---

Camille arrived home from work, after three days of awkward silence in her small house, looking forward to having some time on her own. She had urged Jackson to attend one of his numerous social events with his sister instead of her. She opened the door, already imagining the solitary delight of tucking herself into bed and not having to talk about a damn thing.

Her small ivory couch held two large dark-haired men with the same face. Jackson and Jonathan King stood up at the same time. She gripped the door handle, all of a sudden overtaken by exhaustion.

She turned toward them after closing the door. “Gentlemen.”

“Camille. I hope you don’t mind my surprise visit. I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

“It’s alright, Dad.”

Camille looked at Jackson and wondered why she hadn’t been given a chance to answer. “I’m glad you’re here, Mr. King. I have something for you.”

She returned from the bedroom and handed the slip of paper to the perplexed man. It took a single glance for him to recognize his own writing. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re never going to cash that check. We accepted it just to be polite. You might as well take it back.” You’re not going to be able to buy my forgiveness.

Jonathan turned to his son.

Camille crossed her arms.

Jonathan broke the standoff. “I see you’re still upset. Perhaps that’s understandable. You’ve been through quite a lot recently.”

“Please don’t presume to understand what I’ve been through.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I couldn’t. But I’d like to share something with you. About what I’ve been through.”

The older man sat down, but both Camille and Jackson remained standing.

“I had two secrets that I thought I would take with me to the grave. And they’ve both been revealed. To you. I find that interesting. It seems to me that you think there are secrets all around you, but what I see is the opposite. Secrets falling apart around you.”

That statement added just enough extra heaviness to her leaden body to bring her down onto the nearest seat.

“I know that one day, Camille, you will experience the feeling of protecting your child and maybe your beloved. What I did for Jackson, going against everything I stood for, I would do it again, many times over.”

Jackson put his hand on his father’s shoulder.

“And I can honestly say I would do it for you as well.” He cleared his throat. “I care about you as much as any member of my family. Maybe even moreso. But I suppose that might not be something I should say aloud. Yes, I knew who you were from nearly the moment I met you. I’d been following your family since the trial. It terrified me at first, but then it came to me. This was a gift. This was a chance for me to redeem an act that contributed to another man’s downfall.”

Camille and Jackson looked at him curiously.

“I feel terrible for what happened to your father. To your parents. I feel like my desperate act contributed to the position he surely found himself in. But then you came into our family, and you were the most wonderful person I could imagine. I wanted everything for you. Everything that maybe you hadn’t gotten from your own family. I kept that intention from you. That’s true.”

His gaze never left her face. She looked away.

“Those are my big secrets, Camille. But we all have them. Layers and layers of them. Even when we think we’re being forthright and honest.”

No, no, no, no, no.

He continued. “Maybe I’ve got a few more secrets too. Julian is gay. You are all tiptoeing around it, thinking I can’t handle it. But I’ve known for some time. And I see how that secret is strangling his life. I know I’m old, but I’m not stupid. I mean, I’m pretty sure Bill Stevenson - you know my golf buddy? - I think he’s gay. And-”

Jackson’s arm wrapped around his father’s broad shoulders. “Dad. I think we’re veering off topic here.” Both men laughed.

Camille couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge what she’d seen and heard. Father and son were now the best of buddies. On the same side. If she could have plugged her ears to not hear them, she would have. All she wanted was to bury herself under the covers and hide from all this craziness. She was so very tired.

“That’s what I came to say, my dear Camille. I hope that it has been helpful to you.” He stood up. “Perhaps you see me differently, now. And maybe you don’t like what you see. But it’s still me. The man who treasures you with all his heart.”

She looked up after the click of the door alerted her of his departure. Jackson leaned against the doorjamb. “Will you say something?”

“Your father knows about Julian. That’s pretty funny.”

“Dammit, Camille! Can you please address what just happened?”

“When did you two kiss and make up?”

His gaze dropped. “We’ve been talking. This mess has allowed us to really be honest with each other. It feels like a miracle.”

She glowered at him. “Oh, how nice for you.”

He took two long steps toward her. “Are you angry with me for bringing him here?”

“No.”

“Are you angry with me for something else?”

“Nope.”

“Will you talk to me about what you’re feeling?”

She considered it. There was too much to say and not enough energy to do it. “No.”

He dropped his head into his palm. Anger charred his breath. All the signs she’d come to recognize over the years appeared as he attempted to manage his exasperation.

He looked up. “Do you feel wronged by me or my father for what we did? Or for not having told you sooner?”

She sighed. “No. It had nothing to do with me. I mean, not directly.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Cam. I can’t do this. You’re keeping me at arm’s length. I have no idea what more to do.”

“Don’t do anything. There’s nothing to be done.” Camille knew her words sounded distant. Apathetic, even. She just couldn’t muster the will to make it sound right.

He tilted his head back and groaned to the ceiling. “There’s nothing you don’t know about me. And if there is, it’s because I’ve forgotten or I don’t know about it either. Please don’t shut me out. I’m dying here, Cam.”

“You’re dying? From what?” Bitterness tainted her words, but it wasn’t her intention. She was genuinely curious why he was feeling so hurt.

He walked into the kitchen, opened the highest cabinet above the stove, the one she couldn’t reach, buried his arm in and pulled out a small, dark box.

Shock preceded recognition by several seconds. Not knowing where the energy came from, she was propelled onto her feet. He held out his outstretched arm, with the black velvet box balanced in the center of his palm. “Here’s my most recent secret. I’ve been keeping it for almost two months.”

Her head shook from side to side. A million questions enveloped her. None found their way through, but one. “Why?”

“It’s the most important question I might ask, in my whole life. I don’t want to be unsure about the answer.” He closed his fingers around the tiny box and dropped his arm to his side. “I’m unsure about the answer.”

“I can’t do this now, Jackson. I’m sorry.” She turned toward the bedroom, stepping out of her shoes on the way, pulled the bedding away and slid underneath. The resonant thud of the front door closing, much louder this time, penetrated even the numerous, heavy blankets.

There was no point in holding back or muffling her sobs. The house was empty, just as she had wished.

Not a single one of Camille’s tears was devoted to Jonathan King, who’d been an exemplary influence in her life and whom she’d treated unfairly. Not a single tear was for Jackson King, the love of her life. She’d pushed him away for no other reason than his love made it impossible to keep the pain away. Every single one of her tears were for the one man whose explanation or apology she would never receive: her father.

Not even coffee and aspirin dulled the headache she woke up with. More sleep might have helped, but she was a woman on a mission.

The sun had not completely risen when she got into the car, took a few more sips of coffee, and began the long drive down to the St. Maria Goretti Cemetery.

Her visits had become less and less frequent over the past several years. She could make excuses about being too busy but it wasn’t true. The wound of her parents’ death had just refused to heal. Staying away felt like the only option for moving on.

She found her way instinctively to the large marble statue of the angel hovering over the two headstones. The ground had become overgrown. It had a general look of neglect. Camille got on her knees and wrapped her hand around a clump of dandelions. She pulled and cleared until there was enough open space to deposit the flowers she’d brought.

With dirt covering her hands, and body, she placed one palm on each patch of earth to either side of her and cried. The tears fell more softly than they had the previous night and a sense of emptiness began to replace the deep ache. She laid herself down, between them, and welcomed in the warmth of the brightening sun. To no one in particular, and everyone all at once, she whispered, “I forgive you.”

She forced herself to remember good things. The day her father gave a talk at her school on career day, beaming at her the whole time. The trip she took with her mother to buy her first set of high heels, when they ate ice cream and shared silly jokes. Her poor mother, who might well have been an innocent victim. There was nothing to be done about it, regardless. Grief about her mother brought another wave of tears.

A chill woke Camille. She was surprised to have fallen asleep on the ground. Resolution strengthened her as she made the long walk back to the car. She took the final sip of her cooled coffee and plugged the next address into her navigation app.

She wiped some of the dirt off her jeans before walking into the police station, chuckling at the thought they might mistake her for a vagrant in her current state.

“I’m here to see Sergeant Williams, please,” she told the woman in the glass fronted booth.

“Name and reason.”

“I… uh… he’s working on a case involving my parents. My name is Camille Moreau. Is he here?”

Without a greeting or response, the woman dialed the old-fashioned phone. “Camille Moreau here to see Williams.”

Camille picked at her thumb as she watched the conversation.

“Go through the first waiting area and have a seat by the blue chairs. He’ll be down in a minute.”

---

By the time Camille returned to her car, the world around her already looked different. It was turning into one of those famously perfect fall days in San Francisco. She sat behind the wheel, relishing the feeling of the sun beaming through the windows. Her next destination wasn’t as clear as the first two that morning. It could be one of a few places.

She pulled out of the parking lot and headed across town, debating until the very last minute where specifically she needed to go. She pulled up to the beautiful building and turned into the semi-circular entrance. A young valet, who looked like he hadn’t quite recovered from his previous night out, greeted her. But who was she to judge, considering she was still mostly covered in dirt.

She walked across the lobby, smaller than she remembered from the few times they’d been there for Jackson’s last book launch. The private club was well known by the city’s poshest influencers. The apartment suites were legendary.

A woman, whose perfection gave her a slightly inhuman appearance, greeted her with a blinding smile. Camille grinned all the way to the private elevators, applauding herself for the masterful use of persuasion she’d learned from Jackson.

He did not immediately answer after her soft knock on the door. She raised her knuckles to try again when he appeared in the wide opening. “Camille…”

She stepped around him and into the room. “Hi.”

“What are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you get past security?”

She laughed. “Oh, you think you’re the only one who knows how to get what they want?”

“I can’t believe…”

“I went to the cemetery.”

His eyes sprung open. “You did?”

“Yeah. I spent the morning there. The plots were overrun with weeds. It was a mess. I’ll have to call management about that.” She looked at his face, but couldn’t read his expression. “I was so mad at him, Jackson. Like, if he was still alive, I’d have wanted to kill him. Isn’t that terrible? To be furious at someone who’s already paid the ultimate price for his sins?”

“Cam…”

“So, we had a talk. I told him how I felt about what he did. And I told him that since I couldn’t be mad at someone unable to defend themselves, I took it out on you. And your dad.”

She thought she would have run out of tears by then, but she was wrong. “I’m sorry, Jackson. I’m sorry for what I did last night, when you…”

He reached out and took her hand.

“I’m sorry I wouldn’t talk to you. It was just too hard. I wanted your apologies to be his apologies.”

He pulled her into him. “I know, love. I know.”

She exhaled into his arms and stayed there until their breathing synchronized. In. Out. Softening with each rise and fall.

He breathed into her hair. “I want you to know that I didn’t leave out of anger. I was frustrated. It didn’t feel like my presence was helping you. Maybe being on top of each other in the small space was making things worse for you. I didn’t come here because I didn’t want to be around you. I came here because… I’m willing to try anything to make you happy.”

She looked up at him, then brought her lips to his. For the briefest moment, everything in the entire universe was perfect. “I know.”

Before he dipped down for another kiss, she spoke. “There’s more.”

Those dark eyes opened wide. “More?”

“I went to see sergeant Williams. At the police station.”

He mouthed the word ‘wow’ but no sound came out of his mouth. She might have actually stunned Jackson King. “We had a talk about the case and my parents and…”

Jackson looked at her, but didn’t speak.

“I needed to know if they found what they needed. And if I was in any danger.”

He took hold of her shoulders. “That was really brave of you, Cam. I know you swore you’d never go down there again.”

“That was foolish. Like it or not, I’m involved. I can’t just bury my head and pretend it’s not happening.”

He pulled her into him again, so tightly she thought she might break. “Love…”

She spoke into his chest. “He said it’s done. All the dirty dominoes just fell.”

His chuckle vibrated both of their bodies. “Dirty dominoes?”

She took one step back and looked at him, a smile plastered on that remarkable face. “That’s cop-speak for bad guys, by the way.”

“Does that mean…?”

“It’s over. At least my part in it. I’m not sure it’ll ever be the same as before I knew everything, but it’s as good as I imagined it could be. I’m… okay.”

“You amaze me. Constantly.” Jackson gave her that look, the one she’d seen many times, but always took her by surprise.

It was always too much to be in the beam of his focus. For the first time since entering the room, Camille glanced around. “This place... I think it’s bigger than my whole house.”

He nodded. “Maybe…”

“I think we should stay here. I’ve loved having you so close all the time, but I think the chaos of all our stuff is making me batty. I need-”

“Anything, love. I think they have an even bigger model, if you want more room. We can stay here as long as you like.”

“I don’t need more room. I need you. And daily maid service.”

He cupped her cheek, his breath catching. “God, I missed you, Cam.”

“I’m back.” A brown smudge on her palm caught her eye. “And I think a shower might be on top of the list of what I need.”